Long Undergrowth Poems
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far in the forests
deep down in the undergrowth
easier to find
in hindsight of open minds
there appears the slender man
he has not a face
and is often found walking
stalking silently
he makes himself known through fear
though hidden within the trees
strangely tall he is
his arms abnormally long
some say hes demon
and others think he is guardian
he is mystery—master
there has been much talk
that slender man does stalk
preying on small children
appearing in their photos
who is to say they are wrong?
i have seen him once
and many times in nightmares
i am hearing more
—just remember little ones
the slender man works through fear
his tendrils outstretched
the fright face in a white blur
i swear i saw him
far from the forests of green
locking my mind in a fright
honestly im scared
that i will find him again
heard he kills grown men
not just the little children
not just the little children
i hope they are wrong
no one really knows for sure
all i really know
is what i am told of him
is what i have seen of him
my fear is greater
as i grow ever older
i need the light on
it seems i am a child at heart
as he watches in the dark
Two figures laughing in the tangible woodlands
just as they were the young teens during first visit
enjoying the walk through the vegetation to look
for the spot they deemed sacred for themselves
he decided to lean against a tree to view their
carved initials in the precious bark of the seemly
replicas rows of trees as she decided to pick colorful
flowers to place in her hair from the abundance of them
A beautiful day to soak up a natural nature vibe
reminiscing about the many visits, different seasons
spring being the best times, sun peeking through
the tall trees as they unpack and hook the ends of
a hammock to relax in their familiar spot as they
engage in deep conversations about life as usual
The sunset warns of darkness creeping in soon, so time to
unhook the hammock to repack, walking towards the path
through the thick vegetation whilst giggling and laughing
about a pastime that would never get old.
arminius a German vassal prince, offered bait.' Of the best. More
Land in Germanica off to their west.' Two legions decamped
And were led on their way, by this dastared arminius villian
Of that day' his warriors were waiting in undergrowth thick
Druids there many, made potions; chanted and waved sticks'
Publius and two legions.' Were slaughtered en'masse nailed on to the oak trees.' What can we draw; from such a pass?
I gather the (dark gods of nature) were sated: with gore?
Did the havests grow better.' Was the weather more sure?
Quick snapshot of horror, 1940's again war.' Oak leaves on
ss lapels, gets my attention for sure! fast forward to our time
And 'a green planet to save' claus a swiss again pagan' and the
commitment 'to grave' measures to protect all nature at
Any costs.' Even introducing con-vid (and the intervention)
Though human lives could be damaged and lost.' Yet the the
Back drop is an area of 'green has emerged since around
The naughties? Well so I have heard? Twice the size of the
U S.' Will any experts concur.? Or show by a mapping' maybe
With a ( lectern chart and stick ?) Like we saw throughout
That con-vid ' the very thought of which; gets me sick.)
How foolish of me to search for perfect peace.
A place where the heart can easily breathe.
Foolish to think that "things" calm the mind.
Unwind the tangles of the ID - battered life.
Does each good deed polish a rough stone?
To be used to make a path toward heaven's abode.
Does each foul thought or deed remove that stone...
Leave the soul in the brambles of selfish undergrowth.
To create or break down, those are the choices.
Am I to be an asset to life and a gift to mankind,
A bird that brings an olive branch of good intent.
Or a predator with cheshire smile and bloody hands.
How many good stones have I laid down thus far?
My steps have gathered brambles, not tapping toward stars.
There exists a pure peace but never found in this realm.
Nesting in ripples of heaven-so very far from this half a hell.
It was a fine spring morning
the woods seemed expecting
Robin stirred lazily stretching
turned to Marian tightly her holding
Our pantry is nearly bare
I will go out a hunting
he set off as if on a dare
through undergrowth creeping
Instead of the expected deer
he spied a lady in chains
the sheriffs men did jeer
laughing at her pains
Robin's arrows singing flew
striking down each in turn
softly to his chest her he drew
and soon her trust did earn
Taking her back to base
he left her in Marian's care
searching without nay trace
he decided to find some fare
Returning soon with a plump deer
they speedily had it merrily roasting
Robin quickly polished of a beer
and all made merry celebrating
written 04/20/2014
Contest Robin Hood
I'm lost in an unforgiving jungle!
The trail I'm following is sporadic and confusing
and as the undergrowth closes in, it's suffocating;
making it nearly impossible to breathe.
The high humidity leaves me drenched in sweat:
the heat is unbearable, my every muscle screams.
Panic is spreading!
Chills creep up my spine,
and I taste fear's bitter dregs on my tongue:
as its pungent odor wafts from every pore.
Like a mantra, I keep repeating a desperate prayer:
"Please, God, save me."
The ground under my feet feels spongy,
and I hear the rustle of hidden terrors in the leaf debris.
Whatever possessed me to attempt this hike?
As darkness descends, the dense canopy entombs me.
My face is a scarlet mask of scratches:
and acid tears burn my cheeks!
The pounding beat of my heart is overpowering:
and I collapse into a sobbing heap.
Fear stalks my dreams in an exhaustive sleep;
unsure if I'll ever awaken:
or even wish to.
Deep within impermanence and continuity of change
Seeds lie shielded waiting and protected for the moment
They trust that the cupid cupule holds the bow and arrows
Firmly based in the grasp of nature and uncharted destiny
Sheltered for the generation of life's resilient circulation
Encased in a rough nutshell of inevitable wheels of life
Resides with un-shattered purpose a simple magic miracle
A gem more powerful than the chronicle of human nature
One day she says I'll be a forest in the budding aspiration
Of hope and kindness that spread with wind and fortune
The elements will nurture me until I'm ready to stand tall
For now I must be grateful for my budding tender youth
I don't grow fast but when my roots grip fertile undergrowth
My canopy gives wings to dreams and certitude of aspirations
Love is the meaning of the fertile soil gracing my surroundings
Founded in heaven I grant my strength to future generations
Equipped with a kernel of truth and change along the lineage
Core and essence transform vile lies from the sediment of time
Sometimes you close your eyes and trample on my saplings
But I'm a survivor and take care knowing that I'm truly loved
Surely you can cut the branches and try to break my promise
Craft treasure chests or dressers from my hardened resolve
Put another log on the fire and watch me rising from hot ashes
Build turrets for your fortresses of power and castles onto sand
Sometimes I drift in raging waters unable to steer my voyage
Float in the ocean and yet when spring resumes I'm here again
Smoothed and ground in the knowledge that my acorns live
Whatever weather may embrace my nascent children's fate
I can't complain for when I hand over the torch and novelty
When I'm old and felled down to size by turbulence and storms
I can rest assured that fires and drought did not snuff my passion
And that my final passage opens opportunities from start to end
13th April 2020
The wind has dropped
The Sun now shines so bright
And flowers now burst into life
Ever since daylight
A ladybird has just passed me by
His red wings flutter and shine
Accompanied by a Butterfly
A scene that is so gentle and fine
A Bumble Bee comes bussing by
Collecting Nectar on the wing
Close by upon a branch
A wren begins to sing
A wondrous sight in the morning dew
Even a Hedgehog goes scuttling past
Looking for a morning snack
Until back in the undergrowth at last
A little Robin flies past and settles nearby
And chirps a happy sound
Looking for his morning feed
Worms that come out from underground
The Daffodils are in full bloom
Sharing the lime light with Tulips abound
As other spring flowers pop out their heads
Having spent the winter underground
Spring really is a joyous time of the year
As the Garden comes alive
The Birds are singing their merry tunes
As in the sun they really thrive
The Lavender bush is beginning to flower
Releasing that pleasant pungent smell
That fill the air so beautifully
And attracts the Bees so well
Birds, Animals and insects abound
At this magical time of year
It makes me want to sit and ponder
And release a little tear
And thank the Lord for giving us
Such a wondrous site to see
Yes Spring is here in all its splendour
Where else would you need to be.
The day was cold snow had fallen.
He put on his great coat and strode out into the late afternoon.
We kept an eye on him from a distance.
Some reported him thrashing the undergrowth growling
as if forcing his way through some musical conundrum
others saw him pause, turning around
as he gazed heavenward
his large head listening to sounds only he could hear.
A lark sang; he noticed its hovering silhouette;
muttering he stomped onward.
That evening he lay down and would not speak.
The sky darkened and began to thunder
strange for that time of year.
I thought of the words of Jesus:
"Lord why hast thou forsaken me?"
It seemed appropriate.
His brow furrowed
as his fingers tapped some theme
upon the bed sheets.
Then as if seeing the coda of his life
crashing like a wave onto a far shore
he raised his fist
thunder shook the house
and when we looked again
he was gone.
A scarlet sun singes the edge of Earth,
receding rays giving shadows their girth.
And a darkness descends over the ground,
swallowing any lingering light found.
Twilight summons shifting shadows to creep
through the undergrowth, where whippoorwills sleep.
And Dusk lashes them tightly together,
loosely leashed to an ebony tether.
Liquid shadows appear to ebb and flow
as Day shuts down and time begins to slow.
And night skies welcome the twinkling stars back;
glittering against a backdrop of black.
Silhouettes silently merge with the Night,
awaiting Dawn and the first rays of light.
And as Luna rises, shadows disperse,
exposing new horizons to traverse.