You borrowed your clothes from the natural forest,
Much like a rock weaves them with moss.
We have borrowed our lives,
Much like we borrow from music.
The Muse departs,
And we cannot see you!
The Muse remains,
And we behold you!
As if, when the moss of the rock vanishes,
It reveals its bare skin.
Green remembers—
before language
before loss—
a bloom
in glass
a breathing
on the pane
the mirror keeps
a holiday of moss
soft voices
feathered
into silver
Not faces—
no
but after—
images
thin
where laughter
stains
the edges
of day
they flicker—leaflike—
entering
within
then drift
pollen
almost gone
I lean—
my pulse
disturbs
the buried scene
and something
stirs
a greening
in the blur
grief is not absence
but shade
of green
a bloom learning
the shape
of us
So let it root—
in glass
this tender seam
the mirror
blooms
because
it remembers
Rain wakes mossy stones
A snail crosses fallen leaves
Puddles catch the dawn
Tadpoles dart in moss.
They hide in the leafy green
puffs of plant breathing.
Low unnoticed
Im beautiful
I found and spread
Above, below
Im tiny cities
Im fairy homes.
A seat for you
The softest throne
Hold rain and water
Shelter those
That creep and crawl
I keep them close
I breathe dark air
And exhale light
I've lived the days
I love the night
I embrace thr earth
The wood, the ground
Right beside you
Green sweet mound
So walk on by
My ancient face
And I remain
Within this place
Moss learned how to soften its voice for grief.
A respectful stoic shade who honors family.
Moss covers the stones.
Moss covers the scars.
This green loves what was left behind.
And comforts weary hearts.
Moss is found in places of damp.
Full of names sunken in earth.
This green can hold your tears with no spills. A green that puts healing first.
Moss is a shade empathetic to pain,
A green who encourages to heal.
A quiet release from shattered tears
That only Moss can feel.
A side path suddenly clutches at me,
rekindling burnt-out time with memories
to raise this fleeting day like a flame.
?
Folded memories sting with age,
but grow like moss fed on longing,
crumbling softly into the parting day.
?
The fading alley blooms with remembered moments.
curly green mosses
in a bed of violets
adorning a tree
184021
a thousand roots, and oh to one
i have seen your bark split open
and i know the ache you call rot
but what i see is not decay—
it is softness where light
has finally found a way in
the moss creeps gently
not as a thief, but as a witness
draping your arms in green silence
tending to the cracks
like a prayer, slow and deliberate
they will say a tree is only worth
its shadow, its shelter, its fruit
but i know the truth—
you are worth the space you hold,
even when no one remembers the seed
not every wound is ruin,
not every hollow means hunger
sometimes what looks like ending
is simply a resting place
for the breath that carries us forward
so bend, willow,
bend until your branches touch the earth
and let them whisper this:
there is no rot in you—
only moss, only time, only life
strands of silver green
Spanish moss draping from trees
swaying in the breeze
so rare moss agate
amazing natural view
precious neat gemstone
so cool I see cute landscape
scene with trees very lovely
Moss
On Sundays I make myself familiar with
the moss on
the oaf of
rocks adjacent to
the driveway on
the west side of
the house.
They’re always keen to know if
I prefer the last letters or
do I prefer the
first or
the middle that form a
word or
a
proverb.
Too they’re keen to
know how many lines do I
write each time I’m at
my dark oak desk (my desk is named
Something Done) writing with my
HB pencil in my
snot green-spiral notebook my
horror short stories live in. I give them a
different answer for
both questions each time.
cushy curly moss
unusually verdant
glaring with color
Let us steal away to meet beneath the pines
Among the moss and lichen we will find
Two bodies set aflame with souls entwined
Coals smolder in your heart and you are mine
Let us steal away to meet beside the shore
Among the dunes and beach grass we’ll explore
Two bodies that have scorched this sand before
Waves break upon my heart and I am yours.
HER FEET IS SMOTHERED BY MOSS,
HER ARMS SPROUTING MUSHROOMS,
HER LEAFY FINGERS,
HER IMPOTENT EYES,
HER HAIR HOUSES NESTLINGS,
FROZEN BRAIN WITH REBUFFED THOUGHTS,
FAINT HEARTED,
HER LIPS READ EULOGY OF HER PAST LIFE,
HER NOSTRILS BREATHE DRY ICE,
HER CHEST HOLDS DRIED UP ESSENCE OF LIFE,
SHE STANDS PLANTED IN AN UNIFORMED GARDEN,
WITH THE GARDENER ONLY FOCUSING TO REST UNDER HER SHADE,
BOTHERLESS OF HER WITHERING,
I MEAN THE TREE.
V.POONAM
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