I was once told a story, of the wee folk of Bensham Bog; they live in carved mushroom houses that are shaped like bullfrogs and they ensure the survival of creatures there. They travel in petrified skins of bananas and are rarely ever seen yet, they mix all of the peat moss and propagate trees. Coniferous trees like pine and spruce, larch and fir; trees that produce oxygen; negative ions for the air. Be thankful, these fey exist; if you see one at night; you’ll know because, they glow with blue light.
in the bog
trees thriving-
faeries labor
Wetlands help to keep a balance within our environment; their preservation is vital, this everyone should know. They provide iron deposits, lovely, translucent obsidian stone from which, early man, made himself tools. Flora, like water lily’s grow in bogs and thriving there, leatherback turtles, an endangered species.
a leatherback turtle swims-
crickets chirping
Categories:
peat moss, animal, children, fantasy, myth,
Form: Haibun
Away with you to tall golden grasses
to the sound of a creek running over rocks
the babble and gaggle of water sounds
Away with you to open spaces where you can breathe
To big fields that stretch out in every direction
Away to those black inner tubes that you sit in and just float down the river
not a care ..just float
Away to hills covered in ferns
to the smell of peat moss and earth
dark brown rich earth
moss and lichen
To strange openings in the forest where the light cast down through the trees in beams onto the floor of the forest where there is nothing but light pine needles
Special places these that we have known...
I think of inner city kids and how they only know sidewalks and weeds that grow up in between
They find their sweetness in the night on tar topped rooves
Sitting on hot tar topped spaces staring at stars
I hope that they found their freedom in the sky
Categories:
peat moss, freedom, love, nature,
Form: Free verse
The tree follows me;
Its trunk runs from garden to field;
Crossing lands of peat moss and greenery;
Branches embracing me, crown of leaves covers me;
Radiant foliage shadows me;
Run tree run while under the sun;
As your trunk circumferences;
Stands before me;
Walk on, run tree under the sun;
9/3/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Categories:
peat moss, analogy, environment, humanity, tree,
Form: Free verse
Quills made of clouds 'pon shamrock tides
scribing gulls crying over Boru's throne
from peat moss eye and crumbling stone
the gales preserve his verse for all time.
To heaven he gifted wee emerald gems
from shimmering seas and salted glens
the icy fiords and rouge cheeked hens
fiery sirens guard lost treasure chests.
Young scribes arrive to scumble his sky
toting plastic lines and souls of stone
spitting ice into the old scribe's bones
they've no heart for his ancient rhymes.
His soul lay on the tip of broken quills
a cracked ink well betrays a noble will
he lived for all the things that living kills...
an Irish rose -beneath a stone on starry hill.
6/20/20
Categories:
peat moss, bird, poets,
Form: Rhyme
I write this as a performer
A puppetmaster's sad game
An archetype that I can never shed
The years are growing shorter
With nothing left to fill them
I've reached this mountaintop
But it's too dark to see
If I overdosed on twilight
Would you be there to hold my hand?
But of course, you've been dead for so long
That these feelings aren't funny anymore
The nights are growing longer
My apathy grows stronger
And the lights to light the night are too dim
See this house of peat moss?
I'm the one inside it.
The roof is growing grass
If I fought to keep this empty
Why do I dream of it so full
But again, you've been dead for too long
So I shouldn't think about it anymore
Nothing really changes
Just comes with new context
And a plot structure that's overall safer
I still want to die frequently
It's still the co-star's problem
But it's nice to have my stress be safer
If I could swallow all my pride
I'd swap it out for some Prozac
If you worked so hard to kill me, maybe
I should learn to laugh at all of this
If I knew that you were watching
I'd still act like I was yours
But you up and died astride me
So who really gives a damn anymore?
Categories:
peat moss, abuse, depression,
Form: Lyric
Laughing loons calling to you
Blood red eyes diving deeper
Until they surface, bellies full and fat
Salt and pepper feathers dance in the sun
Gliding past sound sleeping cedars on shore
The lake sitting still like glass
Under steamy morning breathe
Hiding from the sun rays streaking down soft
Spring time cold, in the height of summer days
Crystal clear and deep, bottom disappears
Surrounded in dense forest
Humming summer melodies
Peat moss beneath the shadows of tall pines
Blanket to the rock basement of the woods
Nature’s curtain it wraps around the lake
Few people ever visit
Only the lucky ones do
Escape to drift upon calm clear waters
Troll for lake trout while basking in the sun
Silent they observe nature’s sweetest gifts
Think heaven is over head?
Or, perhaps right here instead
March 24, 2018
Categories:
peat moss, 3rd grade, environment, heaven,
Form: Blank verse
It's three sticks come at One:Eleven.
The Whet Owls' sight a-glare.
The forest black to touch the sky
where moonlight's blue to pair.
With crisp cool air between the trees.
Smells floating on their leaves.
The Pine scent rolling over dew
where dampness for all sieves.
The wild grass bending in the wind.
This bleached straw shining moon.
A whisper sent into the blades.
where fear comes out the tune
With Peat Moss clinging to the rocks
where run-off's cold to touch.
The mist been filtered by the air.
No purer juice as much.
This twilight dotted with it's stars.
A night time quiet rests.
Where spirits walk in aw of all
and nature knows no pests.
Categories:
peat moss, beauty, environment, nature, night,
Form: Quatrain
Everytime you discover
a new black hole;
someone crosses the border
and starts crying.
Thread weaved in and out
of tapestry. You were nailed
to the wall, which never
had any doors.
Why were you not a mackintosh ?
You scripted strangely, talking
of an open world. You smell
a war between the poems-
in a book. There was no ad hoc
pain in groins. Your boney
nose went to find the peat moss
in the jungle of sandalwoods.
Satish Verma
Categories:
peat moss, art,
Form: ABC