The morning wakes in a bruise of gold,
where the mist is a ghost on the clover's breath.
Listen: the soil is a riddle untold,
of roots that dance in the face of death.
It's a green so loud it rings like a bell,
vibrating deep in the hollow of the wrist,
a story the ancient mountains tell
through a veil of silver and river-mist.
A fiddle's bow biting into the string—sharp, resinous, and wild.
A sudden fracture of sunlight through a heavy rain, turning the hills into shimmering glass.
The cold, damp weight of a wool sweater and the electric hum of a crowded room.
Its not just a color; it's a fever of the spring, the snap of a Guinness, the smoke of the peat.
It's the heavy, melodic weight of the ring, and the thunder of boots on cobblestone Street.
The air is thick with the scent of the rain,
tasting the salt and the coming of light,
a celebration of joy carved out of pain,
burning emerald-bright through the heart of the night.
Lazily, disdaining up above the sky to pursue
As the setting of the sun is to indolent to hold
Such a tournament is lengthened and embedded in gold
While the sun passively darkens for a night barbecue
I sit beneath a silvery moon hearing barking hounds
for some men have orgies near the Genious of the South
with blood-shot eyes and sweet sugar caned-lips and scented mouths
such surprising sounds while making folk songs like soulful sounds.
Their music vibrates above pine trees made up like guitars
Strumming, picking and singing songs of endearments in vain
many are now caroling a vesber up to the stars.
Mighty singers, I hear resinous in your throaty of songs
they are heard so sacredly like a whisper within the pines
were they given to virgin lips and cornfield concubines
To hear dreams of Christ till I meet dusty cane-lipped bongs.
Gum - A Haiku
laugh sorrowfulness
a resinous, lark gum hoots
before the happy
6/8/19
Hundreds of ancient Nations,
each speaking their own language,
extinguished by fire, extinguished as fire
by the Colonists, who escaped religious persecution,
just to persecute other people,
just to take their land.
Cruel as north of Black Sea
Celts and their sickles.
Descendants of those
who extinguished your Nations
are reclining on your territories
instead of making retributions.
The longer they occupy it,
the greater is their guilt.
In the end we all will be extinguished,
but spirits are beyond ashes.
What was taken from you,
you will reclaim.
The spirit of God
is commanding stars
as resinous chips in the lanterns
of your forefathers.
All powerful and holy God
whose son was killed
when he became human
by the ancestors of Colonists.
God the Father resurrected him.
The same God will reconcile all the grievances.
Wind
on a
warm summer
day. Fir limbs sway
like a flapper from
the roaring twenties. The
breeze carries a resinous
scent of pitch and earth, unleashing
a flood of memories thought lost to
time. The campfire smoke and embers still glow.
Nature's anvil your hearth did score
Fodder pared from such balmy core
Residual chaff bartered to marine store
Parceled for distant, steamy shore
Billowy waves, your shallow mast is born
No banner, gilded sails your trite estate to adorn
Rudderless barge, with drifting currents your hull borne
Tossed to and fro, of steadying anchor shorn
Your rough-hewn cover slimed corroding each side
Your bark-lined deck withering, leached hide
Resinous fibers bleached by each, briny tide
Sturdy bough eroded along the jostling ride
O'er time brokered to some distant land
Beached on a coarse, lifeless strand
Each callous band scrolled with the swells you have spanned
Depleted contraband seeking a mending hand
Woody corpse; denuded stand emanating a paler hue
Barren limbs no burgeoning life doth construe
Stale, musty scent from it's damp twigs doth issue
Winds whisk through sterile branches sighing a doleful mew
No sheltered perch doth it's pared canopy imbue
No decorative shroud to satiate the gawker's view
A vapid garland with no fruitful fronds to strew
Stilled life whose rings are scrolled with each succeeding, autumn's due
Yet deep within it's fibers resinous juices stew
Spurting forth sticky wads of balsamic glue
Trite lacquer it's brigand hull to seal and preening pests to rue
Hearty saps from tapped bough do still spew
Sweet, syrupy concoction; sugary fondue
Sun's rays glint through the glistening pines
Residual moisture imbibes the fawning heat
A cloak of needles hovers over the clandestine copse
Fertile fortress clothes the stunted flora
A whispering breeze bristles through the jaded cones
Resinous scent blankets the blanched meadow
Fondling fungus shrouds the damp floor
Glittering flora splices the distant, tawny terraces
Frothy owls hoot above the hoary mist
Foraging squirrels funnel through the fallen, nutty residue
Hollow bark clamors with the jackhammers of restive peckers
Decaying mantle rattles with the sounds of boring beetles
Cackling turkeys scour the ridges for autumn's latent seeds
Petulant peccaries prat and preen through the bleached undergrowth
Earth-toned stags nestle in the deep thickets
Rippling brook gurgles through the sunken hollow
Stiff, resinous clouds
sleep upon the tempest tail
gathering strength to churn.
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