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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
I can't take one more moment
Not one more minute
The mental exhaustion
The physical exhaustion
I can't handle being touched or needed by one more
My temper is short
My words cutting
My emotions like a storm abiding in the distance, waiting to be called to the surface.
Heart once whole, brimming, and spotless.
Once whole and held with delicate hands.
Delicate hands slowly slipping away.
Not ready for the loss of this embrace.
Embrace ripped away too rapidly.
Sadness strikes faster than a viper.
Sucking all the life out of my soul.
Like a puppet on strings, lifeless.
Being dragged through the motions of life.
World now dull, colors no longer vibrant.
Food tastes of ash, eating only to survive.
Sleep, a reminder of abandonment.
That first heartbreak always catastrophic.
Heart enclosed, tears building walls thicker than before.
Slowly healing the shadows of the past.
Heart not quite the same, left weak and scattered.
Left different, pieces missing from heartbreak.
Heartbreak concealed by her masks.
Walls now built to keep out attachment.
SEPTEMBER’S GRAY SHAWL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September fog, a grey shawl,
settles on the fields, the trees,
erasing edges, softening lines.
the sun, a ghost behind gauze,
offers no sharp edges,
only a mist-diffused light.
footsteps muffled on the path,
each one a gentle drumbeat~
walking meditation.
soul softens~
between inhale and exhale,
a quiet contemplation.
thoughts unfurl
like ferns in the damp earth~
clamor fades.
what remains~
the quiet hum
of my own inner landscape.
SEPTEMBER BLEEDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September bleeds
crimson,
umber,
and orange
into the cusp
of fall.
September 21 the last
Day of Summer
Today it is already the first day of
Fall
Today I woke up
At 6:30
It was dark outside
It looked like midnight
And the trees are
Starting to change its color
To golden yellow
Some trees are already losing their leaves
Monday the kids are getting up
To go to
And they complain that they are tired
When they wake up
Yes during the weekend they can sleep in
There parents don't mind that
Monday they need to wake up early
Get dress and eat some breakfast
Take their back packs
On their back
And wait on there bus stop
When the TTC arrive they will
Pay there fare with presto
Then they will find a place to sit
On the bus
At 8:45 they arrive in the school
The bell ring at 9:00 PM
They must attend class at that time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
September's warm glow
illuminating all life
autumn's gentle grace
As I look in union of singularity in a world of complexe opposition and harmony.
A splinter in the heart of dream and tearing in the blood cells.
I slaughtered the necks of hopes, bleeding the burning from pains.
A mirror of dry salt-tears reflects the fracture.
And the self has nothing left but the desire to vanish the whole structure.
After long waiting and the stalling of suicide attempts
From exhaustion I feel no enough essence for two lives.
The first, in exile.
The second in the middle between a kiss of the eye
The eye that does not weep, it only stares.
Gazing to reveal contemplations about the soul’s hidden monuments,
Peering over thresholds to inspect the secrets of the universe.
I pluck out the snail of my ear; I try to listen to the echo of the hoarse voice,
Fixing my gaze on the bridge’s edge,
where the wave casts obscene images:
Of tortured bodies and heads cut off before inspiration could visit them.
Because God refused to touch them,
Yet the devil from the pit touched them.
A train without a ticket to take me where there is no memory,
No memory except that I come from afar,
And that the heart is the single meaning of iron.
Holiday celebrations now start
As Christmas carols chime with delight
Marking long yuletide thanksgiving feast
That vanquishes dearth's attack…
Yes, our family yearns for reunion-bliss
Blest with God's love until New Year comes.
Asters and morning glory stud on the ground,
In fresh blooming scents fill the air as they abound;
Butterflies and bees hovering and perching to probe,
Are ardent kisses for month’s enchantment in our globe.
Golden trees’ pirouetting foliage boast with sunshine,
Raining confetti-leaves bless born babies, so divine!
At the September dance
Girls select their playdates
Caribbean weather
Threatens downpours and fires
Children grow impatient
Waiting for winter break
Savoring the last three weeks of summer…
Soaking in the warmth of the summer sun,
gazing at the vivid royal blue sky, like sapphire, and
listening to the green leaves rustle in the summer breeze.
Dreading the first week of autumn … the bittersweet moment
of letting summer go and embracing the cooler, colorful fall.
Time cannot lessen the joy from fun and family vacations
that ended in September for a new year of education.
At each age, September meant I would get pretty new clothes.
I would shop with Mama who had me try them on and pose.
I liked school's first day until high school fueled a need to preen.
September’s meanings ended when I graduated at seventeen.
Though I live where the climate is harsh,
I enjoy the eternal change of seasons,
and the change from summer to autumn
is my favorite for just one reason.
This change always happens in the month of September
when heat gives way to cool and the air is so much mellower.
Celestial skies wrapped in cerulean hues
As the lemon sun stretches to the infinite distance.
Birds' migrating stroll through ripening berries.
Light dances upon the trees - crimson, gold, and russet leaves.
Nurtured rich soil and rain upon the seed of harvest fall.
The school playground fills with the tickled laughter of children.
Specific Types of September Poems
Definition | What is September in Poetry?