I dwell within a vault of seasoned pine,
Where cedar ribs trace curves of spine,
A cavern arched with honey-colored wood,
The quietest home a creature ever could.
Above my head, a rosette carved in lace,
Filters the daylight into one small space,
A golden circle painted on the floor,
Where giant fingers stretch and start to soar.
Then wakes the giant—sweeping arm and hand,
Striking the chords above this hidden land;
And every wire becomes a brazen beam,
Shaking the rafters of my hollow dream.
The notes crash down like thunder from the sky,
Making the air vibrate, the dust motes fly,
A tidal wave of brass and silver sound,
That pins me softly to the maple ground.
And when they rest their palms against the waist,
The roaring ocean dies in breathless haste;
I curl up warm beneath the bridge’s arc,
A tiny tenant sleeping in the dark.
"Why do you rebel?"
Asked the artist of the bruise
"Your head is sick, your heart faint
Your skin is slick with wounds"
Yet in the same breath
"I do not delight in lambs' blood"
Yet he likens kin to lambs
And killed both in the flood
But "thou shalt not kill"
Declares he who killed the most
"My sword devours 'til sated"
Saith the Lord of Hosts
"For I am sorry
About all of your punishments"
There's no forgiveness in me
My lord, I'm far beyond spent
My Wooden Box — was — too small — for my Heart —
It beat — against the Grain —
Until the Cedar — splintered wide —
And let the Sorrow — in —
I tried — to fold it — carefully —
As Seamstresses — with Lace —
But Feelings — are not Linen —
They burst — from every Place —
The Carpenter — of Heaven — knows —
No Coffin — fits the Soul —
For Love — expands — beyond the Lid —
And breaks — its narrow Role —
So bury me — in Boundless Air —
And mark me — with a Tree —
For Wood decays — and Hearts — ascend —
To larger Mystery —
The old wooden dock
I might be an old rickety dock but I promise you won’t regret spending an hour on my premises..so come aboard, tackle box in tow, bring the kids, coffee in hand, be aware of “snappy the turtle” as he likes to hang out underneath.
Get your lines in the water, bring your chair, take the load off, after all it’s Sunday, where else have you got to be? The fish, Turtles, are all awaiting your arrival, so be prepared to stay awhile…
Make a friend, cheer each other on, enjoy a laugh together, it can be pretty crowded on here, but we’re all here as one.
A father teaching his little tike to fish for his or hers first time, time will pause, pike, bass, sunfish, or the one that got away. Pretty soon it will be winter, the water will freeze, but my sturdy dock will always hold sturdy waiting for you, please don’t be a stranger, come again soon.
After the day her soul will fly away,
I will buy her a wooden tulip bouquet.
"I give you all of my love today," I'll say,
Instead of giving them all away.
I'm a poet and soliloquist,
both dummy and ventriloquist.
I wonder if I even exist,
or how I ever could.
She left me floating on a river.
I have no heart to forgive her.
I shed no tears, just a sliver.
I'm a poet made of wood.
My house is a living organism, with wooden veins and brick hearts that breathe stories,
The cracks in the walls are lifelines, maps of hidden worlds,
The white ceiling is my inner sky, where clouds of thoughts float in silence,
The white paint is a canvas where memories dance in unseen colors,
The dust in the corner is the sand of time, gently settling over moments past,
Wooden doors are gateways to parallel universes, where past and present intertwine,
When I am alone, the house sings me a cosmic lullaby, a symphony of silence,
And my wounds are embraced by the walls that have seen all seasons of my soul,
At dusk, shadows dance like ancient spirits, holding forgotten light in their palms,
The walls gather around me, like an embrace of eternity,
And they tell of buried laughter and tears dried by time,
In this shelter, more than walls, there is a heart that pulses with the beats of my life,
Now, in this living sanctuary, I find an ancestral peace,
My house is a universe in miniature, a poem with walls and windows,
Every crack and sound become words in an unseen journal,
And I, a traveler among dreams and memories, find my roots here, in the depths of my being.
eds are deadly dangerous
more people die there
no matter young or old
than anywhere
else in the whole wide world
(or so I've been told)
and if it's not too late
someone should legislate
to outlaw
and recall them all
then instead we'll sleep on the floor
so before you go
up the wooden hills to Bedforshire
and wend your weary way
to the land of Nod
if you wish to see another day
(after you brush your teeth and prayers say)
take care the place you rest your head
(a bunk-up in a hammock's best)
as the dreaded bed's where even angels fear to tread
Once upon a magical evening an enchanted fairy I happened to see,
dressed in a fantastical dress with two dappled wings of lace,
she shone like the midnight sun;
I must confess, she looked rather whimsical,
sitting there by a green wooden door, waiting for your lore!
Her eyes sparkled with spiritual wisdom, lips trembled a whisper of secrets,
She enticed me near with a gentle smile, promising wonders of other realms.
Her shimmering wings fluttered near the arch way,
I couldn't believe my eyes seeing a dream world, unfurled through the green wooden door.
I was embraced by a spiritual connection and enlightenment,
The purple rays guided me to explore new dimensions of reality,
Through the windows of my mind, I travelled beyond the constraints of life.
When I stepped out to the world where fate and fantasy blur the line,
I gazed at the stardust sky where moonlight hums a forgotten lore,
In my mind, the echoes of purple dreams drift ever more!
I want to give my only yellow mini tulip away
To the daughter of my beloved late cousin,
So the memory of her will never slip away
From our minds and hearts deep within.
I recently gave a symbol of love, a red tulip away
To my newfound lover who I knew would win
My heart in how he engages with me every day,
How he passionately makes us both sin.
I am yet to give a blue tulip to someone someday,
As a symbol of friendship and peace between Djinn.
I want to meet him again, soon, someday.
But maybe, his heart, I will never win.
I bought a vase of mini tulips I saw on the way,
Considered it for someone who may be my twin,
But I realize it was too much for someone anyway.
So I bought them for myself, even if self-love is a sin.
Unknown
a wooden statue
carved by unknown hands perhaps
an E.T. worshipped
by an ancient native tribe
who witnessed unknown aliens
scuffs in the pearl white floor
when she leaves the room,
for empty hospital hallway memories,
haze of sterile gloom
like snails, the chronic men
each slowly wear away,
their minds left to trail behind them,
their faces falling into decay
the grey walls with snake green stripes
always constricting them,
the dim fluorescent flicker of the fate
to which they have been condemned.
Wooden Bench
I set up acting and
singing work for the
wooden bench in
the rock garden.
I’m his biggest
fan. I get 100% of
his earnings.
In my wooden form, stories I unfold
A simple pencil with tales yet untold
Gripped by hands i sketch dreams and plans
A tool for artists, scholars, and fans
With every stroke, ideas take flight,
From blank pages to visions bright
I wear down slowly but I never cease
Creating worlds piece by piece
Though small and humble I hold great power
In every line I mark each hour
Wooden Box
In my deep deep wooden box I keep: in
triumphant completion of
something’s; depending on
whethers; keyboards with
buttons who don’t make notes audible to
the human ear; descriptions and reports on
equipment and clothing for
a specific activity; a
few arrogant diplomats; cutlery who aren’t
consistent with or
aren’t in harmony or
aren’t unanimous with
cutlery sets; pompous ducks who
scribble notes concerning the annoying to
them smell of
chimney smoke not in an
unobtrusive manner; and finally
people who use the word
“consequently” ad nauseam. However the box isn’t
locked. They can come and
go as they wish.
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