Green sears into red,
slough summer bleeds into Fall –
framed season’s etched ridge.
Slowly smoking red
stains the corners of picture –
time’s brushed memory,
a moment smeared perfectly,
touch the rough edges, cut, bleed.
Read with care these words written on the memories of trees. Get to the root of meaning as you leaf through thoughts obscure, spoken in the tongue of dreams.
How like a feather –
thoughts unfurl over night sky,
can you hear them now ?
It is not an example of a tree.
What can i do;
They like it.
Our stalks do not overwhelm the essential needs of forest breezes.
Bothering to give up deforestation, learning what is really attractive –
however, in the end, some governments now have “it” as a major part of the grid.
We offer the opportunity to share problems.
To find out,
Go to the other side of your bark.
Some of the land stirs –
lifting up its green fingers,
writes down year’s circle.
Clouds wash away cares –
now dry broken promises,
moist with sad regrets.
Born nearby, she takes water off for a part of surrender.
Tomorrows branch out –
lines twist , soft words drip down,
thirsty roots drink thoughts.
Tree bark wired to hard limbs
reaching cross gaps with needles
threading the eye.
Squirrel scampers green dance floor –
This wave of lines bends above heads,
scratching the sky’s underbelly.
Clinging to sharp corners
bent electricity –
a charge of green fire.
Such tough twisted tree skin –
year’s writing scraped paper,
whose words chattering bark.
Emily Dickinson did not reside here, where leaves kiss shadows and eaves whisper about summer to the remains of grit that gets washed away in the rain of cloud convictions. Yeats never told her about the window that looks back at the reflected trees. So why is it that they seem to be waving at the camera in a poetic frenzy of twisting line breaks, like an uneven stanza, a stratification of emotional confusion ?
Here are Pareidolia Parasols
for high wire walkers
roof repair workers
in the bright sun,
as rays of certainty hurl down upon their heads,
with the verity of gravity’s grasp.
Unwanted facts, quickly approaching –
from the shouting horizon –
brings on vertigo in existential deniers .
Too much emotional distortion
rises in the air,
as the refractive index
causes truth to bend
when it enters and exists in opinionated thoughts –
unsteadily seated on peaks & gable corners,
angry convictions shout
at laughter running across the green lawns.