poetry

the tree in the meadow is my friend

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the tree in the meadow is my friend

 

during the spring its new (l)(e)(a)(v)(e)(s)

protect me from the rain

we watch the flowers bloom

and the fields turn green

 

during the summer its long, sinewy branches and leaves

protect me from the scorching sun

while we read an old tattered book

or try to write one

 

during the fall my friend begins to lose its leaves

at the end of one branch

a lone, red (leaf) hangs

waiting to fall off

I watch it carefully

holding on to the thought

that it will never fall off

 

but it does

 

and during the winter

it stands tall but lonely

our friendship weakens

if only briefly

until the cold air starts to turn warm

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a fall day on the palouse

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a fall day on the palouse

 

a crisp, red leaf

breaks under my worn, leather boots

 

as my gaze moves from my boot

to the tree above

the leaves consume my mind

 

beyond the trees

the mist on the horizon

threatens the rolling

(what were) wheat fields

 

what is autumn but a season

that is unsure how to fit in

 

rapid, pounding rains

flurried snow

h                      i

.            a                      l

don’t miss the sun

it might disappear behind a cloud

before the process repeats

over and over

and over

the night is my enemy

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the night is my enemy

 

the darkness swirls in my mind

trapping my memories

blanketing me in a sea of black

causing the have beens

and the have nots

to distort and become

one

 

the nouns of my life no longer make sense

 

I try to find my way out

try to sift through the madness

but it’s no use

 

I trip and stumble

unable to find my way

‘til at last the darkness ends

 

and a fresh glow overtakes my mind

 

as the sun sets

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as the          sets just below the trees

sun

and just above the mountains,

an eagle’s screech rings out

 

setting the stage for nature

 

a place where anything can happen

where the moon is as bright

as the sun

 

and something as small as a

rock dropping on a worn down trail

can be heard for                                               miles

and                                                                                                      miles

in a city of distortion

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Please note that there are not supposed to be periods where I wrote out wails, it kept auto aligning. 

in a city of distortion

a dog barks in the distance

a siren’s w

……..a

……i

…l

s

get c     l    o   s  e r

and

closer.

the darkness and light through

the bars on the window

blurred together like the view of earth from space

tiny lights in an ample darkness

the world as it is

unsafe.

d is t or     t      e d

the city

a blank canvas

awaiting the brush of Picasso

with endless possibilities

Trash.

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This is a random poem I wrote about trash a while back:

a newspaper lays folded under a

man’s

a

r

m.

already read; useless.

trash.

soon it is tossed into an overflowing

c

a

n

where it sits on top

waiting to be taken away.

but

the wind

b

…..l

…….o

…..w

…s

;

the paper flutters away.

trash.

a homeless man stirs at the sound of rustling paper

to his right

a newspaper lays open.

perfect cover for a hole in a cardboard roof.

one man’s

“trash”

now becomes another man’s

treasure.