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


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



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


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





get c     l    o   s  e r



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


d is t or     t      e d

the city

a blank canvas

awaiting the brush of Picasso

with endless possibilities


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

a newspaper lays folded under a





already read; useless.


soon it is tossed into an overflowing




where it sits on top

waiting to be taken away.


the wind







the paper flutters away.


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


now becomes another man’s