Fire marches,
the fissures glow
within wood
as if the long-dead tree
hums with latent energy
seeking release
at once, in a thousand places.
Tag: nature
Float
Float, spring butterfly
breathe deep warm winds, swelling up,
lifting you sunward
Own mortality
The sandy atoll,
a thousand leagues
from a weak, tenuous somewhere
barren, where even scrub-grass
dares not open a new franchise
and all a man, shipwrecked,
has for company
is his own mortality
The Laughing Tree
Beyond knee-high grass
onward to the Laughing Tree
dancing with joyful
autumn colors, ablaze, even
though few ever came to watch
Ashes
The soul, free of its many fetters
dancing as firelight
glowing red-hot, like iron
ready to be shaped by tempered hands
until all is left but ashes
and the memories they contain.
The coast is now sea
The coast is now sea
honeymooner footprints gone
the special sand lays
among coral, brilliant white
where fish swim in the moonlight
Eternal autumn
Earth,
wrapped in eternal autumn
decays, all that grows, all
that is built, is on the road
to oblivion
falling to the soil
nourishing the seeds of
futures yet unbuilt
for what is autumn
but a distant relative to
spring.
Upon windshields
Raindrops fall like seed
from an upturned sack
to smash upon windshields
of a thousand travelers
awaiting with earnest hope
a dry, welcoming home
in tomorrow’s breaking dawn
only weeds, briefly revived,
alongside still puddles will stand
in testament to the storm
One day
Perhaps one day
fog breaks
to bring forth sunbeams
eagerly queueing behind
slate-grey veils
instead of naked judgement
cutting a path
with fire and shattering force
Will, one day in the distant future
when my body has decayed
to feed a cypress tree
overlooking the churning, roiling surf
one day,
will those that find the Earth
as my kind bequeathed,
flaws and all
discover in a meadow
of overpowering green
the last of the rusted rifles
that we once used to commit
societal suicide
One day, will “one day”
cease to be an idea
and become
one day.
The pine-box forest
Thanks to human apathy
green-gray vines
grow with impunity
here lies the pine-box forest
each specimen assembled from
copses, large and small,
their origins many
their final place the same
here lies the pine-box forest
contained within –
forlorn, ecstatic
rageful, placid
pleasure, pain,
that feeling, as if you
flew above the world
soaring, effortless
the earth itself within reach
here lies the pine-box forest
where we find one rare piece
of common ground
Unspoken Politics 