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  |  Scattered leaves with poetic imprints
"Scattered leaved with poetic imprints. My new collection of poetry. Four years already! |
|
P.(tree)Log  Here's my newest collection of poetry. An ongoing collection. My silly port has too many static items with no reviews, and it will do no one any good to have 800 items in the next six months. So, books of poetry are my latest idea. No more "formal reviews" of individual poems, but I'm getting used to that! Enjoy. Yeah, I should have used a bit more ML. One day, after my prince has come, and gone, I'll truly decorate this place... Yeah, promises. I'm filled with them.
(I keep a lot of them, you know...) (at least I try and I usually remember them...) |
| (...the awakening...) |
calf cramp screams seamless sleep thus suddenly creased hobble back and forth cringe, supplicate, swear pummel, massage, curse louder then the second untimely plague latent fairy dust gifts a spell of snorting, sneezing in pairs, triplets, lost count in the wake play dead, sit in a chair, stare at the wall puffy, rheumy eyes, nose a fountain sheets are drenched, cold as a coffin impossible to imagine their former comfort dizzy uneasiness renders everything immobile like the dead eternal rest, a cozy nest if sleep is part were still on the slate now famine claims a plate, a mug from a kitchen raid hovering back to spoil the snack a fleeting image of gnomes captured Morpheus speaking rhyming riddles in Cyrillic hieroglyphs out damned spot, bloodied Spock Ophelia, not Uncle Vanya, declaims "I am Puck" spinning, clinging, infringing internal folly stopped at three-fifty, nothing else starts the night had a host of hazy stories almost forgotten in the barrenness of this starless and sunless morning brimming, like a cauldron, with sleepless inactivity tempestuous wake [2012.30.3...a] |
| (...before sleep...) |
| rambunctious wind sprites have returned, swinging with Puck-like sauciness against window panes, clanging metal chimes and rickety wooded bridges in noise-laden imitations of splash-fallen ricocheting rocks in a gurgling river the rain certainly invades somewhere else, redundant like thunder fields for food cry out and cringe against the onslaught of desert-like blistering not to be offset by the turmoil of water crashing from black clouds indeed they swerve too quickly along unchartered cardinal points to unleash their fury, these impatient goblins of whirling havoc dreamland will be a blustery wilderness with symphonic restlessness yet I will sleep well... lullaby [2012.29.3…a] |
| following the winds |
I am drowning in a small corner of the sky where the moon sinks behind cloud slivers its intensity scatters briefly no sadness possesses the night confident it remembers birdsong blue and golden warmth and shares the wind so joy may cavort between hearts my friends walk on desert sands on edge-of-globe islands in countrysides where trees outnumber men I am this window's unique homing pigeon I have honed the art of waiting into my own still life mirror while night and day alternate their shimmering smiles someday loneliness will implode I will fly free follow each wind's destination and breathe without fear for the first time to take wing [2012.28.3...a] |
| (...observations...) |
rosebuds have not yet begun to open my cup is half filled with cold tea in the steaming sunlight, dust flutters as a gnat suffers capture in a gossamer web spun between thorns elbows grate on bread crumbs from the table I wait patiently for a single white petal spring patience [2012.26.3...a] |
| sleepless |
I witness the monotonous blackness of night where is this quaintness called sleep? starlight, hidden by the city, should be the backdrop of dreams insomnia (take 327) [2012.21.3...a] |
| (...a new small stone...) |
| red sunlight leaves dusty stains on a shimmering path between the rooms adieu from the west sweeps through in a slow kaleidoscope waltz sunset on a Monday [2012.19.3...a] |
| improvisation |
| catch it now before brandy erases the ping improvise the harmonies dark evening sky surrounds my soul's fledging need for the sting of drama prepare tonight's bedtime stories to be shared with the cat's purring everything even this minute is a prélude to dreams casting songs on banana split carnaval floats wind chimes tame midnight's approach do not chastise my hunger for novelty it is encased in words no one will remember even this minute [2012.18.3...a] |
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