Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1788494-Woodland-Home
Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #1788494
modern poem written in nine sections June 22-25, 2011
Woodland Home

almost afternoon
at noon the towns and streets and dust
an acrid yellow
at one
fewer flower writers
and more people
flat yellow tuft husks almost green dry
new growth at the top finally
and the apple tree is dense with no fruit
not green not red
no blossoms
leaves shield the birds
when they look for a nest
along the ready path it is his way
that is his wave
win the grove
or the meadows
vow bird
or fish
to well
little win, now trees
little window shades
and the heat and the cool
won't affect
the cool shade of the


eh the sun
shines too high
scared climb

what did he say?
he just talks
saves the cards
you can run on the dollars and post office
ask him, he can barely
remember it
or just in with the

I don't know at that age
whether one hangs up a hat
at the end of the time
or goes on from there
alone mostly
or with company
so to disarray
and all of the silent evenings
at home


event paint is blue
with the rain
and the glaciers
and the snow
and the wet cold
that is not home
it is not close to home
now they have found
another home
with no ridges
and no trees
and no water
grassed yellow
field wheat
wheat oats
wild grass
red house
a little red cube
a triangle house
no general store
even on a hill under the trees
next time you think
it is floodlands
so they say
with the water through
when the snow and ice melted
every year
kept the fields rich
kept the people off
off the land, I mean
no--they moved inland and waited out
the high tides
and rafted in boats.


all that red paint
too with all of
a front the forest,
the birds,
the path
the water
gave; is that
a new age
in the woods
with the lake
the ridges
the clouds
the sky
the granite plate
and the northern exposure
now they live in the woods
with their neighbors
down the river
in a clearing
they all came to visit me
can you imagine how far
that is maybe two or three
that is hard to imagine
same granite plate
and not so many ridges against the sky
in the shadows
of the people hills
with the copper gold
with copper gold
I have a necklace
to remind me of the place
early times


one thousand years of a native act
can you dance
with a picture war paint face
and a smile
a happenstance visit and return

multi-colored lights
he's sitting at his card table
ten years earlier
with his friends

what kind of place with the beech
now it is a full shade tree
keeps the birch alive in the winter
in the summer
two pines
a corner brick red
no friends
a mile away or
two or three
friends, no river
strange by a lake
there's a river
way somewhere
art and culture
language art and culture
no woodland home
where is it?
there so far
away, what if it was
a day
with a man riding
now the man won't ride
I'd ride when
I'm an old lady on a pony
returning home
what I want
for him
when he rides back home
from the beach and the
sees his house in a clearing
where are the trees then?
after june
one more day in the sun
in the summer


spring conclusive at fifty-one
one last year around
to summer and the sun,
the rain lies
that fifty-one is not ten
or five
or nine
or twelve
and it is not
teenage anymore
it is fifty-one,
spring and sunny one last bird
wispy clouds
fresh air over the ridges
and water and ice

marry him
when now
next year
last year

white and white again
white and giant walks the land
with families
hand in hand
no path through the forest
paved a way
and what about the stars
this year

white native
the whites are not native here
they are only visiting
they are from the ocean way
I am
though, from the river bank and the forest
and the clearing
and I don't see the sun
the way
of the ocean
indian ways are tough
for a squaw
from a river bank
but they are native
in a foreign world
without a river


singing on all of those records
and having an identity
then diversity
well, you don't see the
it is all free choice
or choice that is somehow
not free

it is still, that
dreams are of green groves
and fish
and not people

valentine's day at home
it is strange to hear about
characters and dreams
when people drive in their cars and talk
with their friends during the summer

what about the kids in the convertible
at the car dealership
when, what are they?
from the school,
natives, mostly
one from the south
it is a quiet world
of travel and visit and
change for exchange
it is a small world
without many natives
no woodlands
five nations now six and no

week's green
join the pines at the top
again they are green cones
after the needles
grew in the spring
four inches taller
by june
stands home again
it is all leaves
the same home again


in the old days you found your
real self and found a place in the world for it
now the world finds you and has
a place for you in mind, maybe
if only
the world were alike
to the dream of the world
horizon to horizon

of course, people understand duration
they know what time is
but they don't know circumstance

in july the heat will come back
and take us through august again
that is not all
that is not all time

he is

he's going to go
he'll be traveling once again
and I'll have to think of valentines
for him when he's away

what about the window
where he's staring in the sun
smiling with a bright-faced smile,

watching the
all day
right by a man at home
with his

after all of the years
in the clouds with the
is going to think
of a different year
what about the beech trees
and the green waves
of the leaves
summer dense
and all of the years indoors

he stands in the lights
he has a smile
and a glow


everyone asks what do you dream
and I only see the
green banks
and the clearing
and the mud
I don't dream
the way you dream
I dream
of place
and green
of home

red brick
orange brick
white cement
with grey
and white winter tops
in the summer warm
and in the winter cold
with a wind that clears the rooms

paint line form color
to paint
expressions many tones
for the same idea
if it is not your home
than it is the walk
or the time
I am old
I have so many lines that are true
that I can't count them all

who is married to a man
and man's a savage
you know
oh, I would know
It is certain that he is
when he so chooses,
not always,
he has respect

brown red salmon
brick red brick
red car
baked brown blue
if not in old
the it is so, he's
the beach away
along the beach again
in the future
faces sandy
he likes ocean
he is such
he owns
as they say
the beach
will of many people
I like the pool



back to old boyfriend
he asked last year
spring/summer 2010,
and no one would listen to him
no one would believe that
© Copyright 2011 Philwon (l.weil at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1788494-Woodland-Home