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Sa May 2015
Woodsy smell
Gentle touch
Husky voice
Sensuous words
Teasing smile
Steady, mysterious eyes
~
Appealing to my five senses
Seducing me, tenderly,
your sweet and spicy nothings.
Londis Carpenter Sep 2010
NOTE:  This is a short story; not a poem.  (author)

(Sometimes when you don’t know something can’t be done, you discover a way to do it.)

High at the top of a tree in Forest Park, Parker Squirrel lived in a nest that his mother had built from a hollowed out place inside the trunk of an old oak.   A large branch forked away from the main trunk and a hole in the bark conveniently served as a doorway to the outside world.  On one particular morning, Parker poked his head out from the doorway of his home and looked around very carefully at his surroundings.  It wasn’t the first time in his young life that he had peeked at the outside world from his mother’s nest, but this time he was more alert and cautious than he had ever been before.  Today he was orphaned and all alone.  Sometime in the dark of night, while he was hiding deep inside the nest, he was forced to watch in terror when a large owl came and took away his mother.  So today, feeling very timid and afraid, Parker made every effort to look in each direction before leaving his cozy home to explore and search for food.

Just ahead of him he saw that the rustic ranger station stood like a monument, to welcomed visitors to the state park.   On his left he could see the foothills of the purple mountain range.  He knew that these foothills and their woodlands were all part of the place called Forest Park.  Off to his right a dancing brook bubbled along the edge of a grassy meadow.  In its tall grasses he saw a white-tail doe playing with her newborn fawn. There seemed to be no danger in that direction, so Parker stretched his neck upward and watched as white, cotton-ball clouds floated across the azure blue sky.  Finally he looked down at the ground far below just in time to see a large toad quickly hop under the cover of some wild mushrooms.  Still, he sensed no danger.

Unfortunately, in order to see the forest behind him, it was necessary for Parker to leave his nest and climb around to the other side of his oak tree. And that was a problem for Parker, because the little squirrel was still much too timid to take such a chance.  Instead he stretched as far as he could to look around the wide tree trunk and into the woods.

Glancing back into the forest, Parker saw more tall oak trees with their strong, stately trunks.  He saw a scattering of white flowers that revealed the presence of dogwood trees.  A stand of sugar maples displayed their graceful branches and delicate leaves.  He also noticed some early spring flowers and wild mustard plants splashing bright yellow hues against the fresh green Indian grasses where a tiny meadow carpeted the outer edge of the forest floor.

There were no owls!

Even if they were hiding where he couldn’t see them, Parker would know they were there.  He would be able to smell their unmistakable odor.  To nearly all rodents, the owls have a peculiar stench that is putrid and foul.  And even a young squirrel like Parker would recognize it at once.

The young squirrel was fascinated by all he saw.  His furry skin tingled in the warm glow of the bright, noonday sunshine, almost making him forget the tragedy of the previous night.  Parker had only arrived into the world about six weeks ago, but in squirrel time that meant he would soon be approaching young adulthood.  He had always been cozy and comfortable, cradled in the nest his mother had built in the tall oak tree.  He had always enjoyed foraging with her for seeds and nuts.  The pantry was partly filled, even now, with acorns and hickory nuts, which emitted a woodsy aroma that reminded him of his mother.   He loved the wonderful world he saw from his perch and his heart was so happy that he began to chatter a new springtime song, which he seemed to hear playing all by itself inside his head.

Parker was so enthralled by all the new sights and smells filling his senses that he nearly outstretched the length of his body as he leaned outside the doorway to his mother’s cozy nest and suddenly he fell and tumbled onto the forest floor beneath him.  He landed with a horrible thud!  The little squirrel landed on his back into a clump of moss that grew beneath the tall oak, which only moments before had been his citadel.

  “Ouch!” chattered Parker as he recovered his breath.  The fall had knocked the wind from his lungs but as soon as he discovered he could breath again he checked himself all over to make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt.  Then he began to explore the forest floor.

The little squirrel was so excited, as he ran from one discovery to another, that he completely lost track of time.  Before he knew it, he was a long way from his mother’s tree and it was growing dark.   The little squirrel ran from tree to tree looking for his home and finally he stopped at a very tall oak.  Parker was certain that this was the same tree from which he had fallen, so as fast as he could scurry, he climbed up the trunk, searching among its branches for his mother’s nest.  When he failed to find his home in the trunk of the tree, Parker finally realized that he was lost. The young squirrel had exhausted all of his strength running through the woods.

Afraid and suddenly very lonely, Parker was also very sleepy and hungry.   Since he had no food and didn’t know what else he could do, Parker curled up into a ball at the crook of a branch and fell asleep.  Next morning Parker searched the tree again for his home.  To his surprise he stumbled upon a strange nest made up of branches and twigs of oak built close to the trunk of the tree.  This nest seemed substantial and well built.  The interior of the nesting cup was about eight inches across and five inches deep.  Although the nest looked crude from the outside, its bowl was delicately and warmly lined with a combination of moss, feathers and leaves. It was about seventy-five feet from the ground and two fledgling crows were sleeping inside.

An older squirrel might have killed the baby crows for food and driven off the adult birds when they returned, but Parker just climbed inside the nest, curled up beside the sleeping pair, and fell asleep to dream about where he would find his next meal.

Parker’s sleep was interrupted by the noise of the two young birds’ loud clamoring for food.  Their incessant calls were being tended to by the mamma crow, which had returned to the nest and was now busy stuffing their hungry mouths with an assortment of seeds and worms.  As strange as it seems and much to Parker’s surprise, the mother crow also began stuffing his mouth with food just the same as if she was feeding her own children.  Although he didn’t like the earthy taste of the worms, Parker was very hungry and he swallowed every bite.  He found that he was actually quite satisfied with the meal.

Parker soon learned that there had originally been six baby birds occupying the crow nest, but sadly four had recently been taken by the owls in nighttime raids.  Perhaps the loss of her own children was the reason the Mother Crow decided to adopt the baby squirrel and began feeding it along with her own young.  In nature there are many mysteries and not all of them have easy answers.  But, whatever her reason, one thing is very certain.  Parker Squirrel had been officially adopted into the Crow family and he now had a new mother and a new home, complete with a brother and a sister.

Parker’s new siblings were very close to his own age, which meant they soon would begin standing on the edge of the nest and even leave to nearby branches of the tree when they were being fed.  In the course of another week they would be leaving the nest and taking their initial flight while being watched, tended to, and protected by their adult parents.  So Parker had a great surprise awaiting him. He didn’t know it yet, but in just a few days Mamma Crow would be expecting him to learn to fly.  Of course, squirrels, by nature, are curious and quite acrobatic and no one had ever yet told Parker that he couldn’t fly like a bird.   So when the time came for Parker and his siblings to make their initial test flights, he spread his arms and began to flap them hard, as though they were wings, as he leaped from the nest.  Naturally the little squirrel tumbled down once again onto the forest floor with another thud.

Encouraged and nudged along by Mamma Crow and by taunts from his new brother and sister, Parker tried again and again to fly.  Each time he tried flapping his little arms like wings and each time he fell to earth with a thud.  Soon his whole body ached with painful bruises from his many falls.  But even more than the motivation and prodding from his new family, Parker wanted to fly.  There was something inside Parker that made him want to keep trying.  Parker really did want to fly.

Immediately after being adopted, Parker had begun foraging for his own food by pure instinct.  When he found acorns and seeds he brought them by mouthfuls back to the Crow family’s nest.  But now the urge to fly was almost as strong inside him as his urge to scour the forest floor for acorns and nuts.

At night Parker dreamed about flying.  As a younger squirrel he had often dreamed about being a “super squirrel” that flew around the forest, from tree to tree, doing good deeds and fighting off the evil owls with his super powers.  But the urge he felt now to soar through the air was different from the wishful thinking of a childhood fantasy.  Parker felt that he had to fly.  He just had to.

He thought about why he wanted to fly so badly.  It was more than the fact that his new brother and sister could fly.  There was some important reason deep inside him that made him yearn to soar from tree to tree.  As time passed Parker met other squirrels in the forest and he knew very well by now that he was not a crow, so why couldn’t he just be content to be like the other squirrels and forget all about this nonsense of flying after all.  He thought that perhaps it was because he remembered what the owls had done to his mother and what they had done to those siblings from his new family that were taken before he even had a chance to meet them.  Perhaps now, he thought, he was just afraid and only wanted to fly so he could escape the danger of the owls.  Maybe he was just a coward.

The next night when Parker went to sleep he dreamed again of flying.  But there was something different about this dream.  In his dream Parker was not flying like the crows fly.  He didn’t flap his arms up and down like wings.  Instead he just glided and soared with no effort at all.  In this dream he could actually feel the wind flowing over his body as he glided from one tree to another.  When the sun came out and awakened him from his sleep, Parker couldn’t wait to try again.  This time when he jumped from the nest he would not flap his arms because, after all, arms aren’t wings are they?

Before anyone could stop him, Parker leaped from the nest.  He began to fall straight down, but instead of flapping his arms up and down, he stretched his arms and legs out as far as they would reach.  Then, suddenly something happened.  Instead of dropping to the ground with a painful thud, Parker started gliding.  He didn’t fly far enough to reach another tree, but he was able to glide to another branch on his own tree.  After recovering from his own surprise, he looked back to the nest and he saw his mother and brother and sister all standing on the edge of the nest with looks of amazement on their faces.  They were all calling out to him to try it again. This time, having learned what to expect, Parker glided all the way to the next tree.  After a few more tries, Mother Crow was flying right beside him.

One day Mamma Crow told him to follow her.  “Come with me,” she said.  “I want to show you something.”   And he followed her, gliding from tree to tree.  She led him to a new place, deeper into the woods than he had ever been.  Soon they arrived at a place in the forest that almost seemed enchanted.  He was very surprised to see that were lots of other squirrels gliding from tree to tree just like Parker.

“This is your new home,” said Mother Crow to Parker.  “You’re not just an ordinary squirrel, you know, you are a flying squirrel.”

Then she told him, “From the day I first adopted you I knew that you were special. But you had to discover by yourself who you really are.  Here in this place you can be safe and make friends of your own kind.”  After saying goodbye and wishing him well, she waved at him and, looking back one more time, she flew away.

Well, that is how Parker learned to fly and how he discovered who he really was.  After that he continued to live a very happy life with his new friends.  The owls never seemed to trouble him in this part of the woods.  But he never, ever, forgot about Mother Crow and the family that adopted him. Even to this day, Parker often stops by the nest with a mouthful of acorns and nuts.
copyright by Londis Carpenter
Word count: 2414 Views: 29
zen Sep 2018
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,

Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ******,   in the shambles of the moon,  
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in  favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
    behaved haughty and in disdain,  
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
                 to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
   roving like noble patrolsmen.

Traveleres and trainees at sea
   humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
           volatile and toiling,
           tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
     hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.

Hence the heroes heed
   to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
 seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
      in the murky shadows of doubt.
Annie Jan 2010
In the land of the practical
There lived an ornamental
A desert rose.
A farmers wife
Planted her
To break up
The graveled nap
Of gray caliche
And from the time
She pushed her first shoot up
She knew she
Didn’t look like
The other plants.

The land could not
Be farmed
There was no oil
So the farmer and his wife
Moved On
Leaving the rose alone
Amongst the desert cabbage
And the other wild succulents.

At first she tried
To blend
Curl her velvety leaves
Into a cabbage
Fodder
For the desert fauna
But the animals avoided her
Because she looked odd.
They worried that she was poisonous
So she crawled back
Underground.

But still she longed
For light on her face
So she stuck another shoot up
Conserving all her energy
For her stems
She didn't want to frighten anyone
But her stems grew thick and woodsy
Like a thorny fig vine
And after a hiker
Cut his leg
She curled up
And crawled underground.

Years passed
Until she was as frozen
As the ground
Then one day
She sensed movement
Above her.
She pushed a shoot up
And standing above her
Smiling
Was a young woman
- There you are
The woman cried
- Why are you hiding away
My grandmother told me
All About you.
You were the one bright spot
Of color in her garden
She could smell your perfume
From her window
And it reminded her that
Beauty could survive
Even in such
A drab place.

And the rose blossomed.
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Likewise, or
So flustered got her bewildered
About pins and needles

How could he the knock-wood
my piece quoting her,
Your my pin flower near
the pin Oaktree
Wishing upon me
The woodsy-star* riddle

Not very far they see the castle
Her sticky glued shut eyes

So delicately-pinned cries
Her pincushions like
pinwheel's of flower
He bloomed right in
Pinnochio the falling star
Trying to pick up her
jeweled pin but the
hardwood
hammered
him in
Pinnochio was left
there saddened  in
a bin
Like a mix up your
dukes up
What a fluke-prize
The gift came and went

The passionate
((Pin)) handshake
Handling with care
His wooden hand
I Pincurls she's the bay
fantasy night
land

The country-girl acts
So picky meeting
the right
heart positively
She feels she always
right so conceitedly
"I Charmed" repeatedly
At times jittery but Smitty
Any wood could talk
she knocks them pin pretty

The wood cradle of hay
What a pity she's born to
be witty
What a highboy she's
the tomboy why?

Not a Momma and
the Papas boy
Miss wooden chair
With her overall pants
Consider yourself corduroy
The woodsy Troy
He loved his
rocking horse
Met Jimetty cricket
That carved
*******, he sneaked
something Oliver twist
in his pocket

Perky pin of hats joy
Real McCoy but he's
the wooden boy

Gheppetto with his
wooden pipe Oh! Boy
The wooden
soldier boy
Cracking jokes
Nutcracker
marching
Woody Chuck is
quite the inspector

A house is not a home
Everyone smokes

Robin Hood
What a wooden hole of a
glitch for the gals so plastic
King Charles hunter
Mr.Geppetto needed a
miracle (Holy) thunder
Not a human on
facebook to wonder

Her X-husbands playing
X-infinity such activity
Picture zoom in
"Just Dream" of a
wooden dollhouse
Without your
spouse

Email or wifi
Legs were creaking
and Pinnochio say Hi
his nose was love-longing

The desk was
a bad omen flying
Inked pens and
Wood Chipping
The Woodpecker
Ancient wood heart
locket

His wooden head
wouldn't
fit into the socket

Woodcarved body
lines frame was
Eye pin curving and
stripping

The snoop dog
His paws got into
Pinocchio's puzzle
Hungry cry like a
Wolf Tie one on
Lie one con
Con one peeping Tom
Pinnochio his nose
is getting graphically
Longer Sherlock
  Magnifying nose
Like a calendar
  year whole pin
ball wizard
new nose longer
lucky 8 oddball months

She left his schoolboy
clothes on the wooden
hanger

Ringo met Pinnochio
They had something
in common the nose
has wisdom

Ghepetto and Giovanni
Battista looking for Julliete
loved classical she-devil
the cafe barista met her
Romeo

This wasn't the year
for a cup of the nose
Cappuccino
Go-Chopin he looks
frazzled
The Cook beef barley
soup

Pinned and looped me in
Her maple eyes to
  fit any tree
Her juices of bacon
Went timber chuckle
what was on his
wooden buckle
I pinned him

Pinnochio revival
Reversal or rehearsal
Get rid of the humans
Metaphyseal, things
So gray beyond any
sea cloud seal not real
If the wood could talk his
wooden rifle bang bang

Like a red white and
wood little boy blue
missile he sang
They were in school
time for dismissal
The wood is
productive

Christmas heart of light's
seductive
Flame on the fruit bowl
they weren't
watching the
Super Bowl

Strong bones with a
wood conscience
To have swooned into a
wood puzzle

  The damsel what distress
Like a hammer and nail
Buckled her smile
wood dress
They were nose long
For the devil in the
blue dress
Xmen Wolverine

The hard talker smooth
as a babies safety pin drop
Oakwood Knight
the lock opened the
****
Pinnochio looked
Like a shocking pink

Someone lied again
Her hairpin splinter
Pinnochio how he
got covered
All white flurries
star flakes of winter

Pour the milk with cornflakes
Watch out for Mr. Quaker Oats
The wolf eyes get to you
So timid to be starved

Like his fern another turn
of the century
The rim of the goblet
on the brim of time so
sublime banged his
wooden pencil
Italian art drawing
stitched stencil

But with hesitation wood
At its best the most clever
Was heavenly touched
by God like no other
Pinnochio has a heart
He carves a smile in you
You just feel him so true
This is another comedy and fantasy what I see forever clearly the world we so inspect we all heard the term knock on wood but making something so well
crafted it better be understood show you love for wood
CA Guilfoyle Oct 2012
Crush the painted pestle stained
of berries, purple, black
Liquid crimson geranium blood
red the paper sack
Gathering colors, lushly green
go shades of tan the water weeds
mixed upon a stone
Woodsy calls, her depths of fall
lone a painter's
home
John F McCullagh Apr 2013
He was not your average hermit,
he was not unkempt or *****.
He camped out in the woods of Maine
for years, now, nearly thirty.

He burgled food and propane tanks
when folks were not at home.
His carbon footprint was quite small
He didn’t even have a phone.

With a high school education,
He liked living off the land
He oft” shopped” at a summer camp
but was caught on security cam.

Finally they captured him
and put him in a cell.
Now with murderers and rapists
The hermit’s forced to dwell.

His distinctive “Woodsy” odor
Keeps them at bay, I swear.
This fugitive from Walden Pond is
smarter than the average bear.
The true story of the North Pond Hermit. He survived for 27 years in the North Woods of Maine, having dropped out of civilization at age 19 upon graduating from High school.
Kate Browning Mar 2012
Creased felines crossing lines,
Pressing claws into dust.
Western hemisphere,
Reviving the pilgrimage.

Bubbles and logs
Satiate their under garments.
Enhancing hair follicles
Resembling shards and spurs.

At a woodsy bar,
A tabby liberated the fangs
He rented last holiday.
The bartender shook with perplexity.

Reacting simultaneously-
A minor character, Little Leon.
The dusty town called him
Leon, for he was alone.

Little Leon got taller
In a basement full
Of water. The dusty town
Was an adjustment.

The tabby and Little Leon
Faced off for recognition.
Leon wretchedly charged
The floor boards with sopping ends.

Crayon versus colored pencil;
They chose their weapons
Anxiously.  It was
Bring your son to work day.

The bent bartender
Spared his child’s eyes.
“I’m not your little boy,”
The child shrilled at him.

“I don’t want trains,
Or fake guns meant for play.
I miss my mom,
And dresses on Sunday.”

Cats on a pilgrimage,
Rarely stop from
Slurping a drink. Pity refilled
Cups, as tails twitched in trial.

The tabby and Leon
Came to a halt, seeing as
Punishment was engraved atop
The bartender’s grungy mitts.

The clowder gathered,
As the Tabby scolded the man
Behind the bar. “Remember where
you leave your beverage.”

And that was that.

Leon’s internal complexity,
Being left with only himself,
Dissipated. There are others
Who feel more alone.

Tabby picked up his crayon.
His spurs clanked
And spun, as his guided
His feline friends out the front.

Tumbleweed skidded
Outside the bar.
The bartender finally saw
That his son was not a son.
(...)
It is perhaps this association between birth and beginning each school year which led me to respect knowledge. The entire month of August tends to fly by, unnoticed, in anticipation of the day I see children forced back into ill-ventilated buildings to emulsify themselves in education, for knowledge. Knowledge, that Moloch of an idea! Hobbies, interests and Summertime activities were heaped on flaming tongues with words in order to illustrate their ultimate insignificance. We hoped to bring out the blessing of wisdom from its mouth. “What matters is the coming Winter, not the frivolous activities of undisciplined youths.” It is as if the leaves of every tree were humanity's hair, and August had pulled back every strand to blow the woodsy breath of Autumn smoke into life’s ear. "You won't be this way forever." I am yet seduced by Fall’s cryptic murmurings and led to believe in endless, Halcyon flight. With arms draped around us from behind, knowledge draws me into oblivion, with unlabeled memories and I throw my desires into Moloch’s mouth. Now that I am burning, my self is the voice of this demigod. My birth certificate is my body, holding a memory to be inscribed on some later form beside some other numbers. Life has only so many Decembers.
(...)
MMXII
This is a paragraph from a new project of mine.
It had an overwhelmingly poetic feel, so I'm posting it here.
Cassidy Shoop Feb 2015
You are a guitar
and its woodsy scent
when it has never been played.

You are the forest
as background to a storm,
car windows down
and no sound but the glass
cutting the wind in half
and the pounding in our chests.

You are summer at 3am
when sleep is unnecessary
and the stars are most vulnerable.

You are the scent
of
cedar
and rain
and home.
HerInMyHeart Aug 2015
Sweet aromas of outdoor woodsy scents
By a fire we sit, in such sweet embrace
And the love that we share is heaven sent
In the night veils low, the stars interlace.

Our simple country style, life is so sweet
My darling love, I love your gentle touch
Our every single kiss, is a real treat
Those loving kisses that we love so much

Fireflies join us, in our night of romance
There neon glow, while loving each other
We realized it was love at our first glance
You’re my one true love, there’s no another

Soft sweet woodsy scents, for us to adore
We kiss lovingly, who could ask for more.
melancholy moon Oct 2013
The star-crossed lovers prepared for a mountain hike.
"We're gonna climb and join the others," they said.
And up the hill they went.

There weren't many obstacles in the beginning;
just time for the two to blaze through the trees
and take a moment to revel in the woodsy scent.

It went on like this for a very brief period of time,
but then the tests began.
No water had been spotted since the first lake,
the one they thought they wouldn't need at the start.
One yelled at the other for failing to remember
to bring the all-important first aid kit.
Even then, they kept trekking on.

As they neared the mountain's peak,
each step got a little steeper,
more inclined towards an unrevealed truth.
They would stumble upon a bear or two
and have to pull each other along to survive.
Their feet and hands innately knew where to go
when giving the other strength to run away and live.

Being chased up the mountain began to feel less frightening,
and more like running towards the truth they unknowingly desired.
The final point was reached one day.

"We've reached it, universe. Now let us be among the stars."
Not one sound in response.
"We would like to become light as they have."

And at that moment, the universe spoke its truth.

"You believe that people climb all this way
only for me to turn them into something?
Heavens no, darlings! The answers lie within the journey.
That is where lovers become light.
Your bond is like electricity and together you burn brighter
after helping each other in the moments your lights turned off.
You radiate a glow so brilliant
that it reflects back upon my pitch-black canvas.
My nighttime skies house the stars that you have become.
I have created no such light;
the stars are birthed from you during the climb."

-mp
JL Dec 2012
She took a moment to pause and ponder
one lonesome, dreary night
the consequences of her untimely death
that would end a hidden plight

One that had interlaced itself in her a while ago
that she had forced to silence and lull
but that enlivens itself at times like these
when she is feeling awfully dull

And so the shadow had visited her again that somber night
and in her, it forced her to see
the careful steps to her self-planned death
had she chosen to agree

It asked her, "Do you believe anyone would care?"
and to that she murmured, "Maybe."
In her head appeared images of remorseful Facebook posts
like those sent to a deceased boy in the same class as she

"But the frequency of those posts would decline," it said,
"as the topic of your death no longer became a care.
No one would mourn for your soul anymore,
and no one would shed a tear."

"Your friends will move on with their lives in time,
your family will eventually cope.
Your lover will find another love,
one not filled with forlorn hope."

"So take that thick rope into your hand," it urged,
"or those colorful pills in the bathroom drawer
and if you do it correctly and succeed
perhaps you'll be found dead on the carpet floor."

This shadow, while it still talked like an eager villain
no longer made a sound
She found she could quiet its menacing voice
with faint memories of happiness that she found

Of sunlight after a burst of rainfall
the woodsy scent of a winter breeze
morning grass speckled with dew
long streets in the fall adorned with golden leaves

Of family dinners gathered around the table
witty remarks and laughter shared with friends
quiet moments spent with her dearest, her lover
and his warm clasp around her hands

This shadow looked on in disgust
and bid her a sour farewell
as it shrunk itself in her yet again
and her dismal unease quelled.
We met up at dobra tea.
Both our bodies were too long
For the tiny tables.
But we loved the atmosphere too much to care.
"I might have stalked you a little bit" she says
Handing me a slip of paper.
"I may have also read your poetry."
It's a poem about what beverage she would be.
I neatly fold it up and hand it back.
"It's perfect."
"Keep it" she says.
"Keep it?"
"Yeah, don't make it weird just keep it."
~~~
The beautiful woman now sits between myself and a bridge.
There is a bike path leading underneath towards the sun.
A guard rail separates us from the
Ocean and seaweed below.

All the trinkets in my pockets
Have been emptied onto the rocks beside me
So as I not hurt myself attempting to conceal them.
We sit against the guard rail holding hands.
"My mom doesn't let me show my sisters pokemon.
Because of evolution.
She's one of those super christians." She says.

"I'm an atheist
But every thing I've ever prayed for has come true.
So, I don't know anymore."

She sits on the guardrail and my head leans against her thigh.
Her fingers run through my hair.

There are so many things I want, that I can't have.
This get's typed into my phone and tucked away like a secret.
"Sorry" I say, and stand up, facing her.

Her forehead leans into my chest.
My arms hold her as I stare into the ocean.

"I have a song stuck in my head" she says.
"Sing it for me."
"I don't know the whole song"
"Sing the part you know"
"Well I only know one line and it's weird."
"Sing the one line, I don't care how awkward it is, I wanna hear it"

"Maybe I'm only in love when you wake me up."

"You didn't tell me you were a GOOD singer."

She reaches for my neck.

"What's your necklace mean?
Well it's the game of thrones martel sigil
People think it's for the show.
But it's for my ex's daughter...
A tattoo was a bad idea,
I can eventually get rid of a necklace."

We notice the sun setting and decide to check it out
As we get up and start walking,
I start to sing.
"I've never been the one to win it all."
~~~
I swing around a lampost and walk to the metal fence at my right.
I stare awhile at the sunset before
Crawling up the slanted wall to my left and sitting up top.
I scribble a note on the wall.
It reads:

"Dear god: please let me kiss her, Amen."

The beautiful creature still stands at the bottom of the ledge.

"You aren't allowed to say i'm a good singer when you sound like that." She says.
"It's like watching a live music video."

I run down and hold her against the metal fence
Our lips dare each other to inch closer.
She pushes her forehead into mine.

"What'd you write?"
She asks.
"It's not for you.
If you want to read it you have to climb up there and find it."

"Ooh you ***."
She crawls up the wall and searches.
"Where is it?"
"That's the fun, you gotta find it."
She finds it.
"This handwriting is awful.
I literally can't read it."
"I didn't want you too."
The sun sets and it's finally dark.
"Think it's dark enough to climb that building?"
~~~
We trek back through the woodsy path
It's pitch black and terrifying.
"We're gonna get eaten by cannibals"
"There's cannibals in maine?"
"There are in this particular part of maine."
We get to the school and start stacking milkcrates like a staircase.
She puts a wooden pallet against the milkcrates
Propping them against the wall.
"You're brilliant."
"I have good ideas sometimes" she says.
Testing the water my feet scale the landmark.
Then come down to support it
While the lady goes up.
After she's safe I follow her.
Adrenaline hits us.
"We're on a freaking roof right now."
"Are we going to fall in?"
"Is there like a trick to walking on rooftops?"
My body plops down and looks at the sky.
"Oh my god...
Please look at the stars with me "
She lays next to me.
"You know how I've been saying I've been transforming a lot of good little ****** girls
Into blood lusting sirens as of late?" She says.
"Yeah."
"I'm starting to think it's not just girls."
"Can I say something cute?
Or would that make things harder?" I ask.
"Say it."
Her breath is sweet.
You have the body of the most gorgeous woman I've ever slept with.
The personality of the woman I fell in love with
The dorkiness of my first high school girlfriend.
The eagerness to get to know me of someone new.
After my ex left me I said I would never love again.
I've been having tons of meaningless ***
Striving for company.
Greif ******* my feelings away
But you.
I'd buy a ******* house with you.

She kisses me.
"Why do you have to be so perfect?" She sobs.
We stay like this.
She moans and wiggles.
We hold our bodies together.
You wanna know what that note on the rocks said?" I ask.
"Yes."
I tell her.
"I'm a terrible wife." She says.
"And I'm a terrible atheist."
A L Davies Sep 2011
"who taught you to look so good?!"
says a thought *[shot]
in the dark.
--- this to no woman in particular but to
all womankind i suppose.
outside there is a dog haranguing me,
saying WOOF (that is, "where d'you get those old clothes?")
i tell him the sally ann but good luck
getting in there, dog . . . he takes off, complaining ---
but i pay no attention to the bellyaching of an old mutt...
"nay," says i there's not a ******
thing of any real importance in this
universal dustbin/save the dharma.

yea i could live in a woodsy cabin
deep down a valley-ay shoutin' "HOOO-EE!!" out the open door
to anyone who comes by and
be thought a crazy young ('ventually old) ******
off his rocker in the trees.
--- and why not!!
chop logs/cook bread 'n brew potsa tea
'n otherwise lead a silent but meaningful old existence
out there with weekend friends/girls/wine/talk.

--- tell all that to a bookish pal
who scoffs:
"some dharmy of yours, boy. all that work.
where are the café sittings & sunny youthy days of
readin' sutras on a lawn somewhere?"

"bah," i says. *"bah..."
la fôret: ca c'est ma dharma
Hollie Stutzman Feb 2013
Chirphead Cedarson's grave
    simple as it was
        two damp branches
        held together by
        John C. Rhoades' own twine
was just one foot deep

Stiff in Nature's Valley box
    asleep, I could have thought
Small feathered body
    slammed against a Supreme frozen window
Reflection of endless landscapes
          perfect for practicing new wings
    deceived Chirphead
    to demise

Woodsy first found him
    melted snowflakes
    coated the body like April dew
                                                 [for little birds, even unmoving, remind me
                                            of spring]

Four of us [strangers most]
    stood 'round this gaping grave
                                         a wormhole to the underworld
    giggling through made-up confessions
        Chirp on playa'
        I didn't know you well
        What's a bird to do if He'll never be a gangsta'?
Four Sorry's who've never lived mortality
    just addictions
    depressions
    o(re)pressions
        leading to he'said-she-said's
        never knew my Daddy's dead
        Momma never tucked me into bed

Where's our heads?
Four Sorry's smiling over Chirphead's grave


Sean shoveled dark dirt
    back into tiny tomb
First scoop over the granola cardboard
        sounded like
        one-thousand
        baby birds
        hitting glass
        like bulletts

Felt funny to smile,then

But a breath of crisp mountain air
    fog rolling over distant trees
    thoughts of
        fresh coffee
        cracking fire
        one-eyed snowmen
Gave my conscience a most comforting
    ignorant
    Hug
Sam Temple Oct 2015
hyped blood moon leaves me longing
no doom, no massive uprising
just another day
so many times the end of humanity
has reared its head
only to falter
when the day actually comes along
who among us remembers Elenin –
it is only through the revisiting of ancient ways
that we stand to exist beyond the horizon
returning to experiencing oneness with the natural world
as a part of instead of a steward too or protector therein
Carlin calls it ego, but I think stupidity
holds humanity at sway
thinking less pollution can somehow fix the Pacific
except fallout has been a part of that sea
since the late 1940’s –
no one looks to the Lorax
or even Woodsy the Owl
instead focusing on the little green head
on dollar bills…
pill popping beer swillers killing the planet
while claiming to be the smartest and greatest nation..
my patience is running out –
doubtful change can happen through human interaction
I wait for the earth to rid itself of this virus
massive tectonic upheaval
super storms
lice….
we all gonna die,
and it will be all our fault –
Natures timepiece resets
mental alarm clocks and
washes away the hassles
of the daily grind.
Woken up by a well blended
mixture of clamor and quietude
with various birds chirping,
running water,
crackling embers,
wombats mating
and groans made by the
chemically inconvenienced
from a site nearby.
Insects fly overhead an
unorthodox patterns
as you unzip the door
of your mesh enclosure
and step out into the
inhospitable environment.
Pressed coffee to chase
the bacon and eggs
as you gourmandize
that over the fire,
cast iron skillet
morning breakfast.  
Commence to mysterious exploits
without one second of the day to waste
down heavily wooded trails
in search for introspection
and tranquility.
Uncultivated areas where
diligent stalwarts build dams,
antlers gallop through the
pulp and sapling
while woodland creatures,
whimsical and carefree,
play and sing songs
of the jovial jungle
until the birds of the wild
pounce upon their prey
as they become a tasting menu item
for the predatory aggressors
in the vicious circle
of nature's goodness.
Sun droplets peek
behind the seedlings
and you take a breath of fresh air
as you decrease depression
and obliterate anxiety.
Compass navigates
as you hike through
the rocky regions of the greenery
where you settle down to
eat your sandwich,
sip your thermos of soup,
wild berries for dessert
and wash it down with
a refreshing drink from
the natural flowing rivers
where ducklings defecate
and fish ****.
Perched up on a rock
in the highlands,
still on this quest for
self meditation,
you survey the terrain
and observe a family tipping
an overweighted, unbalanced
canoe on the river,
rambunctious ruffians
going white water rafting
in the vast rapids and
drink firewater with the natives
until they puke from overindulgence,
a lovely couple not in sync
with their oar rowing skills
on the lake,
children burn bugs
with magnifying glasses and
sneaking smores before
healthy campfire dinners arrive.
Day breaks into dusk and
dusk into night
with vivid colors and lucid dreams.
Scowling eyes peer through
the woodsy inhabitant
with curious and suspicious
idiosyncrasies as you trekked
through the wilderness
towards the bivouac
to start the nightly campfire,
submerge in repellent
and prepare your opulent hobo banquet. Twisting the cap off the first of twelve,
vital force fills to the brim
with reflection and clarity
of existentialism.
The birds have it good.
The wombats have it good.
The stalwarts have it good.
The antlers have it good.
The predatory aggressors have it good.
The families, the ruffians, that lovely couple, the children, even the burnt bugs have it good.
But you.....
you are like the woodland creatures,
you too play and sing songs,
twisting off cap after cap
until the Monday morning
manpower surfaces to the top,
like a volcanic eruption of plutonic rock
and the predatory aggressors
of labor force swoop down
and devour you without mercy
or an ounce of hesitation.
Under the silver moonlit night,
***** of fire burn brightly
in the purple hazed skies,
through the whistling treetops,
the forest ghouls dance like
demons and politicians
(essentially the same thing),
hallucinations of shadow people
appearing and disappearing
through the flames of the fire
stare wide eyed with painted faces.
Surrounded by a midden of empty bottles, you're wet brain slips
in and out of alcohol induced comas
and a beer blanket softly nestles you in
as you hold a lit cigarette in one hand
and half a bottle of Dutch milk
in the other like teddy bear,
your eyes fall into sedation....
Jolted awake like a thunderbolt,
eyes go from closed to open immediately
and chemically inconvenienced
state of being groans in
agonizing pains
just like the ones you heard
the morning before.
Tea May 2013
Heavy lids blanket over lenses I see
The world through
Captured light and movement
Moving me through the soothing day
Laugh and play
Climbing hiking and woodsy earthy smell
Distracting from the hell
That is
Your sickness
Even through pure bliss
I can’t miss
The tortured sad feeling I get
When I come to see you
exhausted , tired eyes begin to cry
Sleep finally takes me
Addison Young Jan 2016
The rain pitter-patters the roof above, and I roll into your warm embrace.
The smell of coffee awakens my senses.
I'm all eyes, ears, and touch as your body molds to fit my own.
Your head nuzzled into my neck makes my brain go fuzzy, and reminds me of the cardigan you always wrapped me in when the cold would chill my bones.
The city is alive.
And we are free.
Free to roam, to wander, to shout to the heavens about the love we are experiencing.
Time and time again, lives fly by like chapters in a novel, and all we can do is sit and wonder.
Wonder and mumble "I love you's", over central park people watching, and night time cab rides to the bridge where we say we'll jump, but never do.
And so, I'll open up, and fill myself with your breath,
and your woodsy scent,
and I'll ponder and run over the words in my head.
Debating whether or not to tell you how much you've impacted my
mind
body
and soul.
You've infected my mind with your voice, and your fingers trace my spine, like the spine of your guitar.
And you'll play me until I'm sound asleep.
And in the morning... the song remains the same.
I love you
Amanda rodeiro Dec 2014
I will wear you until the threads begin twiddling into former ghosts of themselves.

The last wooly remnants still slightly smell like your woodsy scent and that’s why I don’t go camping anymore.

It’s not because I hate the thought of you but I’ve Always hated kicking someone down when they’re just beginning to get back up and the thought of you does that to me.

The memory of that truck doused in flames on the way to Washington remains in my overworked brain still. The smell of burnt, charcoaled tires and metal prominent in the chilly December air. I never feared fire until I put myself in the shoes of that lonesome truck driver and that was the night I wanted to try dying a little as an attempt to get closer to you.

You see it’s not death that paralyzes my emotions and sends me into a numb, fearful state. The thought of regrets and things left unsaid with people, that didn’t understand what I was going through at the time is what gets my anxiety pumping.
Oh, why do I wear this sweater despite the warmth outside? To thaw the frost surrounding my heart
ALesiach Jul 2019
One golden August day
Walking along the narrow lane

With ice cream pail in hand
Over the lush woodsy land

Looking for brambles of blackberries
Thirsting for their sweet juice in my belly

And nature's kindness does bestow
Along the lane unhindered they grow

Blackberries hang swollen on their vines
The first one a sweet addictive wine

Soon forgotten are the thorns
Each berry its own delectable reward

ALesiach © 07/26/2019
Eric Jul 2019
Smokey tender , woodsy splendor with a deep aroma of earthly greens , sense of taste melts,
Fades away ice caps and stone cold as snow
Thrown through the valleys of homes given the silence of the unknown, stresses away to different water ways , to come to a city at Bay . full of motion with winds blowing in the coasts , it's not for the faint of heart. it'll get dark and movement becomes scarce . Evil energy is dispersed in many ways . Faint smell of acholic dwelling upon the sense of disparity , and stress where care was no longer the fair . Over there where a bench meets the public , a few have sat and thought of a different city beyond what was seen to be the worst part of life , it's demeanor being lost and unforgiving as these lines are wrote for a different art . But seeing a different start .
ej Mar 2016
I love you and your voice and
Your music and I wish you'd
Embrace your talent and your
Skill with change

If I could cut through the miles I
Would, if I could find a way to
Help us both I would, if I could
Find a way to get you here I would

I'm building a garden and a haven and
I want to replicate the beauty I felt last
Spring, a year ago, pulling off that
Woodsy Bohemian Highway

We're so similar I'm scared to speak,
I was living a mistake, killing myself
By the fireside, and all the while I was
Petrified

I've found a light since then and I'm
Hoping we can speak again
I've been thinking too much
Robin Carretti May 2018
We need more patience
Excitement
An array of food eludes
Prelude to a kiss
At his glance
Strawberry of love
essence

Earthly food cleanser
rinse
Better planning
The host appetizers
Little bites big mouths
Love commanding
Kiss worth
Still crying at birth
Food date
masquerading__

So much posting
postprandial
She is cordial
somnolence.

Your best foods in
France

Love and marriage petit four

The finest ingredients
La pour

Marriage to be obedient

"Patience is a Virtue"

Like a Professor of food,
it's so deliciously

She's the artist melts
and blends
artsy fruity deviant

"Painting the Marriage"
what colors
would you use?

Everything alive
The fruit stays fresh
Changes after awhile
Like your marble tile
The fruit that once was
Big teeth smile
Now got slightly
bruised
and you threw it

Kinda shabby chic used
A love sometimes
not to digest
So spoiled like a pest

A + love so valent.

Like a science within us,
food so good
is desirable
Woodsy Robin Hood

Rich man poor man
Marriages hit the fan
But food talent.
So Lucent
With delicate style
of patience
Our Galley Kitchen Spices

He's like the tycoon of
the magnet

Your eyes sleepy
"Racoon"

Like a magnification of love

He's the Baron with the
richest herd

of sheep's

Your digestion tryptophan

Roses all over the quilts
"I love you"

Being a sweet potato
your marriage

Gold ticket of casserole's
winner lotto

Food significant
deep thought

like the movie role
you're finished

Science the anatomy
perished

The apples of
cider spiced
chilled

More advice
"Applique"
how it's written

is it true?
Or mystique with
magnification

Hot food steams
like a furnace,
different

flavors of taste
The smells come
Strong with intensity

What marriages like
demolition of guilty
breakdown
Breakdown of food less fat
and the right calories

Art shows vibrant galleries
She is cooking up a storm
In her Galley
There she is racing
Mrs.Mustang Sally
Accountant of food
Mr. Tally or Dr. Love
Dr. Who competition
Who knew

Antique art Risque
So divine
things hold low down

He's looking up traffic
moves with shapes
Graphic
The pears divine
Apple pink lady tree
It groves like a
Honeybee how it
(Stings) with mystery
The history of historical cars
Bentleys don't break
my Brooklyn bridges
Variety page of
food mixed
with
Clarrisa & Chutney

But the stars just stay so
Movie Robert Downey
"City of Soho"
**-Oh! No

Marriages come and Divorce's
that once were

Those frequent traveler
to "Rome"
once bare he sees me
there

You breathe out to take another
breath help me

Who is out there to listen

We need to light up
Eiffel Tower to glisten

All you see are new
births to
have and to hold

Everything feels out
of touch but the food is hot

But it's like the time of
depression shot

You keep shredding
more tears still

eating jolly the fine bites
of "Holly"
Jolly Mustang Sally
Parrot Miss Polly
Marriages of food diary
Zen of Topiary
Love to be kissed
with food for thought
Nothing more than love
Cook workout to be sought

Those abdominal crunches
no belly

Apple sparling Sipp
Organic

More marriages built
with love gigantic
Ships for lovers
Titanic

Love became an
assignment

Your quite the product
so regimented

An exotic smell
women's scent
The sense of
Realism present
The soul our heart
Prism
Another soul takes over
Food of empowerment
to address in the kingdom
Wat too much food wasted
And the war goes on with
terrorism
Our futurism
More food and strength
to build this world
Again at birth

Radiating and sparkling food will always be
Energy ;ike no other striking
Fruit for the soul and Marriages what could I say?We need more control the food is our spice of life. Enjoy your happiness the soul of Godliness
Biko came down from heaven
brought a message from Jesus to impart

the sun comes up every morning in full view of the day
one must be humble enough to bow the knee to pray

I'm a messenger from the most high God
as a beacon of like to a hurting world in need of love

Harken onto me dear woodsmen in your strife
I'll draw waters from heaven for you to quench your thirst

for I was hear with the Timber Wolf basking in nature's sway
fill my beak with fallen residue that fall from ivy dew

Come bask in the vast expanse between space & time
we are all chosen for a purpose from a grand design
I      
                  where has this happened before?
                    leave your shoes on at the door.

at the beginning
my lips were cold,
smothered down by an impending hold.
too scared to sing a song,
wouldn’t dream to sing along.
come dress up with me
take me outside
and dangle me over
your favorite waterfall.
i will drink from its rays
until they freeze up my pipes
and you fix them for me
without being asked.

                                                behind the sky
                                                 is your house
                         and you invite me every day

II

but i will never visit you
because you are not really here
and your soggy smile
gets me upset.
by coincidence we made a bet
that was intangible for you.
although i should confess, Father,
even before the time capsule
cell eroded to the surface
and laid the past out as a hostage.

                                         i never felt for you.
                                          i never liked you.
                                          i hate to admit it,
                                        i always lied to you.
                                        get away from you.
                                         get away from me.
                                           don’t come back
                                       until i can come back.
                                     i know it’s ******* you
                                  but it’s crushing me whole
                                 and now i’m blowing away
                                              and the holes
                                                   in the net
                                      are too big to catch me.

III

some days we can make it a game.
some days we microscope our pain.
wrap it up like bday presents
show it off like the pretty pheasants.

no that's a peacock
the boys are pretty
will i be pretty?

even though
it feels ******

i want to move somewhere woodsy
but i can’t go alone, oh
turn up the boom box
        so it drowns out the
SCREAM
                 ING
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Two I apple they split not to sit ***-light lit
              Ms.Viviette by-set
              Her heart age-set
              A whole sip mug-wet

She is working on her salvation the whole-love
ready -set
The mission right body flow 2 beat-heat
the heart fit
Smiles a bit a mysterious ((AppleJack))
Wholeheartedly--------*
Comeback playing the Violin teacher's pet
The apple a day he was not amused
Didn't light my heart fuse

That weak heart 1/2 the right spot,
the heart love cure another shot
My whole life he deserted me red-tangy tea
That Madame Curie how she pleads
My heart stopped the Island he was falling
out of my coconut hands

How I smothered his love hands
On the Bali Hut, I felt smashed by his lips
of Applesauce scrumptious pork roast on
the internet hearts was the post
Hearts of the earthquake trembler

Biting the Apple
but what is____?
Inside the heart Sobriquet
The flower floret evergreen apple
Made her heart  selling her soul out
The intenseness of drinking
Cabernet Sauvignon In France
Mediterranian tropics
Louis Vuitton
Heart tripping sandals
In Italy, he read her heart waist handles
poem sonnet but his heart was
stronger and more of a fret

The heart of soul came with his challenge
The whole in his head like bullhorns
My hill-halfway their body
was torn my heart was spinning
my whole right side felt like a baby born
Nonstop crying she felt so high like a
banana split no timeshare
Not to share my heart
New York token of love fair

Not the whole heart of truth
Glory the half of the stick don't you
hate eating chocolate crunch muscles
Of the  barmen from  way out in Mars
All my heart stickers the best times
of my star was gone
Hearts Gym he wouldn't give one flicker
  The half timeout what a showdown
2- hearts almost shut down

Tasting his stick so woodsy
The trees were talking topsy-turvy
Please take some heart I'm curvier
My dreams have no demeanor
Putting 1/2 of an eyeliner I am not finished in
Angelic nymphs on my ceiling
   The bathroom hearts were dripping
My lips got separate like they
ran away walking I was curved
Last heart to play Atlantic City
We saw them again (Rodeway) fresh
**** wasn't so pretty the parade day
What an odd pair of card pitiful
Their bizarre smiles
21/2 heart shaped pills I'm home at last
My whole watermelon those black pits
she so lazy
always on her computer what a putz
He is the heartless man
of the felon, not the fancy hotel
of the Ritz Carlton
Having a girly blast

I phone lanes they won't last
Louis Lane Superhighway
Men met Evil Stan
The armory like the
American Band Stand
Singing hearts got a low hand
Burning fires surgery heart
The whole road hearts
were dripping coffee relapsing
But inseparable screws out,
Rocky road ice cream hugging
I see someone falling asleep
Hearts on the job line
You will get fired out ruled
There will be no time to be mine

Yummy body measurable
Love Doves*

Equally 2 planes,
meeting together
distance
Equal lush resistance
½ creature ******
Her better half is ****** pleasure
his be heart plate
Two loves hear pancakes syrup lightly
Seduced heart’s fit tightly
The other side needs, balance 2 guided

We're two loves, heart divided?
Gothic kiss darkens the doves
Two half’s of hearts, infinite flame
Red heart cheating, hot rod game
Uncertainty Guilty reassurance

Love handholds, heart allegiance
This is  all about people that have hearts so whoever doesn't you can go to another station  the love the pain something so heartless or be a heart and start over fresh we love the fresh smell of grass and champagne is waiting so please stay let us have fun our own way
ej Apr 2016
I love you and your voice and
Your music and I wish you'd
Embrace your talent and your
Skill with change

If I could cut through the miles I
Would, if I could find a way to
Help us both I would, if I could
Find a way to get you here I would

I'm building a garden and a haven and
I want to emulate the beauty I felt last
Spring, a year ago, pulling off that
Woodsy Bohemian Highway

We're so similar I'm scared to speak,
I was living a mistake, killing myself
By the fireside, and all the while I was
Petrified, cradled in the arms of a murderer

I've found a light since then and I'm
Hoping we can speak again

///

I don't know what's wrong with me,
What does God want from me?
So I can be perfect and funny once
Again, youth restored, safe so my
Heart isn't bored

Drenched in despair,
I've already been replaced -
I watched it happen, day by day,
And I can't help but hate
That which is better than I am

I need an escape and a place
I can run to because this town
Isn't my home anymore;
These aren't my friends anymore

///

It was the same yesterday
And today and tomorrow
And I'm praying for a change
But abandonment is the solution
I don't want to accept

By the end of the day and the sun is
High I find myself forgotten by
Those whom I love and I begin to
Feel that heat in my chest

I run home like a child pushed to breaking,
Hands tense and clutching denim,
Breaths forced because breathing is hard

Praying for change, denying what I
Know is true, I need to
Escape these echoes
slam poem 2016
Robin Carretti May 2018
Or pardon me
Floridian traded
the palm trees

Shopping site for
Psychic cards
Sprees
Thousands
Palm reader
Thieves
Let's hear it 4 the
cowboys

Happy guards
Gypsies and Tramps
Cher turning back
I got you, babe_*

The thieves got
down on their
knees he
could steal
anyone's loot
Oh! Dear
The terms of
endearment
It's her the
Owl **** Hoot
A kick off the western
frontier
Boot
Gypsy hut of the
parliament
Dreamy-Eclairs
Foreign love tears
She reads my palms
What did she leave out

The lip of numbers
to pout on
(Tumblr)
He is carrying on
Nose of the snout
She is left
Mean
**** and boots
Antonio
Bean sprouts

New siblings
The bashful wall
Her hands
I cannot believe
he buttered her
I am feeling
all butchered
Transfiguration
What an
abomination
Still bashful
wallflower

Bell tower
no time
for a new
President
climbing
the Trump
Tower

Woodsy Natalie
Gypsy Rose Lee
Got all  buttered
by the
Popcorn colonel
Those bitcoins
Lions and Tigers and
the bears

Hug those handles
Palm me riders
of the storm
Somehow he
College
Dorm get testy
with my right
arm
they alarm me
Eyes African Violet
Compare to Elizabeth
So go Taylor another
Swift emerging gift
Pour some sugar on me
Palm me quick
We are the Gypsies
We need your paws
instead of our hand
Alaskan Huskies
We love you

"Brittish bitcoins"
March out lions
__

This is a cute poem about palm readers and (HUSKIES) I just love so much

— The End —