emma-matson - Hello Poetry

One day I went to the river where it rolls through the land like a steam engine. Summer breezes blew through the open meadows tossing my hair. I walked barefoot to the water shouldering a backpack, hands in my pockets. I took a full breath. Then another. I went there each day to connect with the earth. It was my heaven and the path was lined with wildflowers. There was Lupine, who was purple-petaled and geometrically pleasing, and whose fruit's a legume in the fall. There was Ceanothus, a shiny-leafed-shrub with sweet smelling pastel-blue inflorescences. Then there was the most majestic of all, Yarrow. Achilea milefolium, to the botanist. A perennial herb in the sunflower family that grew nearly everywhere. Stalky clusters of tiny white flowers rested atop a firm stem growing delicate fern-like leaves. It's floral aroma so fresh it made my mouth salivate. At the time all I could've said about it was that it was white and smelled nice. I was no herbalist, but I had an open heart. My mind knew that there were healing properties of some plants and poison in others. I was raised here among the rock and snow. I knew that it was never the same water but the same river that swirled by. My skin was used to being bruised, splintered, or scraped up, being a recreational explorer. I stopped carrying a first aid kit everywhere. I would heal. It was a usual day. Gone to the river for a dip. I swiftly dove off the rock into the turquoise current. My frustration and confusion washed away. I got out with all the usual symptoms of a glacial swim: heaving lungs, elevated heart rate, shivering, and crystal- clear vision. But this day an unusual symptom of fresh blood dripped from my pointer finger. I looked around in each direction, I was near a thicket of willow and poplar, patches of brown grasses, and blossoming yarrow. Instinct took over. I went for the flower. I ripped off a leaf and chewed it up, it was bright and bitter. I spit it out and applied to my cut with pressure. It didn't sting like rubbing alcohol. It just stopped the bleeding within seconds. I let the poultice stay on as long as possible. This one was a friendly plant. Yarrow waved at me "You're welcome, it's time we met."

0

Dec 16, 2020

Dec 16, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC

wildflower

One day I went to the river where it rolls through the land like a steam engine. Summer breezes blew through the open meadows tossing my hair. I walked barefoot to the water shouldering a backpack, hands in my pockets. I took a full breath. Then another. I went there each day to connect with the earth. It was my heaven and the path was lined with wildflowers. There was Lupine, who was purple-petaled and geometrically pleasing, and whose fruit's a legume in the fall. There was Ceanothus, a shiny-leafed-shrub with sweet smelling pastel-blue inflorescences. Then there was the most majestic of all, Yarrow. Achilea milefolium, to the botanist. A perennial herb in the sunflower family that grew nearly everywhere. Stalky clusters of tiny white flowers rested atop a firm stem growing delicate fern-like leaves. It's floral aroma so fresh it made my mouth salivate. At the time all I could've said about it was that it was white and smelled nice. I was no herbalist, but I had an open heart. My mind knew that there were healing properties of some plants and poison in others. I was raised here among the rock and snow. I knew that it was never the same water but the same river that swirled by. My skin was used to being bruised, splintered, or scraped up, being a recreational explorer. I stopped carrying a first aid kit everywhere. I would heal. It was a usual day. Gone to the river for a dip. I swiftly dove off the rock into the turquoise current. My frustration and confusion washed away. I got out with all the usual symptoms of a glacial swim: heaving lungs, elevated heart rate, shivering, and crystal- clear vision. But this day an unusual symptom of fresh blood dripped from my pointer finger. I looked around in each direction, I was near a thicket of willow and poplar, patches of brown grasses, and blossoming yarrow. Instinct took over. I went for the flower. I ripped off a leaf and chewed it up, it was bright and bitter. I spit it out and applied to my cut with pressure. It didn't sting like rubbing alcohol. It just stopped the bleeding within seconds. I let the poultice stay on as long as possible. This one was a friendly plant. Yarrow waved at me "You're welcome, it's time we met."

55

There comes a time when you are vessel that only contains darkness. Once you are filled, you must break and those cracks are how the light gets in

0

Dec 8, 2014

Dec 8, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC

how the light gets in

There comes a time when you are vessel that only contains darkness. Once you are filled, you must break and those cracks are how the light gets in

3

my dad once told me that if you tip your head back your tears wont spill down your face so i spent the whole day looking at the clouds

0

Mar 19, 2014

Mar 19, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC

remedy

my dad once told me that if you tip your head back your tears wont spill down your face so i spent the whole day looking at the clouds

2

promise me you'll stay wild promise me that the rivers will always flow through your veins and your spine will always be the mountains you lived in for so long promise me the hard streets of the city wont take away your love for the sunrise or the way the lakes reflection was almost as perfect as the freckles in your eyes promise me you wont trade mud between your toes for ***** cab rides at 3 am promise me the skyscrapers will never be as grand as your imagination and the subways will never stretch as long as your love for the whisper of the wind between the trees one day the sun will no longer slump over the intermountain valley you settled your soul in but bleed over the jagged skyline so promise me you'll never let your rivers run dry promise me you'll always smile when pink clouds illuminate the sky and when you say "I love you" it never turns into "goodbye"

0

Mar 18, 2014

Mar 18, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC

Untitled

promise me you'll stay wild promise me that the rivers will always flow through your veins and your spine will always be the mountains you lived in for so long promise me the hard streets of the city wont take away your love for the sunrise or the way the lakes reflection was almost as perfect as the freckles in your eyes promise me you wont trade mud between your toes for ***** cab rides at 3 am promise me the skyscrapers will never be as grand as your imagination and the subways will never stretch as long as your love for the whisper of the wind between the trees one day the sun will no longer slump over the intermountain valley you settled your soul in but bleed over the jagged skyline so promise me you'll never let your rivers run dry promise me you'll always smile when pink clouds illuminate the sky and when you say "I love you" it never turns into "goodbye"

12

somewhere along the way i lost my caution i lost my panic i lost my naiveness i stopped wearing my seatbelt and saying please i stopped deleting messages and looking twice before crossing the road i stopped waiting for you to tell me youre sorry because i knew you wouldnt mean it and i knew i wouldnt believe it i used to put my toes in the water then slowly wade in but now everythings a cannonball and this pool of hot frustrated tears and exasperated sweat is overflowing onto the cement and evaporating into the purple clouds faster than my heart when its jumping out of my throat when i slip out of my window under the blanket of stars stepping over twigs and stealing kisses in the pines somewhere along the way i stopped believing in god and started to create my own purpose and found salvation under the suns rays somewhere along the way i lost my walls and turned my hallow bones into my home

0

Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC

along the way

somewhere along the way i lost my caution i lost my panic i lost my naiveness i stopped wearing my seatbelt and saying please i stopped deleting messages and looking twice before crossing the road i stopped waiting for you to tell me youre sorry because i knew you wouldnt mean it and i knew i wouldnt believe it i used to put my toes in the water then slowly wade in but now everythings a cannonball and this pool of hot frustrated tears and exasperated sweat is overflowing onto the cement and evaporating into the purple clouds faster than my heart when its jumping out of my throat when i slip out of my window under the blanket of stars stepping over twigs and stealing kisses in the pines somewhere along the way i stopped believing in god and started to create my own purpose and found salvation under the suns rays somewhere along the way i lost my walls and turned my hallow bones into my home

15

You're standing in the rain it's 4 am and the wine you drank is still dancing in your blood, the cigarette smoke still lingers in your hair, and lipstick is smudged on your skin. Where you are is unknown the streets are thick with puddles and all the people have wandered off to bed but you didn't. Because going home meant being alone and you hate lying in a bed with cold sheets with no one to hold. You hate waking up without someones fingertips tracing your lips or combing your hair. You hate standing in your kitchen looking out your small ***** window wondering where the person who was made to love you disappeared to. So you stay out just to feel less lonely. Even if the only company you have are a few scattered raindrops and the faint glow of street lamps at 4 am.

0

Oct 30, 2013

Oct 30, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC

Cigarette Thoughts

You're standing in the rain it's 4 am and the wine you drank is still dancing in your blood, the cigarette smoke still lingers in your hair, and lipstick is smudged on your skin. Where you are is unknown the streets are thick with puddles and all the people have wandered off to bed but you didn't. Because going home meant being alone and you hate lying in a bed with cold sheets with no one to hold. You hate waking up without someones fingertips tracing your lips or combing your hair. You hate standing in your kitchen looking out your small ***** window wondering where the person who was made to love you disappeared to. So you stay out just to feel less lonely. Even if the only company you have are a few scattered raindrops and the faint glow of street lamps at 4 am.

24