There is a threshold at the heart of a peach--
between the wooden pit and the golden flesh of fruit.
There lie a few red, raw strands that are, impossibly, both.
The Pit [Endocarp]: Birth/Death.
The most treelike part.
Bark balled into a fist.
Inside hides the genetic beginning and future of all peach trees.
The Fruit [Mesocarp]: Maturation.
The delicious and beguiling, round flesh that attracts those who will scatter the seed. It tastes of sweet summer months.
Grown to be devoured,
the fruit is an ephemeral sacrifice ensuring the seed will find soil
take root
and make more of its kind.
I feel as if I'm at the red, rimmed divide between the two.
There is still so much bark from my parent trees at my core, yet I'm starting to soften into my own shape.
I know there will be a feast or a fall in these coming years and both mean a survival (of sorts).
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
I lay the paper on my tongue
and let the ink sink
into taste buds
so that I can recall
the poems when the need is dear
and the light is gone.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
Ears are closed shut
shutters drawn no
sound comes through to glance
upon the floor.
She speaks
every detail tangled in nets
upon nets of
sentences
dumping themselves on patient ears
though patient mouth is silenced.
When the lips can come through the
wriggling words
The voice can not
penetrate the closed windows
glancing off
and falling into the sea.
The receiver slammed down
a slap across the face
miles away...
she keeps talking.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
The blank page
smiles, beguiling
crinkling up lines around her
beseeching eyes, behind the grin
you see her boredom for
such utter emptiness upon her.
She calls sweet nothings to
the pencil
as he stands at attention
waiting for his commands
before he crosses the field
leaving a trail of bent stalks in his
wake.
An eraser follows leaving bits
of its skins as it slithers across the trail
undoing the marks on the land.
When work is done
soldier, snake, lovely lass lie in
the grass as the moon rises above them
and the words fly up to the night sky.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 10:32 AM UTC
is starving
it knocks on my head
throwing thoughts of food
everywhere.
I pick them up
my mouth filling with
longing.
Hunger
hollows my stomach into
a bowl ready to be
filled,
smells become as clear
as water
filling, overflowing my senses.
Hunger leads
to food and then slowly
disappears
bit by bite
it tips its bowler hat
"Till tomorrow"
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 10:18 AM UTC
We've carved a whole in this Earth
and lined it with lead,
put up our walls of wires and thoughts
till we trick ourselves into thinking that this cold depression
is the world all around.
We see the life beyond
yet our gaze is distant
our blood kin forgotten
in new ties forged from iron and gold.
We've carved a whole in this Earth
and now it's filled,
the billions huddled in the orb of metal.
Can we find balance or will we just roll away?
Fall down the hill of reality
and circle lost in infinity?
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
I know not
the language of love
and so I stand
mute
lost on the first word:
Courage.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
We see each other
less and less
but can we forget
ten years
of sight?
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Do they slowly turn
their heavy threaded faces to the sun
or do they know such devotion would fade
them?
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
Thin metal man
arms opened to the
sky
wet clothes
rust his feet.
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC