The trees pressed to the earth,
Express mirth,
To seasons worth.
Their foliage,changing colours,
A palette for an artist's valour.
Heat,rain and snow,
Through it all,they simply grow.
Their fruits I love to eat,
Under their shade,to rest I sit,
Upon one of them,I build a tree house for my son,
To play and have fun.
High and low on the trees,
Birds' nests I see,
According to their kind,
Beautifully designed.
I breathe their oxygen,
Through my lungs it courses on.
I drink their rain,
Live on their grain,
For them I should give a hand,
To save them on this land.

In the evenings
the deer would emerge
from the edge of the woods
stepping over the tumbledown stones
of walls left untended-
they'd leave tracks through the snow
in a wandering line that led to the last apple tree
in the field by Orchard Street.

I remember that now,
staring at this antler I've found
in the clearing between the cactus
and sun bleached stones.
The lines of the antler
flow into the fractures of my palm-
two thousand miles from snow,
and two thousand miles from
the blue evening glow
of a shivering world
glazed over by twilight…

And the deer-
magnificent, pawing the snow
searching for apples that had fallen below-
emboldened by the frozen sweetness of autumn.
They were graceful even in flight-
when cars with chains
jingling and crunching the ice
rounded the corner
down Orchard Street.

Today I've tracked over two thousand miles
in my own wandering line-
the lines of the antler
flow through the tangles and hollows of time.

Sometimes I stand in a clearing,
sometimes hidden by trees,
sometimes I scratch below the surface,
and I run- but, less gracefully...

There are walls I've left untended
and some I've crafted too well-
it is through forgotten tumbledown walls
that memories come-
I thank grace
it was into this clearing they fell.


Tom Spencer © 2017

Sweetly does the rain
Sing against my window,
As it stirs the lavender
That caresses my nose,
Growing beneath my window as
My mother planted it there to do.
Wary do I grow of counting the
Lines,
Groves,
And cracks in my ever changing ceiling.
I try making out images instead of counting, Lacking creativity all I can see is
White,
Frooved
Clouds.

Dusk is capturing the world now and
The rain has finished it’s melody,
The insects and frogs
Take the stage and
Somewhere in the distance
Is the cry of a lone hawk,
Maybe feeling left out of the insects and frogs Choirs as,
He cries 
His sad
Song.

Pondering as to what the
Hawk’s story is
And as I ponder
I begin to hum
A soft melody keeping time
With the frogs and insects,
Maybe I am feeling left
Out like the hawk?

A breeze joins in,
String up the glories
Smell of lavender again
And cooling my face as it
Comes through the open window
I slowly drift
Off
To
Sleep...
...zzz

As the moon kissed the ocean,
Her lips on his,
She's Cold like the moon,
His heat, like the sun.

His light on her made
Her bright, Her imperfections fade.
Moon and Sun.
Perfect example of
Made for each other.
Yet far from each other.
One comes, other has to go,
They can't be together.

His heat of lust burned her.
She is not cold like moon anymore.

She is learning to become one
Like him, she seeks for revenge.
Giving the light, like him in the day.
She's with the stars.
He is alone.
In heat of his own, Burning.
Hiding his light behind the clouds.
Just for a glance of her.
She is nowhere to be found.
She is gone in the darkness of the moonless night.
Forever. She is gone...

And like a bride when all the guests had flown –
Unto her Quarter Master, veil upraised
And corsage strewn atop her lily gown,
The ****** MOON stood humble and unphased

A boon of SUN's light nestled in her tresses,
And HEAVEN's gift, bright star-born chandeliers –
COUTURIER, The Wind, bestowed caresses –
CENTAURUS brought an honour guard of spears

The MOON, her dimples pale, her mood unblemished,
Fell silent as a petal on a flower –
Her slender frame looked ever the more diminished
And wanton as she lay upon her bower

She watched the constellations rearranging
To mark this passing day across the skies,
And full aware that things were ever changing
The MOON laid down her guard and closed her eyes.

This cooling air brings peace to my bones,
settles me into the chilly night like
a leaf resting upon the soil beds of
tomorrows.

The Earth has swallowed my sorrow,
my bitter bile and writhing spirit
in the yesterdays and days
to come.

No longer do I fight for flight,
and my intentions always see the light
of truth and the open air of what’s
in store.

With open hands I have released
what it means to hold closely the thorns
of whimsy and doubt and accepted the gift
of more.

You told me once
That you were a leaf in the wind
I thought how wrong you were
You speak of us,
Like possibly you’re a glint in the corner of my eye
I thought how cruel you were
You’re a firecracker in an ink blue sky
You pop and crack, and blind these eyes
A raging fire in the dead of night
I didn’t stand a chance  
But in the morning light,
Between your hands,
I’d choose to burn every time