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Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
what point in that

a personal hell
brief but
horrible

drenched in that
which is
denounced

becoming the fuel's
further fuel

flames bursting

flare
like the inferno
of a sun'******br>
blood-colored reds
yellows, oranges
hot white

flesh
scorched
charred
blackened

licked
tasted
eaten

by the hungry flames

putrid stench

self-induced
death

to make a statement?

were those final "words"
even "heard"?

above the sizzling
sound
of
sanguine
sacreligious
sacrifice
Read today about a prominent lawyer and environmental activist who burned himself alive to protest use of fossil fuels. So pointless, a strong voice self-silenced.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
wrathful-seeming clouds
gather
their leaden gray
turning
to ominously dark

the entire canopy
gloomily
tenebrous now

a deathly silence
falls

the calm before the storm

but calm like this
though silent
is unrest
at its peak

the heavens
start to growl a bit
like hungry hounds

thunderous bolts of lightning
erupt
and rip
the sky

the gravid clouds
flowing with
nourishment
like
a mother's
bounteous *******


release
in torrents
as if no individual
drops exist

a deluge
of relief

filling creeks
and rivers

renewing
sun-parched earth


the urgency met
the rain slows
to steady gentle drops

sweet moisture

soaking
seeking
roots

caressing leaves with cool relief

and giving everything
new life
I love a good thunderstorm, followed by a soaking rain, especially when the earth's need is great.
  Apr 2018 Mary-Eliz
L B
Cold today
but at least
the sun's
in play

Out in it

Wind talking
through mouthfuls of white pine
sweeping, swishing whispers
just enough to let the chimes
sing as bells
without bashing-- themselves
to dissonant trinkets

Music-muttering, free

Leafless shadows of the early spring
cold creeping 'cross
the yards toward noon
where they disappear
into a wood-chipper

What the hell is with my neighbors?

Why do people hate their trees?
Maybe 'cause they are not theirs?
Grown beyond them and their confines?

My tiny yard so feral
They probably hate mine too
But I belong to them  
and mine belong to me
They curve around, protective
my home of wind and bird and sky
swirling
cream 'n coffee
one into another
like  
Music sometimes
falling through itself into...
Sure--
know ******* a morning

I let them live

trees and neighbors

...as my mind smears into afternoon
4-7-18
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
one lone mallard
above in evening flight

was he late arriving
did he get left behind
the nightly gathered journey
through the softening sky

one lone mallard
alone floating high

is he seeking out a partner
a mate with whom to fly
is he lonely as it appears
or does he just prefer
a solo flight
I wonder when I see just one of a species that usually travels in groups/flocks, especially in the evening when it seems they are heading "home" for the night. They look so lonely, but perhaps they just needed alone time.
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
All my poems
are wanting
to rhyme

what happened
to the freedom

where's the open door
to ideas that held together
with just the words they were

not depending on a rhyme
words that sounded
so much alike
to be their ties to bind

I'm struggling here to find it
whatever I have lost

then again
I suppose I could be dreaming
fantasizing
about what never was
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