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WoodsWanderer Mar 2016
I miss you

I miss the stark moonlight that danced across my sheets
Reminding me of your
fingertips
bare strips of flickering silver light illuminating
my hallucinations
of your face in my dreams.
I recall wood smoke
drifting through the evergreens as you laugh
at my meandering soul
my searching hands
my wandering feet.
And I wonder, not for the last time
If the stiff conconctions my late night brain produced
could really substitute for a real life you.
flesh
blood*
bone
Something my empty hands could
Hold on to.

*I miss you
  Mar 2016 WoodsWanderer
bones
Easy flow the waters
of the river passing by,

though we straighten them with walls
and narrow them in time,

and lace them up with bridges
to bind them where they lay,

still the waters, like a lifetime,
slip their bonds and pass away..
We always compare food to women.
****** metaphors are the height
of good food literature,
but I wonder how it would work
in reverse...

If I met a beautiful lass,
eyes the color of fallen leaves
in the deeper part of the forest,
and I told her that she was lovely
as bark on a roasted lamb,
deeper than massaman curry,
more complex than pho,
hotter than szechuan rabbit,
sweeter than fresh cream...

I wonder.
WoodsWanderer Mar 2016
Hushed mist collects
Under palm fronds enveloped in the night melody
Consisting of crickets, far off moters and the warm heavy sound of contentment.
Orange lights flicker throigh the overgrown trees
Whom drape themselves lovingly over old RVs and quaint trailers.
Those of which house old souls
Content and humoured by their journey through this unexplained world.
And as I sit
Skin already warm from the midnight heat
the crickets my only companions
I wonder if my contentment will measure to these mischievious souls
When I near the end of my journey.
For these moments
Small pleasures
Unexpected uncalled for experiences
Amount to a life worth a thousand laughs.
And what is life?
but laughter light and love
  Mar 2016 WoodsWanderer
Denel Kessler
The Mountain keeps all secrets. Crusted lichen on timeworn boulders. High altitude longing for alpine daisies. Carefree blossoms, long ago plucked, gone to seed, restless in the fertile ground.  Wildflowers bloom shortly sweet, fleeting paintbrush to layered canvas. Fairy slippers lost on crumbling doorsteps. Glacier lilies pressed between avalanched pages.  Forget-me-nots in forgotten blue hollows. The common harebell feels anything but common when seen through a lover's eyes. Forest tiger, your bulbs taste bitter. Purple lupines sage with fuzzy-leafed logic.  Fireweed, *****, unadorned, eternally reaching. Lousewort, spreading phlox, leave this scarlet alone.  Listen to Indian Henry, it's bad luck to trample what is sacred. The devil dreams behind steep and sheltered walls. Keep to the Wonderland, bypass this Trail of Shadows.  Seek ancient hunting grounds, steadfast shelter in the wooded clearing.  There is no pearly everlasting along these old trails.  Paradise lost may never be regained.
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