Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bryan Aug 2018
Upon exiting the cabin,
I undergo broken cobble beneath my bare feet.
The remnants of stairs are round and mellow,
Yet some rebel rocks pierce and strike.
No matter, nature has willed it.
Leaving land, I enter upon a man made island
Planks and rods bring support coupled with stability.
String hangs in abundance from rusting cleats,
While dangerous protrusions threaten the innocent flesh.
No matter, man has created it.
As the water calls, I enter.
The buoyant vessel makes for easy observation.
Identifying the stagnant water, which buzzes in anticipation,
Creatures utilize my being for sustenance.
No matter, God has formulated them
To work in unison
In order to create
A recurring environment.
A reflection upon my friend's lake house in Troy, NY. A broken stove, one floor, and no service.
amber Jul 2018
Barely illuminated by the street light,
A dark figure stands,
With its hood up,
Looking into my bedroom window.

I wait for it to more forward,
To begin its expedition,
In murdering me.

But it does not move an inch,
As if to taunt me and say:,
"Stop looking."
Michelle Jun 2018
They are more starved for Nature
Then one can ever fathom;
Oh, where is that secret  
Off they go in a cabin;
that they may frequent
All the noise and pollution
It melts and floats away;
Into life's little solution.

It's back to the plough of life so rough;
They like the smithy toil day after day
Their life may be starved, very tough,
Oh, to listen to the wild loon's call.
How it haunts them each day after day;
How they stomach their bitter gall?
Taking a wooden loon back to the city.
Until that cabin is reached it is a pitty.
When the wild calls; Good-bye city.
We who are born

"We who are born
In country places
Far from cities
And shifting faces,
Have a birthright
No man can sell
And a secret joy
No man can tell"
Eiluned Lewis
Poetic T Jun 2018
Nature calved up, decapitated limbs
left in unmarked eulogies, only silence
speaks. The carcasses of the fallen now
lumber atop of each other. A mass grave
of something once tall now fallen & muted.

Within the insects of humanity now infest
this cadaver, putting what once was brethren
upon the flame. A funeral pyre of rings now
turning to ash, warming the lumbering morbidity
that has an aroma of pine cones screaming in the night.

They live within our gravestones of silence.
Nailing there memories within our husks.
Yet they abandon us like we were momentary
needs, for we are lifetimes in their finite moments.
                     And we decay from where we came from.
My take on a cabin as nature would see it..
nick armbrister Feb 2018
Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's.

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours.

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait.

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...
i can't sit still
i can't lay down
i can't sleep

there is no time for rest
there is no time for play
there is no time

there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do

what i've done is not good enough
what i've done is not enough

i have to do more
i'm so tired but i have to do more

no sleeping
i'll sleep when i've done what i must do

i don't know what i must do
but i know i have to do it
whatever it is
and then i'll be content, right?

Andreas Simic Jan 2018
The Lone Wolf©

Exiting the cabin I instinctively look up
Maybe it is out of habit now
I spy you perched atop the distant ridge
How different are you and I

What do you see when you look down at my humble abode
Nestled amongst the trees the smoke wafting from the chimney
My home in the wilds of the woods; alone
How different are you and I

When you are not there I wonder where you are
Foraging for food, a drink by the fast flowing river,
Seeking solitude
How different are you and I

Do you see a man with a broken heart
One that has been cut so deeply it will never mend
Relegated to healing the wounds through nature
How different are you and I

Each day is a new day
One filled with wonderment
Of opportunity found or lost
How different are you and I

Time has inevitability
Someday one of us will not be there and I wonder
Will this be the last time I see your grace
How different are you and I

Andreas Simic©
I love being in nature and often think of what it would be like to live in a remote faraway cabin.
Story Oct 2017
in your recurring dreams

the one you are always running from
yet never entered

full of old-things well-loved
crooked and cursed by the neighbors

the white one rubbed grey
paint peeled away
sighing at the crossroads

my creaks and groans so familiar
you know exactly where to step
to go unnoticed

At the crossroads
Paint peeled to grey
Never entered
Always running away
Of familiar steps
Crooked and cursed
Well loved by the neighbors
In recurring dreams

I am that house.
You're back here again.
The door is open.
Won't you come in?
Next page