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Devika Sajeev Jun 2019
i
i leaped
from branch, to branch
and i could see the tiny holes
on the underside of leaves
and i could see the tiny scars
on the underside of branches

footfalls
as soft as a child's
hands
as hard as the branches
eyes reflecting the sky
speckled with birds trying to fly higher

i'm taking home with me
slowly tossing it up
watching as it grew branches and leaves
falling on to its soft edges
softened by time and touch
i'm taking home with me

i'm taking home with me
i don't know
Amyrah Apr 2019
Into the dense canopy of a bamboo forest.
It smelt of spring on the summer leaves.
A silence accompanied our little stroll,
Each word we spoke came back as an echo.
A full moon looked down on us, the breeze blew bringing hints of muted snow.
I leaned Onto your shoulder and thought "this was too good to last"
Gary Brocks Sep 2018
1.
There was the tremor of leaves,
a rustle of bayonet grass
parried the multihued calm
of dawn's smeared light.
"This is what we trained for," the captain said.
We hunkered behind stacked bags of sand.

2.
Filigreed shafts of light pierce
the bullet perforated leaf canopy,
bellowed yells punctuate the swirl
and buffet of turbulent air:
“Contact”,  “2 O’Clock”, “Incoming”, “
"Moving”, “Reloading”, “Ammo”.

3.
Fingers twitch, the grit of soil
twisted through their grip;
moon slashed carcasses glint, spent shells,
Earth exhales a vermillion mist,
rising, echoless, in this
a cathedral of leaves.
180926F
It gets lonely at the top
But not upon me
You should be the only gorgeous elve in the magical canopy
I almost don't want a mortal man out of me
Just to spend immortality with you
as intense sunlight
cut through the forest's canopy
it left dappled shade
We don't have to walk far
Under the cover of canopy
To find exposure.
Once outside the city,
Outside the usual framework,
Outside the boundaries of polite necessity,
We can truly breathe.
On the trail
I bathe in dust
And my hands converse with trees
When asking for support.
Nursing logs remind us
Where we stand
In an ancient cycle,
And we can confess anything.
Stripped down to our bare humanity.
It's the intimacy
I used to chase in pillow-talk,
But without the dance.
The trail is always a soul's journey,
Whether solo or shared.
10/22 Inktober prompt: Trail
the tight swathe of fog
made a compact canopy
above the river

it lingered there
until first shards of morn's light
cut through the dense roof
Paul Butters Aug 2015
Sky
The sky: an ever-changing canopy,
Endless variety.
Black at night,
Punctuated only by stars and moonlight,
And clouds by day.

Cloud-ships sail along an invisible sea,
Scowling black clouds,
Or fluffy white palaces of snow.
No end of shapes and forms,
Yet sometimes formless mists.

Clouds that are net curtains
In the window to space,
Or growling black monsters
Firing deadly lightning-forks.

If we’re lucky,
There aren’t any clouds at all,
Just blue from horizon to horizon
Everywhere you see.

Golden-red dawns and sunsets
Contrast well with deepest blues
All colours and hues.

By night and day, Moon and Sun
Play Peekaboo behind those clouds.
And stars forever twinkle and swirl
Along the Milky Way.
No words can adequately capture
The beauties of the sky,
It just gives God’s Believers
Every Reason Why.

Paul Butters
Love that sky.
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