Barely drink down
The languid breeze
And every breath
Is caramel
To a dreaming tongue

The winter of the heart
Is howling now
Elsewhere branches break
Eldest first

The path oblique
Slithers underneath me
And every step
Is a minor death
Of the life I scarcely knew

My fire dims
And all the beautiful
Ember-lit faces
Melt into dark

I am ever haunted
By the souls I keep
In the centre of my heart

oliver 3d

amongst verdant glens of evergreen,
‘twixt feral realms of boreal splendour.
the wilderness calls to the heavens,
in a chorus of birdsong, of whispering leaves,
the howl of the wolf and the fawn’s tender cry,
from the fierce sanctity of mother earth.

her roots pierced below the powd’ry ground.
slender branches soaring skyward,
lined with strokes of emerald trusses—
their lissome needles gracefully sharp;
brushed in thin sheets of glittering frost,
& laced with a flurry of shimmering sleet.

adorned with clusters of robust pinecones,
russet blossoms of sturdy petals,
clustered upon the tails of branches,
& scattered throughout the sylvan floors—
cloak’d in silken blankets of snow and frost.
soaked in the cold gauze of lunar light.

this world is too wild for me, sometimes.
my body cannot carry
so many forests on my back.
the waves have been creeping up
past my ankles, to my thighs.

i feel my hands turning into rolling hills,
my skin slowly giving way to grains of sand.
wild animals are nesting in my hair, and my mouth.
my eyes have become nothing
but a reflection of the sky.

i had tried to fight it, tried not to let
the wilderness take over my body and soul,
but she is tricky. she lures you in with sunsets
and warm light through the treetops and summer breezes
but then, she will swallow you alive.

my body belongs to her, my stomach is fields of grass
and wildflowers sprouting up.
my back tall with jack-pines and oak trees,
my knees made of boulders holding me down.
my sand-skin glimmers in the sunlight
before the waves come in
to take away my breath, at last.

Crystal Freda Jan 13

Barefoot in the evergreen forest.
Each step I feel every speck of dirt,
every strain of grass
and hear and everything at rest.

Splashing drips of waterfalls,
chirping of small birds,
and creaking of windy branches,
and the cracking of rocky mountain walls.

Each moving sound has peace around
Every whisper, ever singing song.
Closing my eyes as I listen
laying gently on the ground.

The soft crush of snow,
Screams beneath
your frozen feet,
As you follow
The icy forest path.
Frostbitten kisses,
Paint your rosy face,
With cold uncertainty,
As Northern sunlight,
Gasps and fights,
Against shortened days,
That snow-blinds us,
With blue sky lies,
And restless desires,
For distant, warmer days,
And distant, warmer lovers,
Who won't embrace you.

Sophia I Jan 11

Late at night near a rural shelter, a wizened figure hobbles closer.
With chapped lips he drags on a bone pipe,
the warm smoke hangs in the air.
I stand still, breathe it in politely until my throat itches.

I'm told a tale of some faraway town
and a girl, his daughter, who left one night without explanation.

As an owl hoots somewhere behind us,
He wipes away a tear. It leaves a clean track through the layers of soot and grime.

A dog barks in the distance and the hedge full of cicadas almost drowns out his whispered, dreary tale.
I cough and move to reach for my wallet. He doesn't see.
He has started to shuffle away,
murmuring to himself about how she never made it back home.

Kaitlin Evers Jan 10

Forest, dark and dreary
Sky, haunted weary
He who enter here
He who could dare
Be he wary
For he entereth a nightmare

L M Biese Jan 5

we represenT
Forests and StormS
in the way thaT
one can burn the otheR
and one can't movE
but one has to movE

we represenT
Thickets and MaelstromS
in the way thaT
A Maelstrom can be peacefuL
and A Thicket can be wonderfuL

we represenT
Infernos and Snow StormS
in the way thaT
A Snow Storm can be overwhelminG
and An Inferno can be uncontrolablE

we represenT
Storms and ForestS
Maelstroms and ThicketS
Snow Storms and InfernoS

We represenT
the Worst and Best partS
of terrible thingS

your turn, ThickeT

Rohan Press Dec 2017

desert and abandon these
warm and sullen affects; upon you,
a wolf, thoughtful and reproachful as you
shook your snow at the starlight, and pondered
upon the mysteries of the pattering,
puddling, flowing liveliness of granite nothings…

and the turquoise faded into one horizon, the
other expanded outward, catching the humming of
the air, and the soft intake of the flowers…the green sloped
and shuddered through the lens of the hillside, and above,
the clouds shivered as you painted their likeness in the sky.

Leah Oviedo Dec 2017

Walk to the edge of the forest, take off your shoes.
Let your feet dance on the earth, toes squiggly in rich, fertile soil.
Place your hands on a tree and feel life flowing through you both.
Walk through the cool, dark forest to the meadow, glistening in rays of sunshine, feel the warmth.
Lay in the grass, admire flowers, whistle with birds, make friends with bees.
See, feel, taste and smell what the concrete is foolishly trying to keep out.
Connect with your old mother, protect her as she has protected your ancestors.
Remember how you were created by her nurturing grace.

This is a work in progress. I want to make it longer, with more rhythm and a well rounded story
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