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Mark Wanless Jun 6
21/11/3

the grass on the hill
speaks nothing until
our ears open with age
and the demons dark will
loses meaning

the soft melody
of piece sends a thrill
to the harbor of will
and causes a self
into being

action a skill learned
from birth to grave
we pay not attention
to continous pain
and we travel
Sophie Mar 25
I was a child, then.
When a stormy sea
filled the air with hope,
and salt.
And there were hills to climb,
to sit with you
at the very top,
in silent darkness.
Where we held our breath
and lied to ourselves,
about what was wrong
or right.

The years passed us by.
On that hill beside the ocean,
where we consummated
our long-awaited desires,
and I felt sparkles
on your lips;
The same hill under which
I found my reflection
in a muddy pool of water.
The grass beside it was so fine,
and so green.

A park bench at the top
of a sunset hike through
the native valley,
in full bloom—wildflowers
reflected our openness.
Sandpapery stubble
on your cheeks
matched the texture
between my thighs,
which I kept only for you
and nobody else.

The day I knew you would
never be back,
the empty voicemail box,
the repetition in rising
each morning, without you.
for a lover who left me behind without a word
M Solav Mar 22
Paved roads of cars that roam
Are sure to grow weary on my bones.
And there’s a high hill close to home
Onto which I seldom venture alone.
How I recall those many days of yore
When we’d go fresh out in the morn;
And up that hill now far across the globe
Would stare for short eons into the fog.
Written as photopoetry on February 9th, 2022.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
TomDoubty Apr 2021
Rhythmic
Tearing
Cow on grass
Settling rooks
Cross sky
All around
Sound playing
Scent
On wind
Descending
Sun
Gold leafing
The horizon
Obscuration
Veiling arc
And furrow
Crop
And shadow
Poplar lined
Fields below
Quiet here
Above
A moment
Passes
Contrast sharpens
Trees recede
Into darkness
Sun bleeds
Into Earth
Daisy Ashcroft Feb 2021
Climb that hill
My teachers said
When they saw the words on the page

I climb the hill now
With the words in my head
And a notebook as my stage
JKirin Jan 2021
At the top of a hill in a land far away,
stands a seedling alone; its leaves quietly sway.

It has nowhere to hide from the blistering sun;
there's no shield from the winds that frequently run.
Empty land – there isn't a bush nor a tree nearby.
It grows there all alone, but it is getting by...

On the nights full of rain and frightening lightning,
through a quiver of fear, it would stay there fighting:
"I want one day to grow to a big, mighty tree
with a trunk wide and strong that no wind could bend me!"
Its small roots would absorb murky water from storms
and by morning it smiles as a new leaf bud forms.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, this small seedling gets bigger.
Twig by twig, year by year; to grow large it is eager.

On occasion it would get a visit or two:
cheerful birds from the sky would come down to say Hi,
and a fluffy white rabbit would drop by, out of habit;
friendly ants, butterflies, and at night fireflies—
all would merrily chatter but too soon all would scatter.

With a smile, the seedling would request them to stay
but would always hear back: "I must be on my way!"
One day, curious, it asked: "On your way, where to?"
"To the woods down the hill, full of trees just like you!"
"Full of trees just like me..." no one heard it whisper
rustling leaves, as the air around it got crisper.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, it still grows but looks small.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alone, after all.

Having grown tall enough, the seedling now sees it—
past the field down the hill—the one place all birds visit:
a majestic forest stretching wide—a green sea!
—with tall pines, mighty oaks, and other grown trees.

What a beautiful sight! It just can't turn away!
Wishes strongly the seedling, to be there one day.
It dreams of gentle sounds running through the lush crowns,
of the comforting shade that the woods surely make.
Stretching branches—now long!—
wishes it to belong...

Leaf by leaf, day by day, cries the seedling...
"Unfair!"
Twig by twig, year by year;
"Why do I grow out here?"

Very lonely, the seedling remains on the hill,
casting shadows dark, broad, keeping leaves very still.
Hoping that through the years, it will stop being sad,
and will once again notice that this place isn't bad.

It is there for a reason not easily seen:
for the birds and rabbits, it's a sheltering tree.
When they stop to say Hi, coming down from the sky,
they are looking for shelter from a summer day's swelter
or a comforting shoulder on the days that are colder.

Leaf by leaf, day by day, now an oak, it's grown tall.
Twig by twig, year by year; it's alright, after all.

On a very nice day, after cold driving rain,
in the grass, not too far, it saw something bizarre—
the sight so peculiar and oddly familiar—
a seedling so tiny it looked almost funny!

But the sun was hot—scorching, to the seedling's misfortune.
And the leaves were trembling, their form too much resembling
of the oak's lonely past. Stretching branches, lush, vast,
it protected the youngling that was, clearly, struggling.
In the comforting shade, it could stay unafraid.
                                              *
At the top of a hill in a land far away,
grow a seedling and oak; their leaves quietly sway.
Chandler Aug 2020
Proud to be where I'm from
But home is in front of me
Not of me
Separate from the serpent
Capital Hill
Need a capital offense to live
Walking up hills
Just to take spills
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020
Bird flies over hills
Wait for me around my mind
Grass grows without fear
Forgot to post this yesterday where I walked up a hill and took in the sights of man and nature both...
Worth it haha!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
Matthew Rousseau Apr 2020
I'm going up the hill again,
The top is my destination,
Confronted with fleeting dreams of mesmerization,
The sky is clear but it feels like rain, soil gone too,
down the drain,

I've been here before, I can feel it,
Imprints of my feet, the ground steals it,
The sky is a blue hue I do not recognize
The stars look more like flies

I approach the top and something feels off,
Stress, anxiety, and vertigo on top,
I inhale but no relief comes,
Gravity is not for friends or fun,

I get the top and I can see the sky,
For a moment I feel like I can fly,
But I realize my deja vu the lack of serenity,
I'm at the bottom in an endless journey,
It has been a long time since I posted. I hope you guys like it!
-Matt
Bhill Apr 2020
mysterious curiosity of the runaway train
it has no direction, just a need to maintain
around all the corners, up all the hills
down through the valley creating more thrills
what does one do with a runaway train
how do you stop it from achieving more gain
do you leave it running till it runs out of track
do you try to derail it with a full-on attack
it's quite the conundrum, that runaway train
decisions, decisions, are straining the brain
really not sure, what to do with this dream
I think I'll just let it, run out of steam...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 96
What to do?
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