Look at you, towering high,
Rooted deep beneath the sky.
Ancient limbs, your secrets told,
Whispering tales as years unfold.

The rain fell soft, the world stood still,
As clouds hung low beyond the hill.
Through empty fields, a traveler came,
Along the path that had no name.

Beneath an oak, with roots entwined,
A rusted knight sat by its side.
His armor cracked, his blade laid bare,
Long lost to time's wear and tear.

The traveler paused, he casts his sight,
Upon this silent, forgotten knight.
What battle left you here to fade?
What wars did you fight, was the price paid?

The earth around was thick with moss,
A quiet witness to this loss.
The knight sat still, no tale to tell,
In his lonesome, silent hell.

A story locked within the rust,
Of iron will, and bones now dust.
The traveler thought, but did not ask,
For answers hidden behind the mask.

The oak had watched, through years gone by,
As shadows moved and battles died.
Its roots entangled with earth and stone,
While this knight remained, long overthrown.

The traveler watched, his thoughts kept close,
And wondered at the knight’s repose.
The world moved on, but here time waited,
A fleeting breath in silence faded.

And so he turned, with steps that slowed,
At this tale the path had showed
The battle ended, but scars remain,
And what was lost, still bears some pain.

He walked away, though something stayed,
An echo in the light and shade.
The knight sat quiet, the oak stood tall,
And in their stillness, spoke it all.

No words were shared, none needed there,
The silence being heavy, thickened the air.
The traveler knew, as he turned to leave,
Some battles end, but wounds still grieved.

He walked on slow, the rain now light,
Leaving behind the rusted knight.
And though no words were ever spoken,
The weight of war was never broken.

<>

”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light

Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,  
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”

~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)

<>

First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,

at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee

it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue

simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul

here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…

I am exhausted by strength today.
I’ve often pretended to be a mighty oak fighting the storms
Often fought the strongest winds while standing there in the open
Alone and compelled to fight
My wars, and most of the time theirs
Bewildered and forlorn
Glorifying the oak in me
Yet I have always ended up crooked, scarred, and broken
Unaccepting to the message of reality
That there will always be lulls and long despairs
And a lot of battles that you cannot choose
But will still try to find someone
Who’ll help me gather the fallen sticks, my gnarled and withered twigs
To create something beautiful
While I find again my quiet strength, my calm courage amidst any storm

To you,oh dangerous road
Who sweeps many a traveler off of their feet,
Carry me off to distant lands
That I might see the beauty
That is laid alongside you
Before my short journeys end;

Upon that end allow me peaceful rest
On the most distant mountain
Under the line ancient oak
Gazing at the setting sun
Waiting for the light of moon and stars
To bathe me as I enter a deep slumber

And dream of damp, wet days
With darkened grey skies
Miles over fields of green
Populated with mighty cedars,

Who provide a dry shelter
For those upon the ground
Who call the moist soil their home;

Wake me softly with your rain,
And make me speechless
To see that my calming vision
No longer is a wild fantasy
That I could only see within my mind.