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lib Feb 12
light pierces the leaves
under the oak, you with me
october ends us
they say nothing good can last
you, my love, have proven this
i have been trying my hand at tanka poems recently :)
Where Shelter Aug 2023

”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
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…
great appreciation to Vienna B. for the beautiful poem she wrote,
and thanks for the inspiration!
Always be dreaming!
Eloisa Jan 2023
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
Steve Page Oct 2022
One of my earliest memories in my history
(if not THE earliest)
features a tree.
A stump of a tree
in the middle of our back garden.

And my dad and his friends removed the tree,
maybe an Oak, I don’t know,
I just know it was there first
and we removed it to make room for growth.

That was an unnecessary necessity
and the start of something that lasted.
Not as long as the tree, but still,
you can’t have everything.
All true.  Suburban desecration.
Emma Apr 2022
The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still can’t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldn’t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.
To everyone unseen, or seen. Believed, or not believed. Silent, or not silenced.
Warrior Poet Mar 2022
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.
Karijinbba Sep 2021
keep me posted.
I am heartstruck.
willow gold you.
you play hide and seek
I play if love is the end..
Remember my story poems
you remind me of someone
I touched your robe poet
beyond inks facade is love
I am safe with you
you are safe with me too.
to many welcome hellos.
You reign wisest poet
how shall I pen it best?
I'm not lit red ridding
hood just a fool for love.
you know I write to ghost
I am busy living like you.
my secret garden prose.
Ts better to have loved
and lost then never dear.
I paid bitter fines
for being a fool seeking love
your sky paints me loving.
and true so I am.
Nicole Bataclan Jul 2021
I see my book on your shelf
And yours on mine,

I would take our afterthoughts
And turn them into rhyme.

Every love story starts with
A blank page.
Take note,

People still write letters
Left for others to quote.

Each day with you
Leaves a poet at a loss for words.

I love you, Darragh.

A time for us,

A private bookcase
Sealed with kisses.
Elioinai Jan 2021
When the leaves turn gold
I stand in joyous awe

When branches become bald
dread creeps in to the raven's caw

I feel the Red Oak's scarlet kiss
turn like death upon my lips

When every year my confidence slips
that I will see bright life in this
Remind me that green comes back
That verdant veins will run wild again
the dry earth will not crumble away
before spring rains sweep in to quench the brown decay

It comes back
Life always comes back

all that becomes old
will be restored
will be renewed
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