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annh Feb 23
so much depends
upon a green pencil
fitted snugly between
the blue and the yellow

upon a line drawn
across a page
where the sky
and sunburst clay meet

— as neighbours
who smile and wave
without names
or words exchanged —

upon a silence punctuated
by shafts of pine
shaved close by winding
laneways into storyteller points
so much depends

a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white
- The Red Wheelbarrow, William Carlos Williams
neth jones Jun 2021
amongst the night scented pines
i register                
                 with an impish partner
     plugged from off a fancy tiered cake
      her school dance dress
                                       and me a lumberjack of fashion
new together
                   us toys two
splintered from our band of goofs

you are crow
                    I become antler crowned
a primer of pranky static
          amongst the wooded pines
                    roots and leaves
rhythm extant
                      and a flashlight
and slunken and bravado
and hip checks and embarrass
                        and mischief seek
and mischief applied
and bombast
                         stolen alcohol and torso
spatty wind and forrest
                           and pines and dark
cloud covered stars and no moon new
all the time a thing impending
                             romance with exposed wrists
a sick excite
glassy glances into eyes                          
                and our mind could speed friction into flame
feel the spin of the earth
  it's all just speeding up
we clutch
the pine roots hold it all together
drawn silence....

and she laughs                                
              to unnerve the 'breath withheld'
then wind springs
                   and creaking and branches again
and we dance our feint  
                     we dub it 'the turpentine'
one flashlight
                       each takes turn and spotlights the other
drunken performances
                         hers a showy enchant      
                                   and baiting stumbles
                     discarded slippers
           earthy wet knees
                      through laddered tights
      playing meekish prey
i only take a quick awkward turn
(some tribal hunter mime)
           so she can clown once again

our spotlight scatters life
steals the nights light
strips auras from the trees
        and we fire out the beam
        in waste and hazard                
     as only courting humans would dare
clmathew Mar 2021
~the wind feels the smallest birds
It's got.

—Primus St. John, "Biological Light", Gift of Tongues

The winds blow and gust
written March 19th, 2021

Today the winds blow and gust
bending but not breaking the boughs of the pine
sending the last of the fall leaves swirling
along labyrinth paths only the wind can see.
We who can take shelter
in constructs we have sweated and sacrificed for
built to withstand the winds that blow
so proud of ourselves,
while the smallest bird
without a straw to it's name
lets go and rides the wind
letting fate take it where it will.
Jenn Dec 2020
i didn't realize you didn't care.
i tried so hard
to be there for you,
but you blew me off
like birthday candles.
my favorite smell;
next to pine trees,
on a cold december morning,
where i find myself missing you,
it just turns out,
that all the pretty words you said to me
were lies
and thats alright
ill just find myself lying in someone else's bed tonight.
Ellesora Rue Oct 2020
i have loved
i have lost
to shining waters
i've been tossed

you will yearn
you will pine
but on shining waters
you'll be mine
just a random set of rhymes... not sure if it makes sense:)
Garrett Johnson Sep 2020
That time we walked around for no reason.

Wooden door.
Brain rush.
Closing eyes.
What's her name.
**** I forgot her name.

Garrett Johnson.
Bored as Michelle.
annh May 2020
t r a i l s
of light-glazed ephemera
w      a      f      t
from plain to hills;

*G i l d e d*
grams of silken
warm with pine
and noon.

p i t t e r - p a t t e r s ,
D a N c E  S t E p P i N g
the length
of a polo field.

‘Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that
I love - that makes life and nature harmonise.’
- George Eliot
Jenish Mar 2020
Grape vine held out her soft hands
Red pine bow down and hold hands
Will they care not my shy look?
Love in dark woods that thrive lands.
Garrett Johnson Feb 2020
Ode to the road.

See you and your rivered mind.
Sought out in cyan.
And cry for the drift in your eye.
Made for.
The groove.
The tremolo in your pace.
Rose hue to your face.
And the sea to your shirt.
The one you got in Olympia.

Garrett Johnson.
I should've died.
Garrett Johnson Jan 2020

Hands held.
Old leaves.
New sounds.
I fell.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.
Those eyes.

Garrett Johnson
Beautiful friend.
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