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ronnie hunt Dec 2018
Razor on the bathroom sink and the smell of pine and aftershave
Calloused hands
Dirt fingernails
You packed and formed the soil like clay
Like paint
You were an artist, silent in the morning
Coffee before work
One beer after
One beer after and a warm dinner she made
Pine and aftershave
on the stairs
on the carpet
on the carpet on the stairs
Lean in
Lean in, kids
Lean in and I’ll tell you about them
You said,
You are an artist,
Silent and coffee in the morning
Loud and beer on the stairs,
on the carpet in the afternoon
Leather seat
Newspaper dogear
Brewers turned on
In the leather seat,
‘Turn it up,
They’re winning!’
They’re winning
They’re winning
Screen porch
Wooden door
Screen porch through the wooden door
Sitting
Bumblebee Boompa
Bumblee Boomps
In the garden
On the sink
In the kitchen
On the stairs
In the living room
On the porch
You are an artist
Silent in the morning
Loud
Loud
Loud in the afternoon
and winning
Manan sheel Jan 21
Who has picked up pencil colors,
Such deep red colors,
And lighted a little red fire,
on that pine shrub:
Who, O Who, has made
this red cardinal!
On this colorless white
morning, who made my
morning, lucky with red!

© Manan sheel.
Lady Ravenhill Dec 2018
Sharp break of the day
jolly, knitted mitten pokes
through the pine needles
Lady Ravenhill 2018
Haiku #69
CL Fjell Dec 2018
Oh broken-hearted boy
How your lips sting
Your hips swing
I love you, my only toy
I miss your cold.
shima Oct 2018
giant towering pines
heaps of silver needles
mountains of scrapped cloth
capped with bleach and one's breath
clattering of metal trinkets falling to the tiles below
tiles splooshing as they hit the dark ocean water
night fading to day and bringing warmth
i dont want to write a narrative for school so here's something i did to procrastinate
TEnocho Sep 2018
Needles like fingers,
Winters embrace, I await
your graceful descent.

T.Enocho
Rohan Press Sep 2018
i bare my shoulders to the wind's chill.
i sit next to you on the car ride home.
i watch as shadows gather on your skin.
i pine for twilight after the sun sets—

and still hear you in the pine air
and still feel you in my pining breath
and still hold you in each pined sigh.
William Maxwell Sep 2018
The pine trees I call home
Hold me when I am alone
Keep me warm
And hide me from the evils of city life
I wander through
Brushing my hand on the bark
They take me to far away lands
Like the vagrant lark.
Nylee Jun 2018
I don't feel that happy anymore
even when I should.
Does that mean, I'm actually not that sad
or these symptoms are really that bad.

I don't understand that much
in situation as good as such,
I smile to make it look I'm fine
and slowly I pine
to feel carefree.

Is it that I'm aware
this is happiness in just looks,
inside it is all hollow
nothing in mouth to swallow.

The way it use to be
nervous to lonely
the open door
only takes me to ****.

I'm familiar to this feeling
slowly growing on my skin
I keep chewing to the bitterness
which is coming to throw me off guard
because in the end it is how it will end.
gabriela Jan 2014
to take off
to dip low
to feel the chill breeze
behind my old feathered wings
to close eyes
to glide high
to smell pine and wood
and other things of this world
to soar
to explore
to rely and to trust
on wings to do what they must
to taste the flavor of fall
to sing and to call
to be the creature
who's existence is most envied of all
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