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Leone Lamp Apr 2021
Once upon a time,
we lived in Shangri-log
It was hollow and cozy
and safe from the fog
We built us a kitchen,
out of sticks and stuff
We built benches and shelter
and swept away the duff

We were working on the hill,
early that spring
Away from our log,
when the bear gave a ring
He raided all of our salty snacks,
and even some of our liquor stash!
And all he left was a big bear mess,
and a pile of.. I'll let you guess...

So we learned our lesson, no more storing food
We cleaned up camp and life was good

But we had to return to our toil
Spreading horse ****,
amending soil
The next time we returned
to our big round squat
Something was wrong,
but we didn't know what..

We decided not to worry
and we had a party
We were lit up all night
and the sky was starry...
As the sun was coming up,
the time for sleep rolled around
But as we laid down to rest,
we heard a startling sound...
Beep! Beep! Beep! Filled the air!
And a churning of trees!
They were clearing the area,
We needed to flee!

We snatched up some things,
hid the rest in a stump
Our buddy was collapsing
his tent on the run
We got to the commune,
but no sleep would be found...
We all were uneasy about
bulldozers on ground

At the end of the day,
When the workers were gone
We dashed up the hill,
to check on our zone
Our camp was untouched,
Our things were all fine
But the brush had been cleared
all under the power lines...
And since our log was exposed, it was time to go
(I think we can take a hint, dontcha know...)

We cleaned everything up,
Tore everything down
Well almost everything,
Our old bed's still around
The years have gone by,
The brush has regrown..

It's hard not to wish we could live in our old home...
Just reminiscing about some of the good ole daze. Before I'd ever paid any rent or bills or auto expenses. I'm glad to know it's possible, but these days we're in so deep I don't think we could ever go back.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
The tree sitter of Nantucket
Lived in a tree and he dug it
He never went down
To visit the ground
So he would **** in a bucket
I hope this is profane enough to represent the genre.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
I've got a little black book, with my poems in it
I've got the wind to rock me to sleep
I've got a perpetually dying radio
That brings the news to me
I've got everything I need up in this tree
This tree I live in on my own
I've got books and **** and mobile phones
I've got a little two burner stove
I've got a bright new perspective
And every new day
I know that I'm not all alone
There are squirrels, and birds
And bugs up here
It feels like everybody is home.
Some reflections and an homage to Pink Floyd. My little sister once told me I'd have to leave that tree and face the real world someday. I dunno, the world felt pretty real to me while I was up there.
Reworked this a little bit, I think it's finally come around.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
I invited the band, to make strawberry jam
On top of Strawberry Rock
They asked me "What time?"
I said "Be there by nine."
They arrived promptly at one o'clock
But once they began, the sea kissed the sand
And the music never stopped.
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
A rock off the coast has no need to boast.
A rock off the coast just has to be.
There's no pressure, no stress, no need to impress.
It simply resides in the sea.
A wrote several poems while tree sitting in northern California. A handful of them weren't half bad. I'm going to post a few.
IrieSide May 2020
Stay true to your roots,
they are your foundation
Believe that there is something bigger than you
And if you cannot fathom that thought
Think of a redwood tree,try to hold it
And realize you cannot

Let its massive
Seed its likeness in you
Meadow Oct 2018
The trees you once told me to follow home...
They're gone.
You told me to burn them to my memory so that I would always be able to find my way home.
Now I'm lost, Mama.
Places of only memory now.
Outside the gate.
Stuck on the wrong side.
Nothing feels right.
Giants that once stood so tall and guarding.
Cut down as if they had never been.
Mama, I can't find my way home.
The trees are gone.
I drove past my childhood home up in the mountains.
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