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John McCafferty Feb 2020
Ivy climbs gnarled knotted trunks
Darker lines and streams divide where white wool digs below tufts of heather and tall tipped reeds
Calm flat lakes vacate
Pale hues of birch become rocky barren lands of moss and brown broken bracken
Thick conifers multiplied for miles
The mountain side tipped with ice
Houses change like the hedgerow from new to old
Some unfurnished whilst others glow
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
Brianna Dec 2019
Maybe it was the hazy Sunday morning bliss or the cicadas screaming their annoying lullaby but I found myself drawn to the woods.
Streams of blue and green water and muddy paths that lead me back to sanity every time I come through.

My past has kept me locked in city streets with too many people and too many memories.
My present holds a sympathetic and nostalgic view for the things I love but also a craving for something vast and beyond.

As for my future if they ask me today I might just head to the woods and never leave.
I’ll become one with the moss on the trees and the mushrooms in the ground.
I’ll be the composure for the cicadas and the paint for the sunsets and sunrises.

Tonight we will dream  of the right path to the New York life and the city dreams but tomorrow we’ll find the left path holds the cure to the soul in the trees.
Aditya Roy May 2019
Music is the soul
You can hear it in the rubber sneakers
The fogginess of this song
Finished by the word of you
Ever been left out
The lights that can create the betterment of time
I've been with you a while
Time and time again
Time and time again
The raining Tokyo streets
Of Yakuza blood
Encompassing the violence of a surrendered throne
Imagine if we have crime
As the criminal lords uncover the conspiracy of double-crossing duplicitously addressed woes
Crystal Freda Jan 2019
She lays on a canoe
whirling gently on the stream.
Her red dress shimmers
as the sun gives a great beam.

She smiles at the sky
with its radiant blue,
and porcelain clouds
and air fresh and new.

She enjoys the sounds
of the bustling, rippling waves.
Towards to a land
and the path it paves.
Colm Oct 2018
May rivers flow into streams
And stray in whatever direction they need
In order to reach the inevitable sea
To all those that have passed me by. I wish you well. I wish you peace. I wish for you the inevitable sea, in which we all must swim. Forgive, yes, but also flow away from me.
Bardo Jul 2018
Once above my face the Sun did
  weave a joyous spell
And rested calmly upon the backs of
  the great stone Giants
Whose stance used bring early night
  to bear on these tired eyes of mine.
And the dutiful Moon too, did smile
  down
Reassuring me with her presence
Patrolling the dark heavens till the
  Dawn would order her away.
Down the wild slopes rode my
  children, brimming with life
Their blood ensuring my Youth
  forever, or so I thought.
Watching over their shadowy green
lanes, noble cedars and majestic pines
Vigilant watchtowers upholding our
  green faith:
Caressed the Bloom's feet I did and
  raced the drinker's pace
Precious memories slowly eroded as
  now in lonely exile I dwell.

First warning I got, carnage floating
  downstream
Severed trunks of trees and their
  stricken branches
Finally laid to rest upon the worm
  eaten lock gate -
Saw a mass exodus taking place,
  whole tribes on the move
Telling of trouble coming and of a
  world soon to disappear;
Pagan storms they brewed ominously
  overhead, their seed
Did burn my skin and burnt through
  the silver scales
Crippling the little fishes who'd bury themselves prematurely in that cold
  graveyard depth;
Those blissful birds too, that used eat
  out of my hand,
As my countenance grew steadily
  more gaunt and pale
They too, did decide to leave, seek
  food elsewhere.

And the ailing flower wishing the old
  days would return
As my ears they began to pick up a  new sound growing louder all the time
Gnawing away like a worm in my
  brain, the razor-toothed saw
Singing in the woods his eerie Death
  song
Leaving in his wake a grisly trail of
  ****** and mayhem.
My own days numbered then; I saw
  the savage leaders come
With their strange ideals and talk, of
  quotas profits and costs:
Who beside me built a Fortress, a
  sinister smoking structure -
O! those Dark forces it sent forth to
  finish me off
Looting and burning, laying waste my
  beautiful Kingdom
My exiled Spirit indeed, all there is now to tell of that terrible cost.
Environmental poem. The stone giants are the mountains around the lake, the children are the streams flowing into the lake, the tribes would refer to animal tribes. Although about a lake it reminds me also of a human soul.
Kimberly May 2018
I try to contain the poison that leaks and streams
from my brokenness
...as tears streak my face
looking like streams in the desert
...but there is no refreshment in these bitter streams...
I heard that it was a choice to be broken
...but why would I choose to break myself? Maybe it was all of the curses that I've spoken-
against myself...
have I unwittingly foretold my own emotional death?
...and all of these years I flaunted it like it was emotional depth...
Whatever the case- it doesn't matter
Noone has hurt me more or been as unkind
As I search the corridors of my heart and my mind,
I find that
It is I
Replay after replay of some emotional torment, trying to find the fault with me...
That **** hurt- why can't I just leave it.  Right. There?
What they did hurt! And that **** ain't fair...
Why do I feel the need to make it about me?
It's this kind of behavior that keeps me from being free
I've become my own enemy
...so I lie here and I continue to bleed
And I try to contain the poison that streams
From my brokenness
...as tears streak my face
Looking like streams in the desert
But there is no refreshment...
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