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#anthropomorphism
His age was visible when viewing his bark, Deep crags formed from the years of growth And pain that has carved such deep crevasses From the worry of time that has been a constant; Where every story and tale told is another line, Or ripple written within the folds of his face; Each a scar where life had taught a lesson, Permanently etching into his skin each lash, Whose bruises freckled his facade in liver spots Of green lichen, clinging stubbornly to every wound; Each a marker of a time nature had beaten him; His sap bleeding in sticky rivulets of red amber, Crusting from his eyes as he chased the sun’s glare... ...Branches aching from the arthritis of his antiquity, As they reached up, feebly grasping for growth, That had long since drained beyond the reach of roots Worn gnarly by the erosion of rain and runoff; Exposing his foundation to the predation of youth, Who sought to usurp his purchase by casting shade To hide his stature and deprive him of the light Required to stand tall, leaving him hunched; Crooked and warped, twisted beyond recognition. A hollow husk full of the rings that tell tall tales Of his history and the years of little and plenty That all must face when withstanding raging storms, Or freezing blizzards that burn like a wildfire, Scorching his trunk, singeing the long grey moss Hanging from the frail stump of his weathered chin; Wiry strands stretching disorderly in every direction, Spreading across his body to cover the scowl That had been unintentionally worn into the wrinkles With every gripe at the hungry woodpecker, Or every sting from the angry bumblebee; Leaving him full of leathery callouses that peel Paper thin layers of dead bark into curly cues, Exposing rough patches of vascular blisters, Inviting the infection of disease-ridden pests, Whose vampiric bites sap the thin sap of his blood, Stealing what water and food he needed to stand, Stubbornly clinging to the side of his mountain, As the soil around him began to slide away... ...Desperately, he clung to the rocks deep below. Roots wrapped tight shook with every tremor, Shaking loose the leaves on his trembling limbs, To fall in an autumnal corsage of reds and yellows; Each a memory of the centuries that had passed, Flashing before him in a montage of his life... ...Before he too started to fall, joints popping, Limbs snapping, roots ripping, trunk cracking; A cacophony of pain that echoed across the forest, Followed by a moment of weightlessness that hung ...Breathless... As time hit pause on its inevitable progression, To memorialize the memory of an ancient oak... ...Before he hit the ground, never to stand again: It seems there is a sound when no one is around To hear you fall. — L.R. Thompson
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May 6
May 6, 2026 at 11:17 PM UTC
Ancient Oak
His age was visible when viewing his bark, Deep crags formed from the years of growth And pain that has carved such deep crevasses From the worry of time that has been a constant; Where every story and tale told is another line, Or ripple written within the folds of his face; Each a scar where life had taught a lesson, Permanently etching into his skin each lash, Whose bruises freckled his facade in liver spots Of green lichen, clinging stubbornly to every wound; Each a marker of a time nature had beaten him; His sap bleeding in sticky rivulets of red amber, Crusting from his eyes as he chased the sun’s glare... ...Branches aching from the arthritis of his antiquity, As they reached up, feebly grasping for growth, That had long since drained beyond the reach of roots Worn gnarly by the erosion of rain and runoff; Exposing his foundation to the predation of youth, Who sought to usurp his purchase by casting shade To hide his stature and deprive him of the light Required to stand tall, leaving him hunched; Crooked and warped, twisted beyond recognition. A hollow husk full of the rings that tell tall tales Of his history and the years of little and plenty That all must face when withstanding raging storms, Or freezing blizzards that burn like a wildfire, Scorching his trunk, singeing the long grey moss Hanging from the frail stump of his weathered chin; Wiry strands stretching disorderly in every direction, Spreading across his body to cover the scowl That had been unintentionally worn into the wrinkles With every gripe at the hungry woodpecker, Or every sting from the angry bumblebee; Leaving him full of leathery callouses that peel Paper thin layers of dead bark into curly cues, Exposing rough patches of vascular blisters, Inviting the infection of disease-ridden pests, Whose vampiric bites sap the thin sap of his blood, Stealing what water and food he needed to stand, Stubbornly clinging to the side of his mountain, As the soil around him began to slide away... ...Desperately, he clung to the rocks deep below. Roots wrapped tight shook with every tremor, Shaking loose the leaves on his trembling limbs, To fall in an autumnal corsage of reds and yellows; Each a memory of the centuries that had passed, Flashing before him in a montage of his life... ...Before he too started to fall, joints popping, Limbs snapping, roots ripping, trunk cracking; A cacophony of pain that echoed across the forest, Followed by a moment of weightlessness that hung ...Breathless... As time hit pause on its inevitable progression, To memorialize the memory of an ancient oak... ...Before he hit the ground, never to stand again: It seems there is a sound when no one is around To hear you fall. — L.R. Thompson
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58
The electric kettle grooves like a gavel bounce bouncing off the bench when the judge won the raffle The sound waves baffle the mind as the refrigerator hums along to the microwaves song A beep beepin’ melody as smoke’s creep creepin’ from the oven And the blender is lovin’ the distraction Keepin’ their eyes from the action As he hatchets and dispassionately dispatches chickpeas left and right No end to the violence in sight Who cares about wrong from right There will be hummus tonight **** blender got his business done but now the fun begins as the stove channels the power of the sun to heat the pan and the plan is to fry the dough, those homemade doughnuts make the crowd go nuts but the sizzle of the grease unleashes the beast of the band, the main man, the rockstar, tattoo on his arm, rugged charm, protects you from harm, my man the fire alarm. The fire truck sirens join the orchestration and soon the scene of devastation muffles into a hum, but umm, the night’s still young and we could still go, you know, I’m pretty loco for them Doritos and I may be burnt and poor but Taco Bell is open ’til 4.
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Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
A Saturday Night Symphony
i am not all-together much of anything, really. i am driven, and lazy. running water, and ash, baked into the earth. i am both undeserving, and the only one worthy of Love. i am flotsam, and bubbles, and that coin which sinks once tossed Into the fountain. i am grass heaped high ! to feed cattle. and discarded watermelon seed. but you ! you're the same. and then, not the same. you're flourishing flowers, and wilting autumnal Leaves. both witness the scythe. you are living inspiration, and monument to entropy. and if you have veins then let me be the salt in those veins. and if love dies, then let it die in me, first. i couldn't stand to see it the other way around. Same. Not Same. if you are the mirror then am i not the frame? but all of This: the prose, aggregate metaphor, lonely night, cold morning, wine drunk alone, the joy of Longing, not all-together much of anything, really. except maybe; to display.
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Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
sameness:sameness
I dream of dogs though I doubt they dream of me or rabbits running across a monochrome field I presume many things about the canine psyche: an ancient wolf howling in their head an inability to feel dread, and the arrogance of cats, their “pet” peeve feigned feline ferocity may bother them not one whit nor do they likely give a **** what stirs in my primordial cerebral soup, when I scratch their ears, and vainly imagine their fears of the dead dark, are the same as ours
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Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
what dogs dream