#kenning - Hello Poetry

There is a tree covered in ribbons Growing by the riverside. Small buds wake to springtime Early in the blue brightness. Many strips of cloth wind round The Grieving Tree. I added my own yesterday During a rest on the long road. It was a comfort to see many Memento-leaves gathered close. Yesterday's sun rose glimmering On fresh snow and footprints. Foxes howled in the forest And hares danced for longer days. Today the mountains beckon Speaking of silence and solitude. True leaves have not yet grown On the prayer-handed trees. Ribbons colour the melting winter Red and purple, blue and green.

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Mar 9, 2025

Mar 9, 2025 at 12:49 PM UTC

K_E_Cummins

Ribbon leaves

There is a tree covered in ribbons Growing by the riverside. Small buds wake to springtime Early in the blue brightness. Many strips of cloth wind round The Grieving Tree. I added my own yesterday During a rest on the long road. It was a comfort to see many Memento-leaves gathered close. Yesterday's sun rose glimmering On fresh snow and footprints. Foxes howled in the forest And hares danced for longer days. Today the mountains beckon Speaking of silence and solitude. True leaves have not yet grown On the prayer-handed trees. Ribbons colour the melting winter Red and purple, blue and green.

20

Today a thousand burdens coalesced; Mind-monsters made meal of me. Grief carved my face. Cry not, cry not, We have no room for more tears. In the morning, I saw dawn rising, And a grey world turn green. The sky was emptiness, blue bold music, Over the sun that swift leapt high. So cry not, cry not, my friend in sorrow, Though masked faces weep in silence. We are not alone in this desperate anger; Dim lies the light before dawn.

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Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC

K_E_Cummins

Hope

Today a thousand burdens coalesced; Mind-monsters made meal of me. Grief carved my face. Cry not, cry not, We have no room for more tears. In the morning, I saw dawn rising, And a grey world turn green. The sky was emptiness, blue bold music, Over the sun that swift leapt high. So cry not, cry not, my friend in sorrow, Though masked faces weep in silence. We are not alone in this desperate anger; Dim lies the light before dawn.

12

Music maker, trombone player Master-to-be of all instruments For my passion an educator in the making Those notes that live within Their stave homes on the aged paper Are composed of the very things that run through these well-played veins They are the building blocks of my being That brought me to world-class stages Music maker, trombone player I am a future Great

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Apr 26, 2016

Apr 26, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC

felixxmarie

Music Maker

Music maker, trombone player Master-to-be of all instruments For my passion an educator in the making Those notes that live within Their stave homes on the aged paper Are composed of the very things that run through these well-played veins They are the building blocks of my being That brought me to world-class stages Music maker, trombone player I am a future Great

12

beard-red explorers pillaging-horror practitioners tribal-family groups insurgent-nomadic roots that trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans, continuously-toilfully matters not the demands women and men side by each beastly-feasters no table safe stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce pagan-purveyors by rites despised-womanizers siege-setters monk-murderers a blood-spilling bee treasure trove crash n’carry Thor had his hammer every wave-rammer had an oar for every pair of life-stained hands, the stains were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers and yet discoverer’s children wandering wet-wilderness found a Stormy-Stop, a few actually, and one be Newfoundland may-haps they settled in peace.

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Apr 20, 2016

Apr 20, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC

darrell-wade-elverum

Family-first a tale-Twisted

beard-red explorers pillaging-horror practitioners tribal-family groups insurgent-nomadic roots that trailed wave-rammers across never-ending spans, continuously-toilfully matters not the demands women and men side by each beastly-feasters no table safe stand up for yourself or be a weak-waif in the bloodshot soul-panes, fierce pagan-purveyors by rites despised-womanizers siege-setters monk-murderers a blood-spilling bee treasure trove crash n’carry Thor had his hammer every wave-rammer had an oar for every pair of life-stained hands, the stains were borrowed and the very life-drained out of others blood-smitten berserkers, heart-stoppers and yet discoverer’s children wandering wet-wilderness found a Stormy-Stop, a few actually, and one be Newfoundland may-haps they settled in peace.

28

Walls close Echoes burning Writing unpleasant Light flickering Shadows jumping Locks secure Footsteps distant Invitations lurid Seat flipped Room empty Time still Feeling calm

0

Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC

andrew-fahey

Emptying Stillness

Walls close Echoes burning Writing unpleasant Light flickering Shadows jumping Locks secure Footsteps distant Invitations lurid Seat flipped Room empty Time still Feeling calm

12