"branchless" poems
Before the hurricane, in my youngest years things were extremely different
My outlook on Louisiana was a place of water and happiness
I was six years old, and boating was what I did for fun every single day
Boating was what basketball is to me today, a treasure, an outlet
The bayous were alive, the marshes were green, and the trees fruitful
You could smell the salty mud, (which smells very different from a beach)
Our white propeller boat sped to the lake, and lake mist sprayed our faces
Fishermen and crabbers littered the banks, pulling in flailing lively catches
We ate the fruits of their labor at the Cajun restaurant on the bayou, inwards
This was no commercial place, but only the locals had ever been
It was rough, light blue paint peeling, men with grey beards laughing
And the smell of fresh fried catfish had taken over the place,
Perhaps the most unique thing about it was the way to get to it, strictly by boat
My childhood is colorfully painted with these memories, however,
The real life experiences have been swept away in the muddy currents
The restaurant was knocked off its stilts and demolished,
The trees now branchless, dead, and the marshes are hues of yellow and brown
No longer is the water lively, but still, no longer is it safe to dive to the bottom
For fear of remains of houses, boats, glass puncturing our bodies
I consider myself lucky to get to experience that everyday, the bayou was my backyard
That was the Louisiana that is on postcards, not the usual experience of suburbs
That was the Louisiana I used to know, the Louisiana that is no more in my life
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
Brown eyes,
Soul as she
Trudges through
These Demi-Ichorous lagoons
Of romantic mire.
Suspened tear-shaped vessels
From which sorrow
Bares down on soul's
Amber gated soil;
And memory,
Upon memory,
Upon memory,
Entrenches her feet.
Time immobile,
Despite vague recollection
Of retrospection.
Rain in anguish endured,
Devoured by these russet shoals,
And yet still remains this marsh-like nostalgia.
Branchless wasteland,
A collection of Earthen mounds
In sienna hue -
Barren in sky's womb
But God save the oak tree!
Hope's ne'er forsaken pillar
Kept a constant distance
Absent the stronghold of grasp.
Some circle of brown-eyed hell
I suppose,
Keeps the satisfaction
Of soul's salvation
Just beyond reach.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
Sitting on a porch dusty n broken,
She looked at the sky, clouds crashing,
The same way like her insides did.
Getting up she started walking,
Wet by the pain and the rain,
On a path covered with soft shrubs,
But feeling only the hard earth.
Face was expressionless,
Eyes still.
It was like the world was burning,
Her heart Yearning.
Lost in the thoughts of her loved one,
She kept on walking into the darkness of dusk,
Half Alive.
Suddenly she felt her right hand holding a rose,
And her left, a pic of her love engraved on a glass frame,
Which was broken n half inside her wrist,
Blood exuding..
Turning back she saw the place she had *** from,
Heading there with slow n unsteady steps,
Her mind was filled with the memories of her loved one..
She reached that place which had a tree branchless.
Standing still on the front of the porch,
She looked at the grave of her Love,
Which contained his Body,
Soul-less.
Her body almost blood drenched,
She leaped over the Grave.
Her soul too was leaving her body,
And she lay there, Cried.
Going again in the Warm Hug of her soulmate,
She left this world of sorrows and together again were their souls.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
I afraid of being, on this shore
a branchless trunk, and what I most regret
is having no flower, pulp, or clay
for the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure,
if you are my gross, my dampened pain,
if I am a dog, and you alone my master.
Never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.
1.1k
Storm's a'brewin'!
That's all I can surmise.
Wind's a'whistlin',
whole-howlin' tree-ring eyes.
Them eyes been a'talkin'
and
teethin' by the meadow.
Called for his past,
he has no memories of this meadow.
Winters have passed,
snow bears no meaning. Cold and wet wood– Swell.
Branchless, aging,
won't you watch them wood-grain curves? Just feel him.
He's got them rings
in his eyes, in his sad-stump eyes. Woe-brown.
Taking it easy. Taking it easy, just as easy as you're fitting to go.
O' count the rings in his eyes and listen–
listen to beats:
*Storms from the west are making my joints sore.
Crows outside my window assure me that Winter is dead.
These big-skies continue to impress me.
Crows outside my window caw at me that Winter is dead.
Water does go a'tricklin' from the source.*
Birds do fly north in spring
and
soon summer storms will come.
Cloud-anvils hang heavy,
lightning will come.
Breathing stills, so heavy–
More trees will come.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
There is a light, a measured glow, in these distant miles I run.
Embraced inside an Eggshell Case, nested in the Branchless Tree,
with nothing but the billowed Air, rushing by to hold Me.
Fill my Chest, arc and crest, as no One knows my pace in lest
he runs this distance with Me.
You be the Thud that bounds Us down,
Encased in Peach seed, Nectarine,
drum the Ground from brittle heat, strike a Sound,
a steady Beat that brings a Rhythm back to Life,
so I may fall from Branchless Tree, and land the Earth beneath Me.
My Eggshell World, the only Globe I've ever known,
now shattered to my Mourning Sun.
My fragile eyes will adjust, my fragile mind, my Wanderlust,
will find the Truth, on rays of Light, the Proudest moment
of my Life.
I pound the Ground and powered Dust,
will rise
the Feathers of my wing,
Will Rise
the Vision of my eyes,
WILL RISE
the Sight of Bigger Things.
And with this Freedom, rings a Bell that cracked my Shell,
Conductor with his Symphony, juxtaposed my String Quartet...
Music overtakes the Moon, that brings to Life in Dead of Night,
my bedside Light that shines upon this page I read...
So as my Wings move up and down like Bow against my Violin,
I bring my Part in Symphony, I take my place above the Ground
and circle back...
Circling
Gliding down
CIRCLING
Rising Up...
CRESENDO CRASH!
followed by the dimming Lights,
a Silent Pause...
Ecstatic Cheer!
Bravo...
Bravo...
Cheers the Crowd!
Play again your Symphony...
Never Stop!
my Precious Dear...
Beat your Drum!
my Darling...
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Upon high the wood never
Sways, always ridged. Its
Fruits ever waiting for the
Time to fall.
But the wood never sways
Its branchless heights, Its
Tainted bark, its moments
When fruits do fall.
Not the time yet, but fall
They will, selected for they
Are special in nature.
When they descend blood
Spills saturating floors.
The wood never sways, only
When the fruit does fall, where
Life is surrendered. Where that
Moment is quiet as one became
Two and the fruit had fallen
From up high to the floor.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
A Million Tiny Pieces
Taken while you wept on clustered fears of empty dreams,
broken remnants shuttered as in some storm cloud cellar
and yet the pain seeps through tiny cracks
invading every pore, seeking that which keeps fracturing
Puddles form at frozen feet, unable to move, chilled of anguish,
sub-zero burdens slither their way into the mind’s pathways,
hiding in corners, darkened at angular positions,
wedges of meeting points sheltering these evil thoughts
Falling on tender knees, hands clenched, pleading on tear drop pages
Emotions, these concrete wishes stained on thin lines
appear from chained memories, tethered to branchless trees,
striking swiftly as I watch your heart shatter…
into a million tiny pieces on the floor…and I with it
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
Taken while you wept on clustered fears of empty dreams,
broken remnants shuttered as in some storm cloud cellar
and yet the pain seeps through tiny cracks
invading every pore, seeking that which keeps fracturing
Puddles form at frozen feet, unable to move, chilled of anguish,
sub-zero burdens slither their way into the mind’s pathways,
hiding in corners, darkened at angular positions,
wedges of meeting points sheltering these evil thoughts
Falling on tender knees, hands clenched, pleading on tear drop pages
Emotions, these concrete wishes stained on thin lines
appear from chained memories, tethered to branchless trees,
striking swiftly as I watch your heart shatter…
into a million tiny pieces on the floor…and I with it
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Trysts of beached
and branchless relationships
have led my mind to call the
tides insecurity for truth,
but this old jug of liquid fire is melting glass
so I think my craw needs a-wait f’r a-asking for.
When I get the slur off my tong,
the day will be done
And what happens tonight’s gonna kick my *** ‘til Tuesday.
Goodbye worries;
I hope to see you in hell on Wednesday.
Let me sleep,
or my dreams
will explode
into reality.
Please.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC