"burl" poems
Samson-bound between book shelves,
in the New Aeon Section,
a pale youth nourishes his ego on
bombastic conjunctive adverbs.
(An imagined sea lion balances a
striped ball on the tip of his
snout & slaps his fins in
frenzied approval. Arf. Arf.)
Though absent, the ring master
smiles from the realms of irony.
He holds the bearded lady by the
burl & orders a reception for
the new act.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
a storyteller's perspective, steppin' off the ordinary edge, into the unknown
An unsent letter lay on the rustic log cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light comes in,
where it laid fallen, half *** crumbled, yet never a wadded ball;
never an unspoken thrown paper stone, a befallen regret was all.
Silently atilt and leaning against the canted wall's slant
behind the gathered dust a squeaky hinged burl wood door
A timeworn tarnished copper wind up clock roosted,
an old lip smirched coffee cup time stood still;
an empty bottle of gin sat near the bed post headboard
where the ink stains and blotted spillings let the memories in.
Stained pages torn and bent like fallen paper wings
returned to the unread sender … postage due, south a heaven sent ―
A sullied envelope, gnawed and mouse chewed,
for a nest of new beginnings ―
just read: Lydia ... ♡
... followed by a scribbled empty heart
The time aged brown tattered tablet paper left behind
stifled like the unread heart it holds upon the threadbare pages
of smudged tear’s ache and spilled gin
The weathered rock hearth fireplace filled with spent ashes,
hand rolled cigarette butts, traces of an aching lament;
scratched up old vinyl records lay ***** and tired out,
from a time of sweeter fallen fences, a musical bliss, and
a lost angel's abandoned red slinky party dress,
aside a busted off black velvet high-heel stuck sullied
in a hollow knothole in the ancient barn-wood floor
a sparkly pearl pink jewel entangled in a spider web
An unsent letter lay on the rustic cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light gets in
The final unread words silently said:
*"We lost our way,
it all went wrong,
it all turned bad"
..."This is the outcome when someone you love
up and throws you away"
...“I’ll reach out from the inside
I’ll rise up again and do without”
..."You went out into the world
with an untamed hankerin’ ―
like a carefree restless gypsy breeze
and come back worlds apart"*
The Unsent Letter,
just whispered words to the dust in the wind
in quivering ink:
...*"how can I ever unremember you...?
a thrown stone sinks wordlessly as a rock...,
an old wood bucket with a rotten hole the heart,
fallen forgotten, rock bottom as an empty well"*
just signed: ... ❤ August
January 1st, 2017 ... august ... wild is the wind ♡
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
*dandelion seeds
too tight to fly--
frozen Spring lovers
stream breeze--
pollen ripples into sun,
brace of current bed
inflorescent burst--
hikers' boots beside a pool
on sun-baked rocks
green buds ***** the air--
in corymb echoes,
fuzz of leaves
water-sounds cascade--
moss-drops, trickles; dog-splash, falls;
gurgles under foot
the tones of waves
tiny on the smooth shore
lipping on
stem-length stars,
streaming rays of sun
and water's deep shade
gentle eddies over stone--
one world,
one world
froth twirl and tendril
under Spring brook shade--
so clear beneath
burl-sprouts misted bright,
cups of water,
forest thirst
waterfall gasp--
the cold! the winter! now swim!
the first breaths
Spring Misogi--
pummeled muscles--
grin of mossy heart
your wet shirt against my chest
--hot love--
thunderous winter-melt
we sink laughing,
numb in Spring's fluids--
our voices drown
papaya lunch--
a tropic fruit
and i am home
sweaty backpack--
two beloved women hike,
my heart weightless
cliff-jumpers--
green from nostalgia,
i hit bottomless
cameras first,
avert canopy surprise--
Spring screen
black-backed iridesce--
warm beetle slips
in and out of scree
barefoot in the stream,
our hands and voices smooth--
ankle sprain
Spring paths--
a parent's visit
breathes new life
my womb-maker
from another life--
ageless comfort
her haiku eyes--
water shining sun green
bloom here again
*
\|/
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Staid solitude and silence lend me ease
from mind’s congestion, tongue’s propensive burl
toward chatter’s looping, irritating whirl—
exchanging dervish dust for bonny breeze.
My soul may sing and soar from quiet’s nest
or sit in stillest calm without weight’s care
within the waiting, because God is there
who knows me, hears me, grants me sweeping rest.
The Everlasting God, the LORD o’er all
who understands me, loves me with no end—
most faithful, fervent Confidante and Friend—
pervades the sweet quiescence with His call,
“Here in My peace, come find your heart’s desire.
Serene in Me, soul catches My love’s fire.”
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 10:34 AM UTC
She owns the brightest smile
that could light the streets for miles
She has the bravery to tame the wildest beast
yet, she see's non of these
Once upon a time--not so long ago
she decided that luxury is what she would forgo
so her dreams would not fall,
Her creations could be describe with anything, but banal
What a hardy choice she made
in a crooked world with no aide
She has the strength of ten men
like finest steel she would be hard to bend
like the toughest riddle i could never solve her
on these facts there is no err
It's rare that anyone would catch the impossible girl,
she appears only to those cut from the same burl
Impossible as it seems,
I will catch her--and not only in my dreams
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
How I long to be like you, White Oak
Standing tall and regal
You fulfill your niche as an edifice of omniscience
Wearing proud your burl as if it were a purple heart
But perhaps it is a purple heart,
A Timberland Medal of Honor generated from bacteria and plague
The burl you boast is a bulbous scar
Informing your onlookers “I survived”
I too am still standing, White Oak
I’ve weathered my failures,
Teach me the trade of your bravery, muse of Mother Nature
Show me how to wear my battle wounds like a diamond ring
When they come to slice me open
The exploitation of my innards will taste nothing but familiar.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
We left behind the growing oaks, the contorted willow
with its weeping friend, and the chestnut which
protects us from the western wind.
The christmas tree, garden plonked some thirty years ago,
soon to chop and chimney, and its holly neighbour,
freed at last from greedy strangling ivy.
The white-barked birch, the leaning cluster pine, the maturing
walnut and arching alders, the trio of young scots pines,
rescued from loop moth caterpillars just in time.
The regiment of leylandii along the northern border all in a line
the laurel hedge, the little holm oak, the redwood brought
home in luggage as a burl now spearing to the sky.
The shy biloba, new, unsure, not yet deciding if it dare.
The host of yellow plums, which bid to sucker
everywhere.
The rowan in a *** bark nibbled by a bunnie, still waiting
for a plot.
The scruffy greengage, planted for its scrumptious fare,
the bramley sapling and the conference pear plucked
from the bargain bin last year.
We left them all behind, just for a night, with
a special mission on our minds. We
traveled south then west to a band
of dedicated people in a special
place we had to find.
He was there.
He's with us now, and quite relaxed.
We're on our way to take him back,
to live with us as a life-long friend,
and make our lives
complete again.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 2:04 PM UTC
Perched high upon burl wood roost
dangling feet swing upon
mossy girthed heritage
maple tree
Her majestic gnarled scaffold
flinches not from my nebulous gravity,
nor the weight of her unraveling
golden autumn gown
Her lamentable achings
felt in the voice
of the ripening chill
within the campfire
scented breeze
For I have climbed so blindly high,
the clinging brilliant yellow leaves
metamorphosing like these fragile paper wings,
opening palms born to soar wild as the wind,
to just let go and fly free
Waiting here patiently,
wistfully as destiny,
for the final edifying moment
of fate’s unshacklement - - -;
the surrendering to,
the moment of love set free,
stolen by the wanton
gypsy breeze
wild is the wind
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
Even in the apple blossom moss of your sleep
A plod across the marsh of it, is such a placid deep-
And a withering of agony
a thing to keep...
Than ever was the promise
Of a hell beneath.
The quaint and gnarly burl of frost affixed to half the stars you marvel-
Crisp dark pleats
In absolute
Garments.
Tethered to your sleep
regardless.
Heart of heartless.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 1:09 PM UTC
Silver alert, silver alert
the gold Ford is gone
we hope she's not hurt
Silver alert, silver alert
Grandmas run off
with her new boyfriend Burt
Silver alert, silver alert
Burt's a gold digger
a real piece of dirt
Yes silver alert, yes silver alert
we hope the cops find her
with her monies unhurt
Oh my, silver alert, silver alert
don't spend our inheritance
on Burt, the pervert
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
blooming rainbows in dewy pearls,
on rivières with rosette curls,
on webs festoon'd, on leaves of tree,
tiaras hung on twined ivy
as the golden globe appears
shoots its rays as arrows' swirls
through sweet dawn's crystal tears
of opalescent mother o' pearls
on verdant fronds as they unfurl
like dripping tears of Slighted Girl
as pale moon that sunlight kissed
seeks Her Lover midst the mist
lost beneath the velvet canopy
of diamond strings as cherry burl
in the folds of world's entropy
in chorus of the morning merl
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 2:40 PM UTC
There is a little boy knocking
‘pon the fence enclosed garden.
“Let in”, was such implore
to what stalwart warden—
guarding rows of verdant plumes,
yet complacent to the escaping
flowery fumes.
There is a pain-skinned man
‘pon the fence enclosed garden.
“I shall break in through yonder burl!”
Bit he with tongue full maddened.
Shaking all life curled underneath,
trembling the roses praying for teeth.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 1:45 AM UTC
*When
our bed devours
what
is only Ours
and the night
sinks -
Deep
into our
hot skin, cooling moonbeams
that glaze your thighs
as our limbs
fetch the
Other
from our last drab
things...
We
moisten the burl
of our Life's
Tree...
as we lay planted
gasping.
I see
the furthest world
rising
from the
depths between...
Betwixt -
the
Haunting of Ourselves
and a wet
Dream.*
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Shake; don't stir, run through the pattern,
I was always Jupiter but they all prefer Saturn,
it's got a ring while I'm all explosions,
that's just the thing with these silly emotions.
In outer space the stars are your only friend,
and you're feeling out of place but these days that seems like a trend.
When the moon seems too far away,
the sun will come soon but it will never stay.
Xannie's my favourite girl,
she's got me spinning in this crazy world,
so I add some blue to the swirl,
with the red it makes purple pearl.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
So I jot some shots to my list.
I can only dream of that peaceful bliss,
and the ancient years of which I miss.
Shake; don't stir, follow the lead,
you see flowers occur but I only see a ****
toxic it grows until all it consumes,
everyday she mows but I think it needs fumes.
Down in the dirt where soil holds the leaves,
I buried the hurt but a heart still grieves,
and when the moon is covered with sheets of grey,
the sun will come soon but it will never stay.
Xannie's my favourite love,
she fits my heart tight like a glove,
and when it comes to push or shove,
she's all that I've been thinking of.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
"If this can even be considering living."
I'm waking up to a dark abyss,
it's taken all and now it's giving.
The thoughts in my head,
buried under the dirt,
those words left unsaid,
the ones that cause hurt.
But tomorrow might not come,
this whole thing could be done,
and I've bit my lip since I was young,
I'd hate to also bite my tongue.
Xannie's my favourite girl,
she's got me spinning in this hazy world,
warming my body until I curl,
now all routine is a deadly burl.
My thoughts say "I don't want to live like this."
"Maybe I don't even want to live at all."
Every single second I just reminisce
of the days before I hit that wall.
Who would've ever thought
that during those teenage years,
I believed each day I fought
against loneliness and my fears.
But youth was just a brawl
adulthood is a ****** war,
back then I really had it all
but resented that I didn't have more.
This realization has caused madness,
and irony has a thick glaze,
'cause the youth that I wasted in sadness
was really the "good ol' days."
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Through the fields and through the woods a little girl does goes.
Her feet trample through the sodden snow.
Like a wolf that howls and cries in the night, she whines for the chances for others to see.
To see the way the girl is like someone who sees the glistening blue sea that shines from the sun that is yellow as a bee.
She looks and looks for others in the barren land,
But everywhere she goes is filled with nothing but dirt and sand.
She views her surroundings for a certain someone that she can love.
But love can be a tricky thing because it can fly away like a snow-white dove.
To see is to be. And to be is like rebirth for ones soul.
The little girl can see for her heart is pure as gold.
She shines bright for others to see her but still no one can examine such beauty.
She cries silent and alone until a young boy sees her and lures over to the weeping girl.
He asks: "Why are you crying beautiful girl? You're too beautiful to cry for you are like an elm burl. "
She looks up at the boy with gleaming blue eyes.
She asks: "Why am I alone in this world? Why is everything a lie!?"
He looks at her with a deep sorrowful frown and bends down to cup her face.
He tells her that life is an ugly lie and death is the horrible truth.
She finally understood why life is like a lie but why did this little girl have to die?
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
Ukiyo-e
Thin curls coaxed from the grain
released from all claim by the dogged
rooting of the spoon gouge
bone white ribbon
easing itself to the fragrant floor
spiral cherry rivulet lost in the churn
at the feet of the carver, the first
thing I remember. A churlish man
as I recall, the burl of his squint
screening detail and smoke
from his cigarette, blue double
helix rising in mirror image
a lowering ceiling steeping
his head in stormy weather
gimlet eye weighing heavy seas
a tempest lipping
the canted rim of a petal thin
tea cup, striated wave
reaching for the heavens
top lopped clean by sheering wind
the fluter and the veiner alive and biting
in the hands of the carver who cuts me free
at last, rendered in stark relief at
the boiling crest of the surf break.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
the cherry wood box
sits on the mantle
it is a reminder
of his love
handmade, upon a lathe
from a burl of an old sweet cherry
it is smooth as silk to touch
of a deep yellow redish hue
carved to look like the rounded back
of a cat curled in on itself, asleep
the rings once present in the tree
give the box the look of a tabby cat
inside the love notes we share
it has over time become a letterdrop
today....his note...invites me to
a night of gentle but thorough love
my note....says...yes....please
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 5:26 AM UTC
unto to this day(–drugged
as which with
the sonorous
pull of jazz )
a dream is born
of coiffed in sighs
of drunken fuzz
the hurl burl
clap trap
of Paris ,
occasionally a girl mouth;
tongues; the
divine laughter
deep
within thighs(
where lays
a flower of April
(
giddy young and tight
)
immortaly dying
)
and serene
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC