"conifers" poems
A flight of three crows
added to
a dense grey day
Next add four
iconic conifers
as high as the sky
eternally ******* down
These things are
always in my sight
through my window
on this wet world
Multiply all of this
by a sweet daughter
who makes me proud
and raise the whole
to the power of a strong woman
who carries us all
on her back
The equation produces
a result that I am 95 percent certain
equals happiness
though the confidence interval
is wide
And this result
sweet as it is
and as uncertain as it is
will outlive me
leave a faint echo in time
an echo that will bounce off a star
and finally be found
gripped in my shriveled paw
long after the epiphany
nowhere near paradise
somewhere short of
the end of the line
This is a moment of happiness
stolen from time
hijacked by a fugitive
from civil society
I'll hold it close
until death pries it
without mercy
from my hand
Leaves it as a blessing
and a curse
for all who come after
Take the blessing.
Leave the curse.
That's the advice I give
with my dying breath.
And I leave this to you
from the generosity
of my heart.
With a nod to
the scant traces
of God's grace
that I find on these pathways
of travail.
Never lost.
Never found.
Always present
and generous
to all.
Be that.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
a rich panoply
of umber and gold
contrasting against
the conifers green
a glorious sight
to behold
one of the loveliest
ever seen
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
She nods and sighs
amongst the conifers.
Evergreen sap coats the
rug of needles beneath, and
the wind covers her skin
with rippling gooseflesh.
A little black balloon lies
beside a bindle of rigs.
The moon robs and blinds
her of sight, shining so
very brightly into her dilated
pupils and hidden irises.
A single rusted spoon glows and
A stolen church candle smoulders.
Her golden locks encircle
the crown of her cranium
in a halo worthy of stained-
glass windows.
Rubber tubing is tied off
above her collapsing veins.
The fallen leaves under her
protruding shoulder blades
stretch out for miles in a
pair of clipped wings.
With a final rattling cough
the light leaves her eyes,
and dissipates into
the punctured skies
as she quietly fades,
and dies.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
My body was found in an autochthonous cranny stinking of death,
between the hookers legs; burned
with a magnesium flash- of the bulb popping.
It illuminates mere shapes
resembling humans only remotely;
the way a copse of bracken burnt conifers' resemble matchsticks.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
Brilliant, this day – a young virtuoso of a day.
Morning shadow cut by sharpest scissors,
deft hands. And every prodigy of green –
whether it's ferns or lichens or needles
or impatient points of buds on spindly bushes –
greener than ever before. And the way the conifers
hold new cones to the light for the blessing,
a festive right, and sing the oceanic chant the wind
transcribes for them!
A day that shines in the cold
like a first-prize brass band swinging along
the street
of a coal-dusty village, wholly at odds
with the claims of reasonable gloom.
3.3k
on this rumbling
stretch of tundra
no trees reach up
to soothe the sky
there is a pulling down
of wind tunnel vortex
like conifers in reverse
an icy howl
in the bonechill
of time
Translucent holes,
perfectly round, are dug
in glacial archeology
and in the sea below
gelid creatures lurk,
half-frozen
in the history of my
soul
Only moss and lichens
grow on the rock,
somehow softening the
rugged textures
of the wild landscapes
that seethe
just beneath my skin
and there, just
shy of the surface
is a quickening
a subtle pulse of veins
that pumps life
between the gales of
my heart's steppes
flushing out
the pain
somewhere
deep
within the private lotus
of my being
folioles unfurl
leafy shapes around
my organs
wrapping them like gifts
as they undulate in whorls
opening my petals
in renewed consciousness
and deliberation
as a new kind of
stamen
rises
dusty pollen
powdery
budding ripeness
bursting up
and out
of my deepest
centered
whirlpool pistil
nectar dripping
in viscous webs,
to be caught upon
the tongue of
a new dawning
My silky outer
wings of vegetation,
slender stalks of
filaments and anther
have been turned
into hot steel
They protect
the tender vulnerable
when burned
as poison words held up to my
watchful eyes,
are properly discerned
I give myself over
to this new power,
my back arched to fully embrace
what is to come,
a universe calling thunder,
the old patterns undone
I am ready
to reveal my all
as the goddess deep within
comes to release my gold
suffusing light through skin
conjured from me
a relentless strength,
ever-growing,
now tenfold
rising way past
soft-lit stratospheres
and orbiting
to
bold
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
The mine shaft’s gaping mouth
yawns like the throat of an old, useless god.
Gnats hover by the scattered rocks.
This is real not a set, or a scene,
a spit of dirt shot through the sluice, all things like
a picture cut to kiss my America expectation.
In the surrounding bush, tamaracks curve towards the clouds.
The clouds where, above the furry tips of conifers, cataracts
plummet down mountainwalls, and ask:
“afraid?” And I am, I am. I fear the sheer
slopes of tough granite slashing the giant sky
in two; the hard-edged mountain face. The expansive air.
And this split is brooding old and unknowable
tunneling briskly into the unfamiliar, bruising
Montana a grisly purple-red
when the sun swings underground
and shades the hot **** by the mine with cool night as
behind it, the mine appears to growl.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 9:09 PM UTC
rain illuminates
the pathway
by virtue of street lights
iridescent
in the vapour
past the drug dealers house
to the dark shadows
of conifers
whose outline hides
the shape of potential
muggers lying in wait
I watch through the arrow slit
of the bathroom transom window
of my fortress home
cleaning my teeth
while my ring doorbell's
paranoid cyclops eye
keeps vigil
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 2:40 PM UTC
(Commemoration of Earth-Day, 22nd-04-09)
Earth hath
Been Weeping!
Nature lacerated & pleading?
Extinct species beseeching;
Antarctica mercilessly melting,
Noxious gaseous emissions heating.
Have you ever wondered?
“Of the Greek mythology!”
women warriors of Scythia astray burned off the
Right ***** to try
to habituate the bow and arrow in sly,
arsenals of terror abound harsh shear ploy!
Hitherto, the atrocious force upon Nature ne'er stops.
Wherefore-now the lost leaf of the conifers?
Searching for the nearest route to the Savannah Plains,
Waiting pro the long anticipated cascades of the tropical rains. Babylon wrests & clinches intimately thy adored hanging gardens that black slaves tend no more hasten. Euphrates in the Persian Gulf wanders uncertain; Everest looks down in pitiful scorn…
As it wobbly looses its molecular activity in pain.
Humanity squirms in an enamored Trance
to heave a foundation Of conscious Purpose
That Earth day waits Upon us
To elucidate a divine Hypothesis.
~~/|\~~
Namaste'
~~\|/~~
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 4:49 AM UTC
pick your master under the cover of snow
bends of darkness hemmed to the tops of conifers
Soon I will visit to move you. Three appended signatures,
Three thousand miles of telephone wire.
This is the one letter I cannot send
for there is no address for where you are,
The one I wish to call upon has no receiver to respond.
And now all my teeth begin to fall out
Like excess light bleeding from your moons.
I know the sound of Glass when I hear it.
You have made weapons out of my junk and
Then gone to war without me, I see you
Against the whistling stars and overseers,
Anxiety makes this heart grow fungus
These fingertips weary, and I pull out my eyelashes
As if trying to see you better through this impenetrable
black nightness I lead myself into, until all that
were corners and crests become the precipice.
Insecurity turns to rooks, hatred turns to Jays
Until the weeping have wept and I visit to stay.
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
Soon,
I'll be soaring,
free
above
the conifers & elders,
the Nantahala waters
below
will glisten
against
the ancient rock
& free,
I'll be soaring,
soon.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 7:16 AM UTC
If you want flowery poetry
Hit pause, backspace delete.
I write on a lot of subjects;
Only a few could be called sweet.
I’m not into swirling windstorms
Or describing billowy clouds.
Not into extolling autumn leaves
Or conifers standing proud.
I try to select the human things
Whether good or even bad.
Sometimes I wrestle with
Life twists that make us sad.
I try to speak for everyman
And that includes the women.
I try to reflect life circumstances
And the results the travel with them.
So, crooning polysyllabically
Is seldom my favorite tune,
Nor is waxing limerickally
About June, and spoon and moon.
Instead I’ll probably take to task
Those who live in sappy hope
A prince shows up in their life
A proper romantic dope.
I write the rhymes about crooks
That steal from your children
And the supposed leaders
That ****** and abuse women.
I write about parents who
Ignore what their children need
And instead find their joy
On selfishness and greed.
After so many millennia
We really need to stop
Waiting for someone else to come
And be the moral traffic cop.
It is us who need to change
And teach our children accordingly
Because the way we are fixing things
Humanity is progressing dismally.
So keep your butterfly couplets
And views of rain on hedges.
We are falling apart as humans
And it’s visible on the edges.
It will only take a few crazies
With power enough to wield
And this planet, and us of course,
Will no longer have a shield.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:59 PM UTC
I heard my mojo calling
in the sound of a million crickets,
singing their song in splendid harmony.
Under the smiling moon,
I saw shadows amongst the conifers,
in a place we once called home.
And now all I have
is your handmade dreamcatcher,
a bandana with your fragrance
imbedded in the paisley
& memories of you on me.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
my angel’s sneezed
snowflakes
fall from the sky
Their silence, magic, dance
covers me
enchants me
tickles me
The frozen conifers - my friends,
ancient and wise
as mountains they stand -
agree in their soundless chants:
Though the skies a snowy shade of grey,
the words it speaks are worth a million colours
- RW, All rights reserved.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC
The Strawberry Sun,
A Perfect Disc In The Early Morning Sky,
The Last Butterfly Mureder The Dusk Before,
As Winter Claws Ripped Through The Fall Barrier,
The Moon's Face Cooled And Drifted Off,
And The Clouds Cupped The Sky In Soft Palms,
Promising November's Grey Hue,
For The Next Day,
As I Run Frost Leaves Proof Of My Path,
The Sun Now Orange,
Green Eyes Slowly Change,
Now As Yellow As The Sun Itself,
Teeth Scrape Against One Another,
As The Conifers Hold Me In Arms Made From,
The Scent Of Pine,
Stripping Skin,
The Purplish Sky Now Grey,
In Novemeber's Hue,
Now I Plead,
My Last Words,
Please Don't Wake Me Up.....
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
Skeleton trees,
stripped down to the bone,
live naked within the walls of winter
Icicle boughs,
and branches buried deep in white
Conical conifers draped with ****** snow,
a blanket of diamond dust
They now enter my frozen world,
like life would now exist
inside of a snow globe
The drifting slopes
add white dimension
to this winter world
Frost upon the windows,
designed like crystal upon the glass,
sends shivers down my spine
The mass exodus of flocks of birds,
migrating south
for their seasonal vacation,
have gone away
These are the images embedded in the hynotic halls of my mind
The aging calender
upon the sunless wall
will soon give way to another year
The polar atmosphere
will have to surrender
its icy grip
but it is in no hurry
once January rolls around
In wintertime
we become like
weary, winter warriors
as we are manned with
shovels and plows,
battling the barrage of shellfire
of continuous cold, snow and ice
Shielded with scarves and heavy apparel,
shoveling and scraping,
salting and sweeping,
we are at war with
the fierce elements
that make us slip and slide
The salt trucks look like
army tanks on the move
Playful adventurers laugh at the scorn
The mammoth artic tundra
is their playground,
the ultimate winter utopia
They shall master
the slippery landscape
on skis, sleds and skates
in their pleasure
to conquer the frozen land
Winter is truly a wonder,
but soon my
Spring and Summer dreams
lie captive
I find myself
a foreigner of this wintry wilderness
My fair, flowery fields are gone
Barren are those beautiful images,
for Spring, Summer and Fall,
fables to my wintry world,
have slumbered all too long
Soon I am pondering.....
If only I can thaw
these stone solid feelings,
as the land soon melts
into Spring tears,
and can light a lamp within,
defrosting the sub-zero
feelings inside of me,
I will fully embrace the dreams
of warmer times,
and I shall find myself once more
A woman who knows why
she endures such a season,
shoveling my way through
the stormy periods of life
to thrive amid
the firsts of Spring
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 8:17 AM UTC
Weaving Through Trees,
The Change Blocked,
Rushing Through The Conifers,
Trying To Outrun The Clock,
My Blood Pounding,
For The Cage Was Unlocked,
A Raven Up Above Leads The Way,
Running From The Black Bullet Which Was Shot,
Smoke Hangs In The Air Like 1000 Hateful Words,
Yet I Keep Running--I Never Want To Be Caught,
The Metallic Scent Of Fear Rises From My Skin,
I'm Covered In All The Scars--Every Battle I Fought,
My Black Hair Flying Through The Wind As The Raven,
Our Communication Connected Only By Thought,
*The Scent Of Blood Burns My Nostrails,
Before I Fall,
I Thought I Could Outrun Them All*
My Body Lay Limp In The Winter Sun,
Yet The Raven Picks Me Up,
And She Turns And Runs
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
After “lo fatal”
When I read you first I was living in Bergen.
Pretending at translation
and going up scree, clutching at conifers
in a painted flaxen sun.
I'd imagined you’d given up on being Modernista
to settle for a quaint shack—
for the hardness of the carved fjord.
Now if you were to arrive in the wild
where I have kept this place
strangely similar by the pine, blue herons,
Mount Ozzard over the dandelions,
how would you come walking down the road?
Would deer pause to smell your tracks
or the cedar cutter look up as he heard you pass,
or these coal-black snags
which guard the lot’s entrance
and haven't swayed in so long
groan?
Dichoso el árbol, que es apenas sensitivo.
Happy is the tree, you said. Scarcely sentient.
Ruben Dario: what is the tree
which rushes through this poem?
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Packed in the back seat of
your cramped Chevy Lumina,
and parked on the frontage road
behind the conifers
in your backyard—
the moon is low, a jaundice yellow,
the car is stalled, the heater grumbled;
you pull me in to warm me up,
my glasses fog,
you steal my smile—
[Your father, for his Sunday sermon,
packed the house—Leviticus:
“’Their blood shall be upon them,’ and
all God’s children said?”
“Amen.”]
Our breath condensed, whisper-white,
traced our initials on the window—
in after-laughing afterglow,
you swallow, nervous,
before you kiss me.
We don’t let go, till cabin lights
illuminate your father’s form—
the verse, full force, the wrath of God,
a hurricane—
a Horrible.
I never saw you afterward,
poor pastor’s son, where have you gone?
Like Pyramus, at the sight of blood
on Thisbe’s veil—
we don’t prevail.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
in utter radiance two bodies meld,
in decadent tenderness; emanating
from one another in mindless bliss,
like silken sheets fluttering in a
midsummer day breeze; flapping out
a heart's symphony as each mellifluous
tune is carried along effortlessly of fallen
petals in an upward warm wind...alluring
when lips touch their essence is as
delicate and soft as a newborn's first
breath and visions of meadows as
burbling brooks eke out nature's
wonderous animations of life; hidden
amongst conifers naked seedling in
cones of yews procreative life...caressed
eyes gaze upon one another in trancelike
looks of longing; in ponderance of love's
accepting embrace, to feel it's enraptured
warmth; skyrocketing moans in resonating
tremors of gossamery affection...cloud nine
emerging gasps are born to undulate in
waves; awakening love's cupidity to be
forever within one another's limelight,
delighting each other's ambiance of
life's many truisms; our spirits bountiful
and serene as we live and love in our own
paradise on earth...in spirituality
becoming excited in our veracity to
understanding the complexities of
love and living in moments of bliss;
standing still vacuumed, absorbing
one another's vitality to be as one,
soulmates until heart and mind
collide in hungering want; holding
onto thoughts only we can see
within one another's eyes...heavenly love
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 3:54 AM UTC
Those times
we'd go four wheelin'
with nothing on
but the bikini top
were the best of times.
We'd jam Thorogood,
take a cooler
& disappear
way up
into the hills,
get lost in the blm lands
near skagway.
And those trips
into phantom canyon
always gave us
a chance to unwind.
Pulling offroad
up into the conifers
sealed my fate with you.
You were the perfect date
Sunshine.
With nothing on
but a red bandana,
screaming hallelujah
on the roll bar.
And there was never
anybody around,
but you
and the warblers
and me.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
Auburn coated cattle
seek safe purchase
on a limestone scree
bent windscarred conifers
climb the hill
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
On the foggy window glass,
In the snow that raw,
My finger rubbed past the dew,
To catch a glimpse,
Of fog and benumbed,
Outside of the car window.
My eyes desire a little sunshine,
My skin, a little warmth.
Ears urge for her chirping,
Lips, the touch of hers,
Hands, a stroke in her hairs,
Body, to have a shadow besides hers.
The sun shined shyly over the meadows,
To hide back in clouds,
As if it kissed the snow - a good foggy day.
Conifers stand tall, covered in snow as if a white ghost,
Sailing with the wind, snow shifted -revealing a green arm,
Only to muddle the sleeping fox beneath.
Relishing in my state- haywired,
A smile played on her, if only, for an instant,
to leave me mortified.
My devotion for her- untouched.
Masked, my feelings rattled,
Green eyed- I explode.
Saurabh.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 6:09 AM UTC