"greenleaf" poems
It's a nightmare of a journey
Through the Rose Hills.
White roses cover death
Along side the 50mph ride.
We'll speed down the boulevard
Turning right, swerving left.
Drink some beer on Broadway,
Smoke some cigarettes at CVS.
Then I'll fill your heart with rose petals
And regret.
You grin and whisper gently
I'll meet you in Whittier at Sunset.
Lets muddle through Greenleaf
Under a cerulean sky.
I got lost in the time held in your eyes.
I stumble back to only trip into your disguise.
Only to drown in your lips and lies.
Dragging our souls to Hellman's and back,
I'll find you on Hadley letting the sun in,
Wilted in Whittier at sunset.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
my bed is just a velvet patch of comfort in this world
every night I curl into the earth
lay into the soft flesh of her lips and
lay unstirred until rising
like a breath
but what kind of lover is confined to a kiss?
should not I run a hand down the alleys of her throat?
press my ear to the heaving sidewalk
and hear arrhythmia in her heart?
go out behind the lot
of Greenleaf Woman’s Health--
the cheap abortion clinic
sink a tongue into the sewer
bathe in the spray of recycled water
and be purer by surrender
of barrier between veins
lay with this world in every ***** place
sleep with one side to a chain-link
the other to her tunnel
corrugated aluminum
and street run-off canals
and the run-out chaparral
where wind and sagebrush sweep
dry air across my tongue
to grow snail-trails on my teeth
to call this world a lover
I must know more than her face
and claw into the bitter brine
of every permeable place
so when they roll me over
I might reek of all her tastes
fermenting with her beauty
wrapped in sweat of her disgrace
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
*Immortal love, forever full,
Forever flowing free,
Forever shared, forever whole,
A never-ebbing sea!
No fable old, nor mythic lore,
Nor dream of bards and seers,
No dead fact stranded on the shore
Of the oblivious years;---
But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
A present help is He;
And faith has still its Olivet,
And love its Galilee.
Through Him the first fond prayers are said
Our lips of childhood frame,
The last low whispers of our dead
Are hallowed with His Name.
O Lord and Master of us all!
Whate'er our name or sign,
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,
We test our lives by Thine.*
John Greenleaf Whittier 1807-1892
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
I am one who sought Greenleaf where
now asleep in pumpkin spice lore
that strength in mettle sheep won
as despair in attire aflame
a nobility in crosshairs ware
allure tote freedom today
if love grips sensuality bare
as the sun shades too
I aspire to humanity acquire
that peace in the valley restore
when is love quickly abet
that barter alone my soul
and far shall wonder with obsession
a sojourn apostrophe for another tomorrow
my ginger butte fane
and paradise forever.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
i like watching youtube
but not shows that i hate
people tried to convince me to get netflix
to make my life so good
so now i am sharing it with my mum
and i gave her the money
i watched shows like
good witch
*** education
baby
heartland
the ranch
one day at a time
fuller house
shameless
greenleaf
dear white people
mr iglesias
and a movie titled night school
and many many more
netflix is very good
the shows are great
and it gets me away from the crap
on free to air television and for sport i have kayo
where i can watch
Indian premier league cricket
AFL
NRL
BBL and WBBL CRICKET women and men
Aleague soccer
NFL
NHL
rugby union
baseball
basketball NBA NBL
you see i get good use out of netflix and kayo
and way cheaper than FOXTEL
i am a cool adult, man
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 6:30 PM UTC
**Finn the Northwind is the son of gale and thunder,
he has cooling odour,
Stephanie the Greenleaf is the daughter of earth and water,
she has beautiful hair.
They met,by the river,after Finn decided to take a tour on seventeenth September.
They fell in love with each other with only one stare.
Finn caught Stephanie’s leer,
leaned over and kissed her,
Stephanie went blush,she required another,
But Finn howled across the river,
and gone nowhere.
She tried to find her lover,
by tracing his unique odour.
So she leaned over,
soon touched the ground…….
Their tale is whispered by the frozen air,
When it’s winter, take a tour outside,
and hear.
2016.8.30
EZ**
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
...but I'm so lost I've completely forgotten to quote John Greenleaf Whittier was it?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXII)
Winds howl as blizzard snow flies whitely hence
While traffic becomes rare; the blanket's hale
And covers all until there is no trail
Left. If the powr blinks out lo, for intents
Our internet does also, whiles for sense
They now discuss the future--how to scale
T'will be worse in the wild, and that'd avail.
But I? Well, pray; be thankful...for what hence?
O, that the Scriptures are restored. And fer
The lack of online access, with the cue
It might be gone forever now? eat through
Some choc'late bar I'd saved, like tis not poor
To stuff your face with choc'late when in tour
Joys fail. Cuz after all--um...where are YOU?!
25Nov18b
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
This path
from Petworth
to the drowsy metro
is a bite of sun
across cherry branch
into the water head.
Greenleaf ways
& the grass throw
of the hum rails
cross the lefting
memory of a ride
in a salt shadow.
Saturday's breath
is sold to the hill
& in return
I get to keep
the sweet javelin
of her thought.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 12:55 AM UTC
TELLING THE BEES
"A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,
Heavy and slow;
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,
And the same brook sings of a year ago."
Telling The Bees - John Greenleaf Whittier
A cloud of bees
angry not to be told.
"Why the delay...
why this day!"
I tell them I could find
no words.
Could hardly tell myself
the truth of your death.
Unable to believe
or to accept.
I couldn't speak
or rhyme.
Despite the Plath
or Greenleaf Whittier.
Grief is a voice
that cannot speak.
Death tears the tongue out
then commands me to speak.
I have only
this silence.
I come before this
court of bees.
Speak only
in silences.
I stand in the form
of a crucifix.
Accept the suffering
of your fierce stings.
Atoning for
the not telling.
The bees and I
now as one.
***
The old tradition of telling the bees when someone has gone over to the other side...usually in a little rhyme....keeping them in the know so that they know what's what and who's what now that there has been this huge shift in the world with the death of someone loved. Sometimes hives were aligned to the house in acknowledgement.
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 4:33 PM UTC