"hazelwood" poems
...
I say, it's a blending of many colors, pale and bold
not all beginnings are really green and gold
others begin with hazelwood...grayish, almost pale
freshens up, when the winds are in one's sails
things turn green with aspirations...
golden.....when ripe with expectations
going brighter, like red-yellow flames, in a live kiln,
fueled, fiery confidence...burning within.
Middle parts are the most illuminated ones
the brightest hours...of afternoon sun...
could be radiant yellow...perchance, tangerine,
shifting to burnt orange...a bronzed sky...when
perspectives change..and feisty fellows start to mellow
blaring red turns coffee brown...fading colors follow,
we don't want it, but gloom visits ...trailed by fears
all become pale, when days get doused with tears.
Endings are often called, night...or dusk
horizons could be stilled, shaded gray, or black,
darkened even more by impatience and waiting...tedium
dehydrates the body and soul....ending up consumed,
others look up to a starry sky, denim, or indigo blue,
anxious with a coming.....twilight? or gray morning?
that day, when some go to a blood red sea...seething,
where unforgiving, indifferent winds are the ones blowing
where many voices bellow...begging, but in vain.
for some, dark magically turns to a blinding sun,
when it's time for them...to cross over,
the other side beckons...waiting, is finally over.
Sally
Copyright July 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
Oh Hazelwood,
Hazelwood beseech me to
come home for I've become
a lonely soul wondering
alone with a shaven head.
Not my idea, no, not my
own. The man pleaded for
you to never leave him on
his own.
He's disassociated but he's
never believed it with his
backpack dreams and
time in blackhole love.
Met you and he found a
different kind of love..oh
Hazelwood please come home.
Home was sometimes A&E,
seemed to me that you were
getting pretty tired of it.
I could see. We all could.
Too scared to admit it incase
you'd leave us like our sand-
paper carpet meetings where
I felt the friction of your grief.
And bless your brave soul to
be able to live with the many
people I've become. But I dare
you ask! Ask anyone. You're
the only one they'd say they
loved.
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 6:30 PM UTC
hazelwood briars brown the forlorn
fallen limbs on the ground the next step watched
for slithery snakes amongst the dappled
sun contrasts and deep shadows
make great
camouflage make great hiding places
makes the mind seek
the mowed lawn manicured
barefoot I spend time like
my ancestors
naked roaming
the deepest wildest places
in nothing but shivers
and teasing the insides my recesses
into seeking out the forbidden
shallow ponds soft silty bottom
the rivers banks
a tall oak on the side of the hills
majesty
the elm on the lee side of that hill hidden from
eyes and so peculiarly begging,
calling me
seducing
swaying in the sunlit portions of all of
the fronds edges the mosses
the mushrooms sprouting
a soft bird shrill
a move is a whistle
the loneliness a thrill
the caution in the breeze
a passing will
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 9:18 PM UTC