GreenTrees May 23
The day was like water under the bridge.

Drifting down a lazy river.

Mossy trees create a canopy of shade over hanging the river.

Beams of light sift through the heavy river air.

I peer up into the arch of the bridge.

Pausing a moment to capture the cool shade.

Feet hanging into the cool rivers pull down stream.

I let my self slowly drift into my thoughts of abandon.

And soon the bridge is a mere speck in the distance.

And in that moment of quiet abandon, I thought no more of the river's end.

  I had become water under the bridge.
JAC 7d
We sat quietly in the car that never moved
covered in the busy shadows of the garage
you told me I'm proud of you, you know that?
and to silence we returned.
In honour of the 74th poem in my Epigram 000 collection, the year of my father's beloved 1974 Chevrolet Camaro. I began the series of short, curious pieces of disjointed stories on New Year's Day of 2018 with "Epigram 001", writing at one or two fragments every week of this year.
There will be gloomy days when
you will look back at your old self
and think about this one choice you made that
changed your life in many ways
You will think about the day you decided to leave
You left family and friends behind
hoping to find a better future on the other side
You were young and naïve
you were that quiet kid that
no one thought could ever leave
yet, on that September 6th 2013
holding hands with Fear and Hope
you boarded a plane that took you miles away

There will be gloomy days when
you will wonder why
on that day Fear didn’t pull you aside
and tell you that life
wasn’t going to be as bright on the other side
You will wonder why that quiet kid
had this strong need to leave
You will look back in sadness
and grieve the loss of those happy times you took for granted
You will be drinking the same coffee
mum used to make you on a Saturday morning
and you will be listening to those songs
dad used to play in the car on a Sunday afternoon
You will grieve what it feels like a loss
of those you have always loved

It’s on these days that you will feel alone the most

Inside your head it will be as dark as the sky
on a rainy winter afternoon
and your eyes will be as heavy as grey clouds
ready to let the rain pour down

It’s on these days that you will grieve the most

Though, they say there is always calm after a storm
and no matter how brief it can be
you will eventually find some peace
and it’s within this peace that
you will find the strength to remember that
not everything is as gloomy as it seems
It’s within this peace that
you will honour that quiet kid
who is no longer as quiet as she used to be
and it’s within this peace that
you will celebrate her new life as a fearless kid
I lie in wait for space.
A space of my own
where quiet ambiance roams

Jasmine and mint steep in time
growing lax on a warm sunlit spot on the floor
my book groaning at me to read it,
just a little more.

something deeper than self-care
a little something of self-healing

I wait for you.
My mysterious being,
although I doubt you exist
I feel myself losing it all in the rift
of these futile wounds
and these nights of sunlit tunes
the quiet frog is smiling still, sitting in his swamp

not for him the loud displays of garish regal pomp

no clothes to wear, he wouldn't dare

his candles have no tallow

yet you can tell he wears life well, sitting in the shallow



beside his bed, he is quite read, lie his watery books

late at night, tucked up tight, he reads to babbling brooks

when this is done he checks his gun, though you might think it's silly

a human tried to kill him once and wrecked his favourite lily


he reads the classics every day, is well up on his Dickens

the books he loves the very most are those where plots will thicken

Richard Burton heard him once and loved his baritone

He listened quite intently and made that voice  his own


when he reads a verse or two and that frog knows many

so many insects gather round you'd think they're ten a penny

'Again, Again'! those creature cry when he has reached the end

It really is a treat to hear their pumping hearts all mend


One day he shocked the little swamp, yes it was quite risky

they never heard the likes before, who was Charles Bukowski?

Then he read them Sylvia Plath and really wowed the crowd

You never heard a din like that they clapped so very loud


the quiet frog is smiling still, sitting in his swamp

not for him the loud displays of garish regal pomp

no clothes to wear, he wouldn't dare

his candles have no tallow

yet you can tell he wears life well, sitting in the shallow
You're nervous
A bit of wreck
But you never fail to smile at yourself when you mess up
As you always do

You're damaged
That much is clear
But your smooth laugh puts the whole room at ease
No matter how scarcely it surfaces

You've been hurt by everyone
Yourself included
But you'd rather die
Than put someone down
Because you truly believe every achievement is worth all the stars in the sky

You're quiet
And it's actually kind of annoying
But who can blame you
You mean no harm

You're self conscious
I mean arent we all
But you put everyone else back together so they cant resist to love themselves a little more
No matter how much
You
This stupid
Stupid
Boy

Hate yourself
It doesn't have to be healthy,
Only street corner poison;
Teeth marks,
Maybe something broken.
It's not about what it is,
But what it leaves.
The quiet skin beneath your sleeve,
The fire that sings you to sleep.
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
So look at, look at how she lays
her eyes so soft, like quiet days
and how I wish, she was mine
but we've run out of time

Oh Sarah, you've given up on dreams
and fell in love with rocks
but don't give up on me
Oh Sarah, I've waited for so long
now I can't believe your slippin away
my love for you is so, oh Sarah

how can I make it right
when nothing will ever do
until you tell me that your mine
my dreams just won't come true
and I have a dozen dreams
only want you here by me
don't leave


©1999 Lyn
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