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BlueBird Nov 2018
All of my words are foggy and I can't seem to find the right combination, to build the truth I keep digging for. Only broken bridges come out of this mouth. They lead you over waterfalls and into dense forests, filled with trees my past has grown for me. Trees that have rooted themselves deep inside of me. Ive become so enmeshed, I cant tell where the roots end and my limbs begin.
Vanessa Gatley Nov 2018
Trunks
Rot
Escaping everything seen
Roots
Reach
Out
Overturn
Surface
Abigail Hobbs Nov 2018
Oh sweet love of mine
Your warmth breath had me weak at the knees
as the cold air broke through the trees
Surrounded we were with nature
Tell me, who is your creator
You seem to be crafted from the fog that weaves between the pine
And I, the tree that roots itself here
and through all of time
May we become one
The clouds diffused the moonlight
I'll tell you time and time again we'll be alright
You ask only one thing
What are all of the markings for?
This is who I am, and all I've bore
Oh sweet love of mine
Take me by the roots
and release me from a past time
Thank you, everyone, for all of your love recently on my poems. It means the world to me. :)
Anecandu Jul 2018
The gilded opening is terse and with age defined,
Locking away the pathway from a golden mind,
Hairlike roots of tiny letters form a braid,
Ficus-ing along stretching prongs of Purple and Jade,

Pushing they gather and spider around its ovate curves,
occasioning sprouts from cracks lips perturbed,
grammarized rain fertilizing delicate pods of flesh,
blossoming frosty lemon blooms of T's R's come to rest,

The bunched words hanging, dangling like grapes, of frailty,
dipping on fickle branches barely holding on to reality,
threatening to fall like daggered swords,
But alas are some silently whispered Jamaican words
I cry for you Argentina
hectic planet’s southern corner
land of passion, crazy arena
aforetime our bonds were stronger.

No longer yours, you never mine
our lives belonged together once
I used to taste your scarlet wine,
your gorgeous girls, your charming dance.

The friends from ages, forgotten stories
so much privation, my heart is sore
my aging parents, the elder brothers
your call is clear I shall wait no more.

Exultant hugs, reunion is great
my parent’s sanctuary regaining life
but there is an end, a settled date
cruel farewell that sticks its knife.

I’ve seen those humid agates before
I've heard how silence can drown the wail
hair-raising feeling on every pore
they'll stand upright, I will be frail.

Oh, childhood playground! my old-time shelter
long time impeded of children laughing
no words no tears, this way is better
my love, my kids, my home are waiting.
Leaving your childhood place leaves a mix of sweet and sour feelings. Visiting back your birth country is an emotional experience.
Advent Oct 2014
when the clock ticks at 12,
another minute has passed and another day has been renewed.
it replenishes an entire moment that separates yesterday from today.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a part of me has left something for good.
something that could only be retrieved by the nostalgia
of the passing hours that gives a pang of discomfort and dismay.

when the clock ticks at 12,
a fairy godmother is there waiting for me to move past everything and start fresh,
like nothing has ever happened from yesterday

but when the clock ticks at 3,
my emotions are scattered,
eating me alive.
it kicks me out of the zone - exposing me to a world of nothing but things to hide.
it haunts my core, dwells with my demons,
building up emotions that don't seem to collide

and at 3, I find you - once again with all the sublime images we’ve captured
and grand words we’ve uttered.
i find you, drowning from the roots
of my memoirs... and there I see how midnights took parts of me

because at 3, I’ll always remember how I grew with thee


a.t.
Manda Clement Jul 2014
We did not come here on the orders of others
We came freely, our own choice, blown by the soft winds
scattered o'er many a mile
Landed upon Flanders Fields and rested a while

Then death came, disturbed the earth
Destruction hit the ground in which we slept so quietly
Awoke us from our slumber sweet
To witness tragedies and defeat

Now we are risen
and in our place beneath lie men and boys of courage, strong and true
Who fought valiantly but now lay slain
Our gentle roots entwine around their bodies that remain

Each dawn we wake for them and face the summer sun
At night our gaze doth meet moon
We stand tall and proud and dip our heads
And honour them that lie beneath with our petals red
Another WW1 inspired poem. Poppy seeds can lay dormant for many years before flowering. This is what happened on the battlefields of ww1. The earth was disturbed with all the shelling and death and destruction and released the seeds that had been laying dormant. How beautiful yet so sad.
Melinda Barrett May 2015
Mother Nature takes her toll
On complex creatures with gentle souls
She sends them rain when they seek solace
Her stars shine so bright that they them flawless
Rays beam the brightest when they're down
And shines their warmth upon their frowns
She opens their third eye so they might see
The striking beauty in a rugged tree
They look more closely and discover
That her roots connect us to each other
Kristine Aug 2018
Anxiety,

you play your gentle fingers down my spine
as smoothly as whiskey warms my veins

it fills my veins abruptly like dandelions popping out of fresh spring grass
A sprout of color, unwanted

It tangles my thoughts into roots dig them self deeper into me
and I cant tell if they are weeds or they are apart of me.

Do these **** grow from your words?
Or do they grow from my thoughts.
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
i used to climb the tallest tree
just to leave behind the ground
sing as loud as i could breathe
about the shapes of passing clouds

mum would haller up to the heavens:
             "STOP IT !"
... "they’ll think you’re Mad!"

... whoever  "they"   were  (?)!
    i naively pondered thence  ―

    now,     the tree is gone,
       "they" chopped  it  
         all the way down
to memories and decomposing roots

    but i still see life unspool
    in the silent shapes of clouds

                    and
  hear the birds sing sweetly
     without a single word


☁  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☼  ☁  ☁  ☁  ☁
                   jesse
26th  April  2018

Notes:
  the memories reach much deeper than the roots
Eve Stumpges Nov 2018
Skin so thin, the sun reddens your heart.
A thick filter on your lips to counter balance.
Ears open to all except your inner melody.
Eyes wide shut in attempt to see, but not be seen.
Wise hands firmly cup my universe.
You were gravity, holding my feet on the ground.
But I poured too much of me into you.
So the the wind picked me up,
And blew me this way and that,
Until I watered my hollow roots,
Granting them freedom to grow a new home.
m h John Jan 24
Love is like a flower
We pick the most exquisite ones
The ones that look most delicate,
And blow the lightest in the wind.
Once picked,
we take care of it
We feed it
and place it in light
Trying our best to make it last.
Until the pedals start to fall
We try reattaching them,
Shaking the flower
More fell off
And we are left
With nothing but roots
Flowers don’t always last, and neither does love
Ilion gray Dec 2017
Tonight I am unfamiliar
With loneliness
I am here
And you are not...
And yet
I will never forget
walking from the park..our son swinging from planet to planet,
Traveling time,
Tiny threads of minutes
Are also infinite..
Indelible, you captured us between your God-like hands ...making each second endless,
And still,
They will never die..though they stand,
In the midst of 10,000 dying memories.
Each of his tiny hands in one of ours headed
west down Malcolm x
toward Broadway,
Feeding ourselves to the starvation of day..

                             (Part 2)

In the chamber of unspoken words,
Where cold truths often hide
whose doors oft go unopened,
Both of us, knowing stories of lovers past whose love,
surely died from  
the fire.
two losing lovers joust
in  a house of hope and life..
yet they light
That house afire
and watch it
burn down in flames
Of desire and shame,
And although it
Rained many seasons since,
And the winds come in
stronger than any seamans hands,
I can still smell the dank musk of dying cedar
It enters me,
With every breath,
......tonight I am unfamiliar with being human
Because from what I've heard...I have seen everything..
Humans are lonely....
I have never been alone...
And when the darkest of the ancient infinite emptiness embraces me....
Even there,
  in that unfathomable space, 
where neither silence,
nor Angels have traveled.....
I will not be alone.
I once existed,
Just as cloud
Always leaving
Never arriving,
As a
stone I was ....
I was a tree , watching days
Walk silently across time.
I have forgotten loneliness
And longevity,
as "humans" are prone
To fear the days raging on....
These days, I
Cannot be human....
I am the cloud,
I am the tree and it's leaves,
Losing through seasons,
Yet my roots are fingers I have driven
down deep below the skin
Of the breathing earth..
Aging willingly
A tree, giving
It's leaves, hoping
To be crumbled
and shattered beneath the back
Of some child playing
under rays of sun,
That were never mine or yours..to hold...or, to own,
Knowing how our lives
as well we borrowed,
both mine and yours,
a face in an infinite crowd...
Only knowing what comes before tomorrow ,
I am a cloud,
I am the stone beneath the cloud,
I am also the tree beside the stone..
And as long as there is this
Infinite ending always at the feet
Of silence,
I will never be alone.
Hadiy Syakir Oct 2017
Kudos to Kaepernick.

I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those that can't simply put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you doesn't mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.

Kneel, my friend, kneel.

To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.

Kudos to Kaepernick.
Girard Tournesol Nov 2018
The wind is full of shallow nothings
Drought, fire, vermin, climate, poverty
Rustling the leaves with a gossip
Deep roots will never hear
Offered in the age of "alternative facts."  Peace.
Daniel eason Oct 2018
As the world degrades due to technology
I hope oneday closed minded people will follow me
Us individuals who know the truth
Are the only ones who can save her roots

She needs us so badly why lead her astray
Let's hold our hands and join to pray
For this world we live is our only habitat
We let the rich destroy her, smoking cigars, wearing tall hats.
A poem about how we must join hands for the sake of the earth.
Alysia Marie Apr 2015
The devils foot soldier;
That's what you turned to be.
The one I thought that I could trust;
Confuses my memory.
You water the flower to feed the roots;
Thus only to pluck the petals.
It reminds me of how strong you are;
Strong like crimson metal.

But that metal rusts, and the flower dies after you've shed them limb by limb.
Stripping them down to their ***** cores;
And exposing their deadly sins.

We're all like flowers, but don't water the roots if you'll only pluck our petals.
It'll show the **** truth inside;
Like rusted crimson metal.

                                        Alysia Marie 2015 ©
Kristo Frost Mar 2013
Parallel tremors follow your heavy footsteps through the moss that carpets a maze of tired oak. Solemn warnings calcify soft thoughts and point you at the coal on the horizon. Its splinterglow peeks hot squints through the arboreal tangle. Topaz streams convene and braid themselves around your spine. The stones in the riverbed grow smoother and each becomes a grain of sand. You let the sand console your roots as you curl your toes and fall asleep.
Shamans, in an attempt to find a word that all cultures could understand, to represent, universally, the subject; married the languages by root.

Each attribute or thing that the beast is said to do, have or have power to do or over is found as a definition in a language of the individual roots.

Take Sanskrit for instance. "Dra," is "water and combine it with Sumerian, "Gun, Gon," and you get a "water-born," beast who "writhes, twists or wraps around," which is the Ouroboros Serpent as shown in ancient images.

The secret to all ancient myth or religion is in interpretation of language into foreign languages over time.

And, yes, it is very creative, appears complex due to time but is just humans trying to describe observable nature.

None of it is meant to be taken literally unless you literally live six thousand years ago and speak in an ancient tongue.

Addendum

Keltic, "Con, Kon," makes the Dragon, "All-knowing." *

And we know from Plato that Greeks
stole their root words from the Celts.
Plato's own words in,

'The Cratylus.'
All mythology is born from the language of trade and existed as a pre-science.
Ilion gray Oct 2018
The simple life of pillows,
Or clouds.
Both being of stellar variety.
the burning gasp of being saved,
everything goes eventually,
If  you leave the room
The space will be missing something;
When it is found,
A trillion Seconds you
thought you lost,
will catch up to you.
All things return
To their someplace;
Now all that is earthly
around me,
has begun to rustle
And wave,
There is no other planet to go
To,
There is no farther away,
The machines are eating the child’s
Tomorrow’s,
The air is bleeding
It’s invisible hue,
The earth in search,
Desperate to borrow
Time,
pilfered from
Everything with an ending
The hour is coming,
You and I will seek
It to;
Just up that way
Then to the right,
Through the frozen fields
of nimbus Pass,
Just a horseshoe
toss from
the holy
Water-rise,
Watching,
Where nothing falls-
While the drifting spritzes-
Do not drip-
But climb.

The mountain staircase
Of night;

I will go.

Because the hour draws close;
And soon when the
Unending dusk grows,
No road will be empty.

Perhaps I will
Return to someplace,
That will only be a place
Once I’ve arrived,
Someplace as lost as all the rocks,
I’ll build a throne and observe
The might of the almighty,
The Strong roots of infinite
Shades of blackness-
Where all creation
Happens
Izzy Aghahowa Oct 2018
i look at you
you look up and away
you're ready to flee
from this deserted place
sow your seeds, grow your roots
somewhere else

i inhale the dust
circle the discoloured wood
the bitter taste of your drifting eyes
made the living room floor even colder than usual
as the air grew thin and sharp

i know it's real, your face is here
but it breathes
along with the tress
on the outside
separate from me
BEK Nov 2018
There's something incredibly southing about taking in this frigid air
Its chill flows through me
Dispelling the tired leaves of a long sweltering season
I'm left bare
An opportunity to appreciate the strength of my roots
Admire my branches
Though they be crooked, brimming with knots, and countless broken branches
Will I survive this time of reflection and blossom in time for Spring
Or cower in fear of yet another snapped limb
Zumee Jun 2018
Senses endlessly riddled:
the nanosecond-data-bullets
**** through too fast to be absorbed
by roots of thought
for eye of truth
to photosynthesize,
Like the flowerpot forgotten
wilting on a windowsill
outer leaves beneath the sky
fiercely lashed by heavy rain
soil dry as a desert:
Aghast, it feels itself
slowly dying of thirst in the downpour.
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