"tiered" poems
They say marriage is all about compromise. If that's the case, newlyweds Kia Parsons and Billy Bunning are off to an excellent start.
The UK couple had different visions when it came to their wedding cake; the bride wanted an all-white tiered cake with cascading sugar flowers. The groom, on the other hand, wanted to incorporate his love of comic book superheroes into the confection. So they met somewhere in the middle:
Julia Baker of Tier by Tier cake design created the cake for the couple's August 14 wedding in Milton Keynes, England. One side is the traditional-looking cake the bride wanted. On the other side, icing curtains reveal the logos of Marvel characters Captain America, Spider-Man and Iron Man, as well as Batman from the DC Comics camp.
"I loved every minute making this cake, as I knew it would be something that people would be surprised at and appeal to all the Marvel fans!" Julia told The Huffington Post.
In all, she spent 40 hours on the cake. It took 12 hours to make the sugar flowers, and the cake-baking and building took about 28 hours.
Needless to say, Kia and Billy were thrilled with the finished product.
"Julia did such a fantastic job and we were completely overwhelmed by how brilliant it looked!" the bride told HuffPost. "From most angles of the room, the cake looked like a traditional wedding cake -- just what we had wanted. It wasn't until the cake was moved for us to cut that our guests realized there was a hidden extra. Some didn't even realize until the photos went online after the wedding!"
On Tuesday, a photo of the cake began going viral when it was shared by the Life Of Dad Facebook page.
"I was surprised at how popular it was and how quickly the pictures circulated on social media," Julia said. "I have plenty more ideas to work on and I am calling these 'double-take cakes.'"
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth
www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Love!
I cannot eat,
I cannot sleep,
Night, day?
I can not say!
The wondering of when am I going to see you again?!
Yesterday blurs into today,
Today blurs into tomorrow.
The vicious cycle of over thinking continues yet again!
I’m tiered!
I’m drained!
I’m emotionally exhausted!
I want to rest,
I want to sleep!
But it’s too late I’ve dived in way too deep,
And I would love to know what’s next!
The feeling of being sick to my stomach,
Knowing you can’t talk to me.
The feeling of disappointment,
Because the message wasn’t from you.
Do you see what you’ve lead to!
Do you see what you’ve done to me!
Do you see what I have to battle with everyday?
As much as it causes pain I still look for the best,
Your eyes looking at me like I’m the best there ever was,
You smile so bright it warms me up inside,
And your touch so hot on my skin that I cannot breathe!
Yet your still not free,
Your still no man of mine.
Yet there’s so much hope,
You’ll one day be my man!
Dec 27, 2022
Dec 27, 2022 at 7:57 PM UTC
You see your friends told me that you had complaints. But I can't tell since you are always in my face. If you can't be a man you know what you can do. Pack your bags and leave the cash because baby we are through.
There's no doubt that I've had it up to here. There is no doubt there will be no more crying no more tears. There is no doubt about the way I made you feel. ******* you know that my love was real.
I am sick and tiered of you running your lines. Get up out of my face because you are wasting your time. I won't hold your hand the way your mama use to. I have no time to sit and deal with this drama. Since you can't be a man you can stay with your mama.
You know what? I've had it up to here. No more crying no more tears. It's all about the way that I made you feel. Because you know that I am the real.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
My moments .....
*****************
Moments of joy,moments of bliss
Moments of love ,moments of Happiness
Moments of share,moments of care
Moments of hope,moments of despair
Moments of tears ,moments of cheer
Moments of mine,moments of yours
Moments of us, moments of ours
I pack these tiny moments
In my heart
The small treasure house !
My whole life is safe n secure
In these tiny moments,
And I pull them out
When I need them most.
When the road is long
And I am not strong.
When my eyes are blurred
Tears are too tiered to flow!
I am frightened to look at
Those dark shadows
Advancing rapidly
To unsettle me .
Helplessly when
I watch
Like sand ,life slip thru,
These tiny moments
My precious ,
My cherished moments
Come to my rescue!
Surround me
Hold my hands
And console me
Lift me up from the lowest of lows
Ever so graciously !
Copyright(C) Bhargavi Ravindra....
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 6:53 AM UTC
Pushing me, Wanting me requiring me to be more than I want to be. It just will not leave me be can’t it see that I just don’t want to lead. Grow the seed, that it want to see. I can’t believe that it won’t leave me alone. It won’t condone, always telling me to hold the phone. All the restraint, without a complaint can’t be done, this battle will not be won. But I must, always resist the lust of that bust, resist the gust
of temptation, in my relations. In my conversations, on all occasions or be punished, banished, to this outlandish request. I feel possessed, oppressed who would have guessed, that I would have to do the best. All the time, expected never to whine, when no rest I can find. I hurt and am pained, drained from all this restraint. I want to let loose, get my golden egg laying goose. Not be hung by the noose of responsibility. Constantly dictating what I must be doing no fooling allowed, my head must be bowed.
I grow tiered, just let me go I don’t wish to be admired I just want some rest, and peace of mind.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
My moments .....
*****************
Moments of joy,moments of bliss
Moments of love ,moments of Happiness
Moments of share,moments of care
Moments of hope,moments of despair
Moments of tears ,moments of cheer
Moments of mine,moments of yours
Moments of us, moments of ours
I pack these tiny moments
In my heart
The small treasure house !
My whole life is safe n secure
In these tiny moments,
And I pull them out
When I need them most.
When the road is long
And I am not strong.
When my eyes are blurred
Tears are too tiered to flow!
I am frightened to look at
Those dark shadows
Advancing rapidly
To unsettle me .
Helplessly when
I watch
Like sand ,life slip thru,
These tiny moments
My precious ,
My cherished moments
Come to my rescue!
Surround me
Hold my hands
And console me
Lift me up from the lowest of lows
Ever so graciously !
(C) Bhargavi Ravindra....May 2018 ..
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:20 AM UTC
Running on empty tiered for sleep my brain is fried my limbs now creak.
I went to bed or so I thought to get some kip and recharge my bones.
Well that wasn't how it ended up and my mind was racing with well "just stuff".
The stuff you just cant explain a film! What was the actors name?
A song, a tune stuck in my head another hour of wasted bed.
Then to try and top others all, the ghost of a child throwing a ball prolongs the nite in another's hall.
No dreams no peace, I'm withered now the body aches but won't shut down.
Tomorrow I guess it's panda eyes and heavy lids, I could cry !
I just want sleep it all to stop and please dear brain
"WILL YOU JUST TURN OFF!"
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 10:04 AM UTC
2003, where did you go?
My Scene dolls and All Time Low
Red Jeeps and glitter cheeks
Thirteen and hip hop beats
Tube tops, pop n lock
Don't forget your frosted lipgloss
Butterflies and Blink's First Date
"Forever Yours" on a silver keychain
Belly rings, snorting pills stings
Tiered skirts and ankle bling
TLR, Summerland
South of Nowhere, Degrassi: The Next Gen
Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton
Travis Barker and Ashlee Simpson
Fall Out Boy and Timbaland
Pete Wentz almost ended it
Promiscuous, Grand Theft Autumn
Jeans hung low, and girl you got em
I wanna live there over again
Everything was better then
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
They squirm inside their clothes
tweed, chiffon tiered skirts, and bows
of their grandmothers’ sepia, halcyon days
with lumberjack flannel and Kerouac quotes,
but it’s more a matter of age than size,
these charging, listless, candid creatures
with hairstyles that can only be described
as gravity readily defied and self-cut,
frequently dyed to shades that swing
between black coffee and New York poetry
deep imagism and social realism against the backdrop
of American Apparel ads on scratched up Macs.
They slouch up and down trafficked Newbury,
dropping names like Morrissey and Bukowski
pausing now and then to pick up on the ennui
of twenty-three, and how they will one day live la vie
Dharhimian, running on American Spirits,
James Dean, Truffaut chic,
a monthly check from their parents,
an apathetic sneer at holding anything too dearly
and how they hate that word—hip-ster.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
I would like if I could, to venture out
into a baroque cave where the walls are translucent
and all that surrounds it are rivers of coherence
and incoherence
where I can scream, and when my echoes
radiate they bounce off on me and touch
the spaces in between my fingers
bizarre and ornate
rococo chimes lift my spirit
progressive, regressive
subliminal rising, into the sea of whispers
and final decisions
and crazed hands
and melting lips
and bruised knuckles
and fighting wrists...
I subsist to consist
of the fluid that makes me up
lavender barely breathing
flowers/continue/endure
hang tough, low by lakes of conspiracy
and hate/ block eyes/ shed those ill states
I carry this entity/essence/life gentely
in my arms like a ancestor. mother .
press its head against my skin and give it everything
in my blood filled hands, sinful/blessed/ tiered creatures
I feel beautiful in these worlds.
eyes closed in sleep, palms spread forth
oceans cleansing, I feel like an infant
stomach twists and hearts bat burnt wings
and learn to fly
I radiate.full hearted. eminence spoke to me
through her portal of solid grass and dieing trees
in the outskirts of the vagabond, slowly unraveling
like a child speaking
slowly growing like new love
stricken instantly
I am in
between Cleopatra and Mark
between Orpheus and Eurydice
between Odysseus and Penelope
between Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy
between Salim and Anarkali
I shiver in that love
that breathes in determent
and breathes out fragrance
temperate plasma hooked onto
the grind of my woman I beat like
the robins breast/ trembling in awe
like a living leaf blowing in the winter wind
resisting/giving in/ perishing/ breathing
to the sound of this beautiful life
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:53 AM UTC
I am the night
casting darkness upon the sky
to cry your tears for you and
put a death to your demise
I will rinse your hands, when you are lifeless
lay inside of me - close your eyes
I am your sun
giving you life, striving to make your seeds grow
I hold my soft rays out to you, please - come
casting eminence upon your sadness
putting a warmth in your madness
I have so much to give you
Nothing can break me from you
I am your book, your lines are written within me
you are the farmer who pressed the grapes with your bare feet
and I am your wine, the product of your labor
here to ease your senses at the end of your day
forget about that rough past, give it to me to swallow
I am your wolf, black and white
I am your lion
I am your army, rest your tiered hands upon my back
I am your proud slave
I kiss your ankles
you are my knuckles
you are my veins- blue and incoherent
you are the vitality that strikes so viciously in me
keeping me breathing on this vast planet
trembling spirits, I softly place my head beneath yours
calmly like sea **** floating in salt water
you are every faint color, drained and impotent
so filled with death and soft laughter
you filter out streaks of exuberant light
blinding me with its brightness
oh when you smile, the starving are no longer hungry
the revolting become the most beautiful things
you turn a beasts heart into a hero's
you are the wisdom that flows through the natives
light like a feather, you move around hungrily on
these cloud sheets.
my eyes are so filled with your eyes
I am a tree standing in the forest you came from
I am a flower in your field
I am a drop of water in your ocean
I am your armor and your shield
kiss me tightly, hang your soft touches at my door
I will bleed these thoughts
till my hearts dust
and soul
sore
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 2:30 AM UTC
The end is near
I feel it
It slaps me in the face with its
Rawness
I hear whispers gusting into my ears
screaming
telling me how near the end is
"The end is near!"
The whisper in the wind tell me
as if it is screaming
but oh so silent
nobody else can even hear
The sun and clouds drape over me
wrapping themselves around me
Holding my body closely
Telling me
"The end is near!"
I walk and walk and walk
Questioning myself the whole time
When Oh When
Will the end be here?
I am tiered
Tiered of not knowing
Tired of all the signs
Tired of everything screaming out to me
"The end is near!"
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
A thousand waterfalls, or more,
towering layers, feeding one another.
Turbid and deep in the ancient slough.
Across a soak of violet moss,
an algae rinse surveying silent
the ardor of springtime blossom.
Fuschia kelp hewn from amethyst;
the lilacs died and their graves grew moss.
With these sugilite sculptures, the falls were imbrued,
and soon were given unto the same cerise hue.
These tiered creeks, so like a staircase, fell in love
with the bryphophite wash.
And like a pond filled with plums,
the lake birthed from the falls
proved to be dyed the most purple of all.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
concentration camp of my emotions
every statement i make gives the feeling of fake. its been less then a day and already i want to say, **** this is tough I’ve almost had enough. i have to lock down my thoughts like there are spotlights searching for any escaping expressions. I’ve put limitations on my own emotions all I’m allowed to show is pity for my self, hell id rather off my self. the situation isn’t a cold war the glass cover over the launch button is shut, crisis averted we can all go back to being automatons emotionless, cold like stone statues buried under the field. i can’t even share what is going on in my head without a censor bar blocking because i feel like its too shocking and it would be mocking the proposal i composed. I’m allowing myself to believe in a false sense breathing in false cents. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable to talk to someone who, when we walk made me feel….. well a lot. this situation is unbearable but i don’t know how to coupe without my fix. my mom said i need new kicks because theres holes in it but my heart is fit for a good stitch but nobody has a sewing kit. why do i continue to push when the door says pull i guess I’m just not on the ball when i fall. i don’t check the ground first. i didn’t look to see if there were matts to brace my impact, no i just fell and said “oh well” i sprained my leg but broke my heart. I’m in a camp where my emotion is lined against a wall and publicly shot on the spot, red lead hits the spot as emotions drop motionless its pure hopelessness and god **** do i miss it already. the word freedom has no meaning, theres no formal greeting in prison just keep your head down and hope for the best walking in a crowd wearing similar striped attire all tiered looking somehow wired to string strung and hung down from the set. the puppet masters pet. i don’t know where this all will go but i know……….. i don’t know but I’ve lost hope years ago.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
i've been a woman for nineteen and a few months years
and i've never looked at waitstaff
and asked
can i get that with a side of guilt?
but i should have
because it feels like that's what i
am ordering
instead of fries because
all the salt in the world
can't cover up the taste of guilt and self loathing i feel for eating sometimes
this is for all of the ladies i know who look at cookies
longingly, but tell themselves no
only to eat an entire box of them later
and cry
and most women will never admit to it
but i've been there
and cookies don't taste so good when
you're tossing them up
and this is for the ladies i have watched in the grocery store
eyeballing the candy bars like they are men in dark
allies or
snakes in the grass
because the magazines sitting right beside
them are watching you watching that candy bar watching you watching your weight watching those inches around your waist watching you
and telling you that you aren't good enough
a moment on the lips forever on
the- hold that ******* thought
because my lips and hips have two things in common-- they are big
and they want all this
******** to stop
every time a woman prattles off how many calories are in a drink
i can't help but correct her in my mind because
i know for a fact that there are five more calories in that than she told me
because i've been counting calories and playing games with my stomach since
second grade.
i may be **** at algebra, but i know intake out-take math like
i know the smell of my grandma's cigarettes.
eating meals with other women
is unbearable because i am tiered
of having to eat entire cinnamon buns
to myself because
my friends wont split them with me
and i'm tiered of watching women
talk about eating too much but
wanting to get
back
on
it
tomorrow like
feeding themselves is a crime
and so the next time i go to
cookout for a blueberry shake
i'll ask you to leave out the guilt
because it fills my throat up
like sand and my teeth
are brittle and tired from being
bared and ground
while i
battle with myself
over the baked goods at
a coffee shop
wondering if
i feel like hating myself
today
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
She draws Crayola green meadows
in which she frolics and laughs
snuggling up to her
imaginary daddy whom she colors
in unstraight multi-hued stripes
accessorized by a large
unselfish heart in brick red
proudly erupting from his chest.
Her sepia brown-blob puppy is
rediculously happy,
just like her
holding the perfect father
she has always dreamed he is.
Together they stare at
blue construction paper skies
and cotton ball clouds
discovering sailing ships,
famous people heads,
and all the animals they will see
on the day he comes
to take her to the zoo.
~
He labors intently within the lines
coloring subdivided spaces
in one direction just the way
he would teach her
if she were here.
Pressing into the bold
outline on a tiger tail
he hears her giggle in his thoughts.
He closes the book
each page fully given life
placing it on the teetering pile of
earlier masterpieces
filed beside his desk
where he and his daughter stored
the art they created
on regular dates they never had.
He rises on the ritual of completion
toward his omnipresent closet
full of stacked and redundant "if onlys",
each one shaped as
a 64-count box
purchased and purchased again
with every book
he intended to share
on their next wax pencil excursion.
On his toes,
one more "if only" goes to the top.
He still colors.
She still dreams.
~
An Orange/Red sun drew itself
out of the bleacher tiered palate
and hung high betwixt
her cottonball clouds
29 years from the start.
Daddy holds his daughter in deep embrace
while a secret artiste' paints
a tiny translucent drop
on her quivering cheek.
The diligence of construction-paper prayers
are answered in the evidence that
there is no crayon for clear...
it is a tear,
and we are really here.
(I love you my precious girl, with every color in the box :-))
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
my mind went white
amongst tiered humans walking like dying elephants.
there are other worlds. other minds. other heart break.
like the needle that sewed my skin when it came apart
there is constant reconstruction below this bewildered place
constantly in a state of shock
in a state of livid chaos
in a state of controlled happiness
held stealthily like the slaves shoulder to iron branding
the screams are loud, but the masters do not hear them
they do not flinch at the sight of this unruly pain
and so we have come to a place this universe has known far too long
the betrayers hand placed so solidly above the heads of those who have become numb
and a shadow above the minds of hope.
In the old market, I walk by a man who's family's hunger is painted on his face
like the gushing of blood red smoke. I had wished to wrap my arms around him for the day/
instead of walking around looking at things he would never dare lay eyes on
for there are mornings when he would give a fragment of his body in return for full stomachs
that sleep in the same room, so small at night/ little reminders that there is a reason behind his
undeniable struggle resting upon his eyes like doormats to homes of the elderly who have been abandoned, peering out the window trying to hold on to one beautiful memory to keep them alive
in there what is to most, the most foreign loneliness.
what will his children be, I ask myself. Why is it me that has been given more and not them.
these thoughts ache in my veins.
I pass by a building, where the rocks are ancient
a small thing it seems left behind by history. vacant .
there is a man selling raspberries that are rich with sweet sap
he stares at them only wishing that his life was as rich
flooding with envy at the sweetness of their nectar
then brakes away in thought to stare at the marvelous ocean
swaying like the beautiful mistress he never met under the arabian sun
droplets of sweat break at the rate of breathe that is taken
on these grunge filled streets, auras coming and going of loss and celebration
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 9:27 AM UTC
Once we lived in a steam-punk wedding cake
the walls tasted like crème cheese icing
everywhere dripped chocolate rust
wheels and gears- pumping out bliss
the house would tick us to sleep
a quiet tock that snuck into our hearts
we beat together-our 3 tiered home and us
and we hung pictures of mixed historical value
the first time someone held our hands
the names of flowers we invented
and the towers twinned together- breathing in city air
Once we lived in a steam-punk wedding cake
The universe kissed our toes
In our rose petal beds
As we nibbled our marshmallow pillows
And greeted the cooler side with the grip of tiny fingers
We wore silly hats
And talked in accents no one could identify
We made our own curse words
That sounded more magical then rude
And we hung pictures of mixed historical meaning
Cartoons from before nickelodeon was bullocks
Our middle names in Braille
And the Kennedys on their wedding day
Once we lived in a steam-punk wedding cake
The home of chocolate fortitude
Where some days we wouldn’t turn on a light switch
And let the candles guide our imaginations
Down dark tunnels and secret gardens
There was never any hunger
Tears only came from happiness
We made capes out of our bed sheets
Chased each other under beds and hid in closets
Peeking out because being caught was our goal
And we hung pictures of mixed understanding
The 8 dirtiest jokes found in ancient art
That day when the sun felt like it would never stop playing with the moon
The day we stood still long enough to know the color of our eyes and the outline of our toes on wet grass
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 3:34 PM UTC
The madhatters tea party to me now seems sane
As my life isn't simple and everything strange
I seems I'm not worthy and just all because
I dont have a crystal ball or a magic wand
Anything I say or do is simply just wrong
I wonder why im even here at night when I'm alone
Is it to provide a person for you to rant at
Someone to blame and call a ****
All of your problems of course that was me
You're perfect and can't possibly be you
Well I'm tiered and worn down and no more can I do
So vent your spleen and all of your woes on someone else
As I am now closed.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
It occurred too
As most things don't to me
That these lapses
Lapses?
What were we on
Obelisk over 40
Or is it over and then under.
¿Cuál es tu animal favorito
I've left the list behind on the plane and not
I'm not sure I can collect my thoughts that way anymore
At least not for today
Why? I left those thoughts on a plane and it has already set its tail aloft for soft breezes
The air the air, soft as Fred Astaire
And Ginger Rogers, is the night
She wraps her hand into his
8 steps forward and a shuffle ball-change right.
But it is something else isn't it
Her bird like hips in a double tiered dress dripping with Swarovski and trimmed with ostrich as she descends the glass stairs from heaven onto a dimly lit ballroom
A slight curl of the hair and the sharpness of her nose the counterbalance to the wave of her *** in that beautiful ******* dress
Oh and Fred? You keep up. You do.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC
Speak sweet and slow
like November snow
Cover me, delicately
as flakes frost autumn leaves
burnt orange and heavy, whirling
down a hill of white,
inches deep and thinly tiered
like the feathers of your duvet
waiting to catch
the first fallen branch
Speak firmly, love
and I will do the same
or else we both may sink
to the frozen soil beneath
and never find our way out
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
Staring at the fire with the thoughts of you
They grow stronger the more I do
Looking deeper into the flames I see your face
there again
The flames flicker as the dawn draws closer
But your nowhere now, your not here.
The fire burns and the flames die down
Awake all night and now I'm tiered
Outside the snow falls thick and deep
For now I must sleep
Afternoon and Awoke the fire burns bright and warm
Can't see her face the image gone
The smell of breakfast fills the room as now she's home
Come to bed my lover your night shift done
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC