"treelines" poems
#
The tree knows nothing
but how to be only
what it is..
the wind blows,
and it responds..
And embedded within
the treelines
are the little-ones hiding;
There is a safety
within the simplicity
of the groves..
Outside the treeline
danger lurks
Little Spirits were born
with their little freedoms intact--
In freedom.. they are only
drawn out by Love
#
Aug 5, 2023
Aug 5, 2023 at 5:49 PM UTC
the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire.
but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these.
and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt.
and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
I
Pitch black dark, full of wonder
I step outside to leave warm light
The cold air stings my city skin
Silence permeates the night.
In the countryside I stay
Where stars shine their brightest
I look up, full of expectation
It's not fulfilled, not the slightest.
I will not lie, I did see stars
But it was underwhelming, I thought.
6 hours drive away from home
It was all for nought!
In that single moment I aged many years.
I was Disappointed.
Discouraged.
Disheartened.
I went back inside
I was Defeated.
II
Next night, just as black,
just as cold, just as still
I leave the light and creep outside
The dark gives quite a thrill.
I can barely see but I still walk
Soon my eyes adjust
Shadows, treelines, unlit pathways
With time, become robust.
And then I see them.
Stars like tiny pinpricks, materialise
Thousands upon thousands appear
I stand and watch as they arrive
Frozen in awe, not fear.
Yesterday
I was wrong.
I was impatient.
I was naive.
And that's ok.
In that single moment, I aged many more years.
I wasn't Disappointed.
Discouraged.
Disheartened.
I went back inside.
I had Discovered.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
sleep hangs in the air over my head
until it bolts and breaks the steep drop
from the window down to the city below
where light swarms around the sprawl
brilliant enough to cut through the thick cover of night that settles over it at this time
argus eyes Newark as it refuses rest
turns up its nose at the inclination
struggles under the spread and smother of last phase
pearls its flare as a periapt
and loudens its whirs and sighs
from public transit and its smoking tires
as halogen headlights bleed well through highway treelines
so I'll stave off another tryst with sleep
whatever romance tossed to Jersey's smog-laden wind
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:09 AM UTC
just visiting
every once in the while
this exotic place
where dreams take shape
again
along treelines
very near the coastal plains
a time once where ships
had sails and lives were
placed
by visionaires
painting psalms as true stories
and dreams as real life
morals with plans to make
more
in the future
as sticks and sands and
and waders in the blue surf
lapping at ankles call the
shore
home as the sailor seeks
his love when the sails have folded
the salt washed in fresh waters
again a sip of barley
seek
amore'
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 10:02 PM UTC
wind soughs outside
slightly
I'm up late tonight
my sister careens
on the eastern coast
touches Topsail
with her lacy fingers
and I cross mine
wheels and wheels
like lockstep men
march inland
automobiles whine
like soon, treelines
I'm up so late
my best friend dreams
in the wayside,
somewhere west of me
after a long day
of convincing her boyfriend
to high-tail his *** out of Raleigh
Clayton, it is
he decided
her fret only calmed enough to sleep
by his promises of a high-rise property
and below 70 mile wind speeds
I can feel my eyelids tug
my brother's fingers thrum
on countertops
well-wishes in morse
as he says he'll stop thinking about it, now
no, wait... now
and my mother works to bend
each emerging frown
as my fingers drum up natural disaster nonsense
I watch, wait for the earth's recompense
as it surely blares through my old house's fence
rippling through the silhouette of the statue
my sister's soul had attached itself to
every crevice of county road
every man-hiked piedmont mile
interstices of feet and snow
the dirt that has seen every trial
to fail under inclement weather
they say it's overdue
that it's been a while
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC
I’m rollin’ west toward the downtown;
My eye adjusting to a robe of twilight courtesy of a
Sunset fetching.
Having come from the grocery store,
I drive and think of why I like the summertime twilights:
Of the cicadas singing in muggy treelines--
Of screened in porches with single bulbs--
Of newly caught fish being cleaned in said porches--
Of kids deftly riding skateboards on uneven sidewalks--
Of shadetree mechanics cussing at another raked knuckle as their respective hot rods come together.
Of the lightning bugs as they beacon for their mate to be...
There’s the drag racing out at Osborn on Friday nights.
The fishing on the Missouri and random farm ponds any given evening into night.
The mosquitoes,
The chiggers,
The ticks,
And the bullfrogs…
The summer twilights--
The beauty of a season.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
She's had it with the dramatics
Maybe I should take a page
from the Cro-magnons
and pick these knuckles
up from the pavement
Demeanor dragging 'cross
the grass like an alligator belly
I'm slow - 1st place is just a myth to me
Sloth life, you can find me in the treelines
reaching for the stars when the night comes
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 5:43 PM UTC
An aged old man on his back
A newness strong as right in mind
With a single edge to unhinge the darkness past
Outlast the game in another pawn
Anoint the seed in the soil of life
And grow, beyond the treelines unpredicted height
Into the stars with fingertips aloft
To paint the newborn sky each night
Because with age comes, not only the will to pass, but the path
Made clearer still by the same daylight seen
As a bedridden old man in his own death scene
And we are but a glimmer in the ripplibg life of another's sight
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
I'm sorry for the distance between my heart and mind.
All my experiences are first ones and I'm not sure who all I want involved.
Treelines show me there's hidden microcosms all over small worlds and places to run and hide.
Tagged with wires and chips, I'm on a life support.
Communication and Social Interaction.
I'm a stereotype. Try hard.
Caring - I'm weak.
Trusting, I'm loving.
Advantage of me is not something you achieve - it's freely given.
What you do says more about you.
Than me.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC