"trillium" poems
*sunset, sunrise hikes ~
Trillium on Blood mountain ~
true love song blooms
yogasutra song
hiking appalachee trails
with two i love
Rhodedendrons clap,
lush applause to Springer's call--
water in the sky
a tuskless walrus
chases me up the ladder--
crowds smile through glass*
.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
I walked down alone Sunday after church
To the place where John has been cutting trees
To see for myself about the birch
He said I could have to bush my peas.
The sun in the new-cut narrow gap
Was hot enough for the first of May,
And stifling hot with the odor of sap
From stumps still bleeding their life away.
The frogs that were peeping a thousand shrill
The minute they heard my step went still
To watch me and see what I came to get.
Birch boughs enough piled everywhere!—
All fresh and sound from the recent axe.
Time someone came with cart and pair
And got them off the wild flower’s backs.
They might be good for garden things
To curl a little finger round,
The same as you seize cat’s-cradle strings,
Small good to anything growing wild,
They were crooking many a trillium
That had budded before the boughs were piled
And since it was coming up had to come.
3k
Nicky, the neighbor’s dog, drags a road **** home.
A beautiful pelt like those fox shoulder garments women wore in the
forties.
But the head is crushed beyond recognition—maybe it’s a fox and that’s
why Nicky, a canine, is conducting this wake on our front lawn.
Loretta, my wife’s mother, is in the hospital again. Forty years of Crohn’s
disease has finally broken her.
It may take some time but she won’t bounce back from this episode.
None of us are sorry to see her die, not even Loretta. There will be a
thunderous downpour during her last hour.
I like the story about the nuns hitting Peg in school–contumacy is a sin.
Emile and Loretta considered it an inappropriate punishment for their
cherished adopted daughter.
So they pulled her out of Catholic for public school. They did their own
thinking about discipline.
Early Spring, peepers all night, then the birds take over at dawn.
Soothing—the mourning doves.
During this half of the year, May through October, we live in a green
bower.
We turn the house inside out, move into the mountains.
In their annual order, flowers appear in the understory: coltsfoot, hepatica
and trillium through to the end, late purple aster, spotted joe pye and
pearly everlasting.
We let Nicky nurse her road **** watch over it, roll around on it.
Don’t let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in the passing lane.
Jan 16, 2024
Jan 16, 2024 at 7:35 AM UTC
~-English-~
The Beauty Of Flowers (Multiple Tankas II)
The garden trellis
Climbing Salêt Moss rose blooms
Perfume light and sweet.
Light lavender-pink blossoms—
Nice outside or in a vase.
English bluebells dance
On either side of the path
In the cool forest
They nod and sway in sunlight
Lifting their heads to the dawn
Meadows full of blooms
Larkspurs, Daisies, and Poppies
All create beauty.
So splendid a sight to see
In the Spring and Summertime.
Near the Dutch windmill
Daffodils and iris bloom
In the warm sunshine
During the sweet summer day
They look towards the blue sky
Waterfalls o'er stones,
Mossy and slick though they be
My eyes do behold;
Trillium of white and mauve,
All amid Running Cedar.
~Timothy & Marian~
~-French-~
La beauté des fleurs (plusieurs Tankas II)
Le treillis de jardin
Escalade Salêt Moss rose fleurs
Parfum léger et doux.
Lumière des fleurs de lavande-rose —
Nice à l'extérieur ou dans un vase.
Danse de jacinthes des bois français
De chaque côté du chemin
Dans la forêt cool
Il hoche la tête et se balancent en plein soleil
Soulever la tête à l'aube
Prés de fleurs
Larkspurs, marguerites et coquelicots
Tous créent de la beauté.
Tellement splendide un spectacle à voir
Au printemps et en été.
Près du moulin à vent hollandais
Les jonquilles et les fleurs de l'iris
Dans la chaleur du soleil
Pendant la journée été doux
Ils regardent vers le ciel bleu
Chutes d'eau sur les pierres,
Moussu et luisante, bien qu'ils
Mes yeux Voici ;
Trille blanc et mauve,
Tout au milieu des Cèdres en cours d'exécution.
~ Timothy et Marian ~
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Did you notice the painted trillium—
The way it freckled the dark sky
Or the hills below the Sassafras summit?
Scarcely scattered beneath the pines,
The blossoms live and die like love,
Or maybe not.
Perhaps the petals live like I’ve imagined after they die,
Boutonnieres pinned to the night’s blue blazer.
But even if they don’t, I envy the way they live
Their lives without wondering whether
Or not they might dream.
Our clothes fed the sweet pinesap,
Rotting with our minds on the forest floor
That night beneath the Lenten moon,
And the cold draped our bodies
In a film of sweat as thick as the sound
Of the falls flooding the valley.
Winter’s fear saturated our bivy’s fly
As Spring drew near, but still we slept.
Your pupils danced behind my eyelids
And God shook his head in disgust
While we sipped silver steins replenished from Lethe,
But only angels died that night in Elysium.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Brown oak leaves underfoot, last year's sodden
reminders that newness always ends. But
not today
while the creek, silent in summer, chortles
about last night's rain, full of spring vigor
far below
the limestone bluff edge where
I stand, chert nodules and fractals
peeking through
springy new undergrowth, broke down
limbs, leaf litter and dark soil. I came
for morels
but it's too early, too chill yet. Tomorrow's
predicted sun may bring them out. Early
mayapple
sprouts fool me, draw me to admire other
understory plants: trillium, maidenhair fern,
spring beauty,
johnny jump-up and more whose names
I knew once but forgot. I came alone and
I don't need
names. Names mean nothing without
voices and other ears. I love the silence
I bring here.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
You are amazing.
After what seemed like a lifetime of fervently searching through endless, abyssal, darkness, I have found a stunning array of the most spectacularly luminous qualities, in you. It may be hopelessly cliché, but you are the light at the end of the tunnel.
It is breathtakingly difficult to describe quite how fantastic you are. You are elusive, like a single, pure, white Trillium in a forest of ivy. Your beauty is beyond both simile and metaphor; to your form, there is no comparison. If it is possible for a person to be flawless, then I am sure that you are.
Every word you say captivates my undivided attention, and leaves me hoping for more. I am enraptured by every move your body makes. When you sing, I feel my pulse quicken, and I could listen for hours. When you dance, my eyes follow every action with genuine appreciation for your graceful motion.
No matter what I am doing, I catch myself thinking about you throughout the day, wishing I was next to you. You are everything I want, and more than I could ever ask for. You aren't afraid to laugh like a fool, or cry like a child, or scream at the top of your lungs, or smile like you've never felt pain.
Everything about you makes me crazy over you, and, sometimes, it's easy to question whether someone as incredible as you can even be real...
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
the sun is wine,
round in my stomach,
shrill in the beaks of birds.
clover muddles your fingers,
muddles your teeth and breath
and skin. you are only
a spot in the trees.
planted among trillium,
stalks thickening your limbs,
my limbs dappled.
i taste summer
all through you.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
I thought
It was
Terminal
Uniqueness
Leperacy
Feeling
Nothing
At all
So addicting
The purple
Trillium
The hum
Of home
Feeling
10,000
Years
Old
To many
Directions
No
Ease
Missing
Love
Bees
Knees
Nothing
Near
Just
Memories
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
When the winter left and Canada had finally warmed up, we both had wished it stayed around for just awhile longer.
So we could have mustered up some more thoughts about how we would apologize to one another.
Before the particles of the magnolia trees and white trillium had tickled the sensors of our nose and had made us forget about one another.
I can feel the Carolina dog days of summer approaching while the last of your snow finally turns to a muddy water.
Anima gemella, you promised to be in my arms come spring time.
I tried to hate you in the fairest way a man could hate a woman.
Hatred because she destroyed the name of love, dissolved destiny, and distorted all poetry.
Enough false hatred so I would never have to speak to you again.
Making even the greatest -- Poe, Neruda, Bukowski, Plath and the others all live in vain.
But even I knew that wasn't possible.
Not defeated by the fact that you can't love me back
But by the feeling that you're the only person I've ever loved
And that I'll never get to feel the warmth of your body in a hotel room bed in the center of the city.
And that you'll forever live through a 3.5 inch screen however many states and countries away.
And how every day, whether you're listening or not.
I will tell you that I love you, whether or not you love me.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
A Surfeit of Light
by Michael R. Burch
There was always a surfeit of light in your presence.
You stood distinctly apart, not of the humdrum world—
a chariot of gold in a procession of plywood.
We were all pioneers of the modern expedient race,
raising the ante: Home Depot to Lowe’s.
Yours was an antique grace—Thrace’s or Mesopotamia’s.
We were never quite sure of your silver allure,
of your trillium-and-platinum diadem,
of your utter lack of flatware-like utility.
You told us that night—your wound would not scar.
The black moment passed, then you were no more.
The darker the sky, how much brighter the Star!
The day of your funeral, I ripped out the crown mold.
You were this fool’s gold.
Keywords/Tags: surfeit, light, presence, chariot, Thrace, Mesopotamia, silver, gold, platinum, antique, grace, heirloom, diadem, crown, tiara
Alas, Sir Munchalot!
by Michael R. Burch
You ate too much,
your common lot;
you munched too much,
so now you’ve got
a gut.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 5:49 AM UTC
In the cool of the First morning
Wand’ring my own Eden
I am
The finger of God
Straightening a Trillium
While my cancer grows
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC