At birth we are saplings;

absorbing and sponge-like;

anchored by flimsy roots.



Each developing child is a sliver,

a woodchip,

a branch.



We send our saplings to schools

to be stripped of their bark

and pounded into smooth identical geometrical shapes;

shapes incapable of stretches and growth.



These equations and grammaticals add shape,

not depth, so simple

simple enough to identify our souls

with a string of numbers and letters.



I was born a sapling,

born to stretch, twist,

reach for illumination; fueling the roots

from which I sprang.



Why do these axes

clad in their glasses

want to beat me into factory form?



We should be watered and nursed

until our trunks grow rings

incapable of calculation;



Teach me to grow toward the sun,

and not to become a fragrant product.



Teach me to drop fruits of wisdom

and throw flowers;

for apples can only drop

from fruitful trees.

How do you say things which
cannot remain unsaid?
They just can't be and yet
they will.

I'll glue on my brave face
with cryptic, shaded words
which gently peels away
like gold leaf
revealing woodchip.

They'll flicker and they'll fade
and be whisked away
like the ash of burnt
heirlooms
in a whirlwind.

Too precious to be touched,
(oh, unforgiving air)
too painful to be spoken
(your silent, unforgiving ears.)

They'll be lost
and so will you.

Do you remember the splinters
from the tanbark, your whole
body burned

They found his head in the park this morning,
Samuel was decapitated like a king,
The trouble was that he was a fiend,
The best kind of **** you’ve ever seen,

The park where he played since his youth,
Wouldn’t have guessed it’s now his woodchip tomb,
It rolled off and plopped right there,
Everyone but the park rats were scared,

It was almost expected,
Not that surprising,
He lived off of stealing,
Must’ve ****** with the wrong guy,

When you look down the slide you can see,
The dent in the ground where Sammy’s head be,
Worlds collide and galaxies born,
At the same while,
Samuel’s head was torn,
From his body.

8/4/2015

"It's,like, the Jersey
theme song," he bubbles out
excitedly

conjuring up images of
driving through the parkway
Down the shore

where they'll say
"Hey, buddy! Whadayya think yer doin!"
Well they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night,

I wish they'd blow up my house, too
on the steps of a granite building called Clio
Princeton's lost its golden air as said before and

the Sourland crepuscule
of rock and woodchip
under my feet seems

to be just woodland landscape no
longer some powerful nature scene or something
i have friends, but they are in cities

looking through high still air i say
and declare the sourland scene dead the
vague Appalachian terrain the parkway by Princeton

i go to sleep.

MY EVERYTHING
A Poem for Toby.
—————————-
My Everything,
My ray of light,
My beam of sunshine,
My love at first sight.

My baby boy
lays here to rest.
His eyes—sunken—
pain taking him away
from being his best.

Golden fur, fluffy tail,
a smile that lights up the room.
No matter where,
a heart so big—
it ignores all the creatures,
except for bees, which he tries to devour.

My baby boy
used to chase us around.
Never interested in sticks,
but a ball—
is where he shows his favorite tricks.

You have all the cheer
in each little bark.
When we play tag,
you’re always near.
I know how much you’re hurting,
but I’m always here.

Sunlit trails, cloudy night skies,
rainy days, and a fall surprise.
You walk along these woodchip paths,
always loving walks—no matter the path.
A loyal friend,
always by my side.

You bark and guard our house
from “dangers” outside.

Footsteps come,
or a car pulls in.
Your voice yips
and barks—
so proud,
so loud.
So spunky once—so full of life,
a burst of joy, of sunshine, of light—
no hint of strife.

Then cancer came... the tumor too.
It hurt your mind,
and body too.

Your eyes hold gentle rain—sadness—fear,
as you don’t know what’s coming,
and we don’t either.
Your heart beats brave and strong.

My love will last forever,
even when you move on.
I hold your paw,
I hold your head,
to try to take the weight off
from your shoulders.
When you so tired,
And ready for bed.

Each day is a gift,
a chance to love, laugh, and lift.
I thank you for every smile—
you’ve made my life better, so worthwhile.
So rest now, my dear baby boy.
In every breath,
Love is what we give.

Illness might dim the light behind your eyes.
You might be hurting,
not ready for the next surprise.
But you are forever—
My duty is to love.


Toby, I love you to infinity and beyond.
You, my everything.
May–when you go,
Fly pain-free like a dove.

Prairie
-a poem:
Olivia I. WILLIAMS
———————
Cocktails tumbling —
Softly rumbling —
Tender, mumbling wind
Long grass
Grazes the woodchip trail
As morning grows past
And the sun prevails.
Immense oak trees
Tower and sway
Over clovers.
While whispering streams
Fill the day.
The oak
Sends shadows
Stretching across
The sunlit grass.
Though sun still
Lights the eager flowers —
It's one true task.
Worn oak lodge
Nestled in thoughts —
Dreams.
Moss on the steps
Small treads,
Leading to a true home
Of rest.
Inside — well kept
Floor-length light
Curtains of linen,
Billowing white.


The scent of firewood,
Lemon,
And lavender
Spills into every room.
Sunlight rests
Comfortably on the oak-paneled
Walls.
warmth resides
Flickering gently like campfire flame
In bedroom shadows —
Fire remaining tame.
A clock ticks on
With silent grace
Amongst the music
In the
Gentle, silenced place.
Teacups gather
Along the counter
From morning’s start
Still warm,
Resting against the
Oakwood —
Like integrated art.
The breeze glides in —
Stretching through
The yellow tulips.
Drifting near the prairie
Where deer settle along the creek,
Sipping from the teal cascade
While bending among grass
And settling in
The shadows spread —
Not even the rustling speaks.
Squirrels play —
Once they scrambled,
Now they stay.
Soon, the prairie settles
Warmth of sun retreats,
Sinking in ocean-blue sky
And cotton candy clouds
With new—
Starry night above.  
Faint golden glow
Of the lamp
Among the licking
Light of fire.
In the night,
As the last stars settle to rest,
A tender voice clears —
Singing as the sun sets
In pastel paint,
Voice elegantly swaying
A soft tune.
By the creek
Loons all coo,
Flying in tune together
Like a fairy.
The last gentle note —
Not leaving any weight
Of the day carried.
At last,
The day ends
On the
Prairie.