Friday, April 19, 2013

The Last Tree

The last standing tree in this community
Stands in my backyard
A tall majestic beauty
Lonely, we call her pine
She won’t speak to us anymore
Taking a vow of silence or perhaps
So deep in sorrow she hears no one and nothing
But sometimes
When the wind blows
She sings solo

How I miss the ancient choir

Cold structures stare blankly
Made of corpses
They give no life
They are not to blame
Motionless, no visible sway
They play no music
Apart from a loose tile
Hitting a B flat
Again and again
Prodded by a petulant angry wind
Life moves even the lifeless


words are sharp
like switch blades
pungent like flowers
useless lazy bones
loaded dynamite

words are misleading
like flirts
wise like wizards
empty packets
inspirational leaders

words are dreary
like death
sailing like birds
happy clowns
crazy words

snake like slippery
like poems
never silent
never golden
never home

Old Women

There was a dream forest in her head
Strong and tall dreams
Old and rooted
Always there to give shelter
Climb and pretend
Way up high in dream land

Some dreams came true
Only to be taken away
One blow (razor sharp emotion)
Others slow death (wood rot, change)
Endlessly wandering halls sleeping
Lost and searching

Now the dream forest is bare
Except for the ghosts
Playing their tricks and life the artist
Painting its shadows
Drawing her towards
The gallery within