Canopy enclosed me
Into a world where the
Creatures talked and ruled
Massive tyrannical civilizations.
Running, smelling of sweat & blood,
Trail of thick gravy that’s sour with rot.
A mere human born onto a place where they
Are unwelcome. Bound and tortured, a daily routine.
Running to my salvation, enough noise to wake more demons.
Legs giving in to the whisper of cracked acorns. Flowing over pebbles,
Water sounding much closer, many feet crunching and breaking from behind.
Two exhausted arms digging at sickly-silver ferns and mosses. Crunchity, Crunchity,
Too close. Head first into the creek. World distorted with the broken surface.
Deep, and getting deeper. Pain is gone. Light piercing the canopy
Trees part while the fallen rise to their place in eternity.
Water replaces air as the last bubbles surface
Wetness overcomes every inch of flesh,
Gone. All delicates of the body
Dissolve. Gills, scales, fins,
All there. I swim home.
Another interesting poem from the Neil Bittner vault.
On the wall
Up above, raising my head to see her
Beauty. Golden sun shining with intensity
Only a brilliant-blonde head of hair can sustain.
Hearts pounding and spreading, filling emptiness with
Emotions that will never be formed. To know those
Jeweled lips, so intimately, so distant from my own.
Two grand unblinking eyes, looking through my exterior
Into dimensions of the human soul. Lives too different
To be melded into the perfect symbiosis.
Breasts piercing the blackness of her blouse, low-cut
And void but for the shimmering around her neck. Skin,
far too complex, but not overseen by the sun.
I saw her every day, and words never flowed from her.
Syllables of my thoughts knew her to be more
Than a person without her spoken words would know.
She never knew I knew she smiled at my back, or blew out
Little kisses when I was trapped in a dream. I knew
She always Inspected, Stared, Examined
From her picture on the wall.
Flat and dusty, piercing the desert
With a silhouette against the falling sun.
Thriving and thrashing, vegetation grew
Despite the deficit of moisture.
The Holiday Inn where pillows are all so
Fluffy. With mints of grandeur
Laying atop the place of sleep.
Melts smoothly in your mouth.
Weasels sold in dozens, at traps
To the unsuspecting family tourists.
Tributes to their alien encounters,
Blinding, believing to the naïve.
Radiation where the sun lingers on earth
Where the atom was exploited.
Endless air like warm root-beer fills you
After a fresh shave, ready to depart.
I decided I’m going to start posting some stuff I’ve written. The first one is called Growing a Poem and it is a poem about writing a poem.
Growing a Poem
Small, pending life in the palm of your hand.
Dark warm earth is parted and consumes
Everything into darkness where one must wait.
Moist love imbues growth and formation
Into life. Soon the flat surface of the world
Is broken and the elevating sun is seen.
Time gives way to expansion: Roots
Dig deeper and deeper into the unknown,
And Flora becoming open with the sun.
Picking tiny black beetles, their hunger
Destroying confidence. Enriching the
Raw consciousness to ensue more
Life. Continual pruning and reshaping assure
Death will be asleep. Your creation from birth
Inspiring others to grow one of their own.