Hollow Tree

with creaking branch

against gentle breeze

I stifle wayward memory

with sullen, wooden ease

 

for I am but a hollowed trunk

core charred from flame on high

I sought the thrill of lightning strike

stiff branched, I’d taunt the sky

 

my splintered bark now falls to ground

though painful peel, I’ll make no sound

and gnarled roots under ashen soul

tremble deep from termite toil

Incendiary

my candle heart placed by window ajar

waiting for your breeze bestowed

shall I flicker and fail

at the impending gale

or leap with urgent flame

excited by air

gasping here,  gasping there

 

a pool of molten collects

and waxen tears spill

in time I will diminish

deform

twisted by warm

where once I stood tall

wick burns low

or

not

at

all

Dust

when my world

spins against your clouds

birds will fall, breathless from the sky

and magnetic poles derange

with n’er a reason why

 

no longer shall the moon

coax the tide with cyclic draw

no spring, nor seasons come

all lost to time before

 

the stagnant sun shall blush

and melt the amber sky

as the desert winds’ soft hush,

shall fall still,

then oasis dry

 

Funambulist

don’ t read between my lines

instead

walk them like a tightrope

balancing

core tight, against soul

with suede slipper slide

and toe beyond heel before toe

inching toward my true

 

you are not dizzy

though the air thins

and a spotlight weaves to disorient

causing precarious sway

 

now look up

my eyes shall meet yours in silent trust

and come here

without hesitation

you must

An Impatient Heart

How do you calm an impatient heart?

 

Do you lead her to the riverside

and distract her with mossed root and pebble collide

seeking her yearnings to hide?

 

Do you still her with indigo sky

point at gasps of cloud pile on high

will this scene not render a sigh?

 

Do you caution

“wear shoes on the slippery hill!”

but she has already bolted

wild child

she

is

still

TO OWN A BREEZE

“To Own a Breeze” by Nigel P Smith. I just had to share this, because even the title of this poem is fierce magic and I adore every word that follows….

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

To own a breeze

If I could, I would have my own breeze

with a soft song voice of hum and sigh

playfully weaving amongst the trees

as I by brackish beck in sun patch lie

lulled by stencil dancing shadow dots

and the swish of many tormented leaves

gently blown, releasing solar shots

of brief warming touch upon my sleeves.

I would send it off across this land

to sweep though dale and over plain

chivvying meadow and golden sand,

then with stolen sounds return again

to give me gifts of a firstborn’s cry

and of young love’s kiss parting lips,

the melting voice of a beauty shy

or a laughter burst from comic slips.

Such treasures in my heart I’ll keep

and savour as though a heady wine

while my breeze spoils senses deep

with scents of garlic wild and pine.

Then I would ask of my breeze

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Exhale

I spread in the shallow sea

and sink into the cool

eyes unblinking

 

the edges of the sky shall blur

the clouds lost to me

i no longer hear your voice

muffled against ocean whispers

captured in hollow shell

 

raindrops scatter as tears

silent promises dilute

I exhale and sink further

my body settling on sand rippled

now to toss gently with sea grasses

until a new tide makes me whole

 

For Hailie S, fellow soul sentinel and prose connoisseur.