tryingpoetry

Interpret however you want

The Sea

The sea calls me home every day and I don't understand Umanaya calls me and the sand gets in my toes and the breakers are long out into the bars behind them the swells hide the light and the sun boils into the red with the wind in your face burning your cheeks and you feel the done

A Mother and two Daughters

I love hearing them happy Sweetness in the air Like honey in my nose

Like house sparrows singing On the edge of a garden I love the sound, it makes me happy

July 4th

The beer rolls over my tongue before it waves over my mind gently because it's been a long time and everyone is napping

The world is in first gear working to get off the dime from a surprise stop-sign octagonal red

It makes the bog sleepy and that's how I like it the hammock in the garden while the tomatoes try to set fruit

But I don't like why it's sleepy or the knees on the necks of good people

Goddamn I'm Thin

My emotions stretched out drawn around the posts and signs pulling tighter

To bounce with a pop but damnit don't break

Singing

The sapsucker sang at the peak of the roof carelessly ignoring me and most all of humanity only grateful for a high perch

Spring

Spring hasn't sprung but it's getting closer seeds in the ground marks my season sun on the porch and the songs of robins and sparrows

We're all home now, like the old days before cars and in each other's space and I can't stretch my legs enough except

When I haul the lumber to the garden knees in soft soil, dark brown and caked sweat falling off my face bruises on my shoulders

Bare new kiln dried wood smells like work and new things But the bog will eat it over time and until then It will hold back the canary grass While seeds are sewn

February Rain

Glossy faceted lights halogen and filament and led poke and bounce around the gray sky the crystal clear drops clinging to windows are gemstones in the gravel taste of the wind in my nose seasalt

Silk

It happens fast and you don't know it because you're the frog and not the cook

The sled runs downhill like it's on rails but it doesn't cook that way

And the brakes burn acrid ozone in your nose but you crank into the turn

The sky was purple this morning Just a little pink and the glow on the horizon Through the late fall branches stripped bare by the wind

My country is dull yellow and grey now it's the mountains and sound in my ears of rain

The hills are silhouette green and the flooded fields bright Just a little reflection among the ducks of the clouds through false dawn woke by a damp sun

My country is dull yellow and grey now it's the mountains and sound in my ears of rain

My ride bumps along while the caffein flows through my veins And the window refracts and reflects my thoughts as much as the landscape And the flooded fields with their ducks

My country is dull yellow and grey now it's the mountains and sound in my ears of rain

My country is dull yellow and grey now The rain never stops

Fall Fell

Fall was a bigleaf maple leaf on a main branch green stemmed born in spring spent all summer on her task sending her work back to the trunk until she grew old

In retirement her shoulders golden spreading all over Until with her family she lit the tree alive before the air turned cold before the wind came

Until one day She knew she was done and longed for the ground let go

Gliding down stem-first pirouetting in the air Riding the wind with a shawl upon her back