nature poetry – Page 17

Dreaming Of The Sea Again

The same dream again. I see the sea so close by and yet… It remains so far away. Miles and miles I could trek and ever still would not find it. One day though, I will find my place beside the sea. That place where I intend to laugh and play and hear the gulls. To smell that sweet sea air. Peace, well deserved.

Origami Heart

There abounds my heart,

fluttering, flying, floating down

and lightly alighting on the sand.

It looks as if a paper gull,

origami,

that ancient art.

A folded page in the shape of that

thing which beats beneath my breast.

So light and so airy,

held there by the breeze,

as if some old fairy.

No wishes to be wrought.

All I’ve got is what I brought.

Smell the salt and brine,

reminiscent of cheap wine.

Written there upon the page,

a memory perhaps,

or some old adage.

Can’t quite catch!

If only I could read it,

perhaps I could remember

how the world was lit.

If only for a little bit.

Wanna Get Married?

Afternoon, all. Here I am now, again, sitting here. I am thinking, wondering maybe. Dreaming of dark hair and red lips. Satisfied and unsatisfied, finding not that which I’d like to find when I go looking. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Some Kind of Relationship

Do you think there’s someone out there?

Someone who just knows where?

They’ve found their place and it’s with you.

Just a table set for two.

An aching, tired body,

battered and bruised.

I sleep as soundly as I can,

for only in my sleep do I heal,

for only in my sleep do I not feel.

As heart it twists and stomach it turns

That feeling inside,

that something that burns.

Forget-me-nots come in with the tide.

The onion-hat of sultans sits so sublimely on his head.

A man who now alone rests among the dead.

Like before I’ve said,

all the gold’s been turned to lead.

Into The Jungle

I dream of having adventures in faraway lands with faraway circumstances. Perhaps I’ll leave, taking only my stetson and the clothes on my back. I’ll go and leave and finally be me. I suppose we’ll see. Enjoy the poem, friends.

Friend by the Falls

I see there in the distance

a waterfall

and the road that winds,

leading up to there

through the trees.

I can hear the crashing.

The water hitting the rocks.

Past the point of no return.

Hot sun above

and sounds of the jungle.

How can you feel?

How do you feel?

I only feel that pounding

of that water on the rocks,

resonating through my core

It’s sundown now.

A jaguar stands at attention.

I ask the cat a question as it watches:

“Hello, friend. Who is that reflected in your eyes?”

“I don’t recognize him,”

I whisper so sweetly so that only the ears of a predator might hear me.

The jaguar stares on,

looking as if to speak,

but it turns away.

There will be no answers today, friend;

you must find you yourself now.

“Goodbye, friend,” my words saunter off into the darkness.

In A Haze

Woken up again, I find myself responding to the light and to the chirping. To the stimuli, as I should. To all things, as I have before. Perhaps I must change again? I am too much the same as I’ve been, floundering in that sea of doubt and sameness that continues to rise and rise until it rests just below my chin. It stops there and waits, knowing I know of it and what I feel about it. Knowing the anxiety it causes me. Cognizant of the fact that its sentience and salience terrify me like nothing has terrified me before because, simply, the idea of stagnation is equitable in my mind to an endless torture. I find that hell would be preferable to purgatory in that I at least derive some comfort from knowing my torture, rather than not knowing my fate. Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Waking Up

Sick again

I keep doing this

I don’t know

It hurts again

I keep a head

Always in cycles

Moving in circles

Wondering why I did that same thing again

Why i laid my head to rest on that same lap again

To find my roots amongst the trees

And my legs against the seas

Tired of finding that i have weak knees

I’ll don my tricorne

And I’ll set off

Or I’ll set sail

And go there far beyond the pale

As friends and foes sit and wait,

I find myself not resigned to this fate

For it’s with destiny that i have a date

An Old Ritual

Last night I partook in an old ritual. One my ancestors may have recognized. As an observer I felt more than I can explain, oddly enough. There were not many parts, but there was much fun to be had and many friends to be made. This I think I understand. The profound effects of a ritual always lie in the social aspect for me, the actual God or Gods taking the backseat in my mind. I think I’d quite like to do it again.

Regent of Hearts

I’ve met some great boundless one so far

Who told me how the world’s not so hard

Who filled my heart with no canard

That one who tells stories much like a bard

A sing-songy voice

But not by their choice

I of course must rejoice

They think of me more than a shithouse Joyce

Of gumdrops and lilypads

A fantasy land

Of good moms and good dads

There in that castle just by the sand

Idyllic machination

Psychadelic fascination

A world so full of recreation

And creation

A world so fully embraced the Mad