Six Lives of Paper

I.

Riding the wind
as she blows through the valley.
A lost note passing by.
 

II.

  

Smooth as the green of a leaf;
born tough as sandpaper to skin.
In a single lifetime, numerous forms it will take.

 

III.

Flat on the table, almost invincible;
an ant compared to those around.
  

 IV.

 

Slim paper to thick chair.
Sit here a while, flip pages in a book,
while you burn things made of the same
in the fire.
It is all around you.
 

V.

 
Placed here and there by
many hands.
Rip it apart, fall to the trash.

VI.

Windblown to the snowy bank;
Stuck.
Lights pass, no one to retrieve.
Soon to be covered by fallen snow;
gone by morning.

Outside and Within

Amid heaven and hell
a place of respite,
where moonlight splits trees
letting a hammock be seen.

Rest here a while,
walk off your feet.
Listen to your breath,
feel your heart beat.

Midnight summer breeze
pressing to rosy cheek.

Taste the fresh air
such as raindrops on your tongue;
hear waters trickle by
singing songs to night skies.

Everything is shades of grey,
though nothing seems more clear,
then coming to this place
your inner voice you’ll hear.

Stretch of Memory

 I

The dirt occupies my mind for moments
as I write my name or draw silly pictures.
Silence weighs on me as heavy time
passing slowly by.
Waiting to hear the sound of hooves
breaking the hard-packed dirt.
I hear them!
They stop for me, although I’m only
near tall as their withers…

II

Fifty cents, cup of lemonade.
Summertime.
Everyone who passes is sure to buy
but back roads don’t have many travelers.
Only in the autumn are the roads filled
with machines, to watch the wonders
of earth’s many colors…

III

Side by side, my best friend and I,
neck in neck, another
two wheeled horse race.
“Faster! Faster, Prancer!” I yell
to my ten-speed horse as my legs
make circles in the air just as
the wheels spin and spin…

IV

Patiently waiting for my turn
to ride the black pony’s back.
Only a short distance till I
can have my joy.
I run with her
as leaves racing the wind.
My best friend guides her
down the road we know so well
to reach the destination where we switch.

V

Piles of snow accumulate beside the road.
I walk him with lead in hand…
Both of us needed to get out,
walk the road we often ride
every day in the summertime.
He stops,
and kneels
till his body reaches the snow;
a stimulating winter roll beside the road.

Fruitless Love

It screams at me,
the echoes of deserted memories
that haunt my forgotten dreams.

It opens the door to rainfalls of tears.
Boxes of damp tissues fall to the floor;
All those bemused years.

Symbols arranged on the paper
stay engraved in my heart,
though I long for them to perish.

I could simply throw it away,
or cast it to the flames,
smoldering a witch to her stake.

But I will read it over and over again
until those scribbles no longer have meaning;
until I no longer feel pain.

And I will burn out the engraved words,
leaving only a barren hole
of a place where love once grew.

I Am Left To Write

Immense pain within this heart,

I beg to release. 

It is impossible.

I long to weep like willows;
let the wind catch my sorrows.

No tears fall,

only ink to vacant pages.

I Do

This Earth I love

and I will marry it.

My soul mate,
the only one I’ll forever
adore.
The only one who’ll forever
love me.

Trees poking up from the ground;
my brothers.
Water flowing so peacefully,
giving life;
my sister.
Birds that fly gracefully,
owning both blue and gray skies;
my family.

Everything on this earth,
we are one
and made of the same.

The grass and rocks alike,
animals and plants as well,
both moon and sun,
sky and soil.

This Earth I love
and I will marry it.

Mrs. Amanda Smith

Such distant memories;
late night talks over tea,
sharing our past, wishing
to have been there for one another.

Such distant memories;
tennis in the summer rain,
lingering nature walks,
apple picking, sight-seeing.

Such distant memories;
 tarot card readings,
astrology charts,
and bottomless talks.

Such distant memories;
playing guitar,
speaking our hearts,
finding inspiration in one another.

Such distant memories;
fear of haunting ghosts,
but desire to explore,
videos and pictures- only smiles.

Such distant memories;
excitement to see another,
becoming best friends,
knowing it will never end.

Such distant memories,
until we see one another again.

Mock Ocean

Cursed with a lying smile,
she swims slowly by the glass
like dying hands
sliding down a broken window;
to be observed, not to be saved.

She is a lucky one, though,
if captured life is worth living.
The day they took her from home
blue waters ran red
with blood of those she’d known.

Memories of the cove;
the cries;
all that was lost,
haunt her while she performs,
as she brings smiles to unknowing faces.