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Apple Tree January 24, 2013

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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On my best days
I still think about it
that place that exists only in my mind,
as far as I know.
I close my eyes and
I can feel the gentle breeze
and the grass tickle my ankles
There we have a house,
small but more than enough
We’re rarely inside anyways

We have a bed
and a tea kettle
and one apple tree that
sits outside our window
and taps the glass on stormy nights

We often look toward the horizon
where grass meets sky
and feel nothing but peace

The only reminder of the
world beyond our little house
is the occasional piece of mail
that finds its way to our mailbox
shaped like a bird house

I feel your hand reach for mine
and I smile because
nothing could make this any better

When I open my eyes
real life is blinding and out of focus
but if I squint just right
I can see our one
apple tree

 

 

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earthly unrest October 13, 2011

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, writing.
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Fresh rain
on warm cement
the scent of what
went in the night
when you meant
to sleep longer hours
between blankets in fright
of the light that will die
when days become cold
and the air much more
bold, tightening our hold on
the layers we’re told will
keep our blood warm
and conquer the storm
that looms overhead
I dread an arrival that
is simply unheard of. My
musings unsaid will hide til
the spring when flowers
give way to the colorful things
But for now, stay inside til
the raining subsides and
the colors don’t crunch
quite as well as I’d like

 

rain April 29, 2010

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, Uncategorized.
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I really love it, you know.

The pitter patter of Heaven’s tears. It renders the world silent. A soggy, gray standstill. Precipitating. Anticipating the end.

Sounds waves slow and marvel at the sorrow. Who knew there were this many shades of gray? Soaking the colors in such a dismal shade could depress any creature.

Nothing seems real until it rains. You don’t notice the uneven ground until it fills with water, creating a puddle paradise. (Boots not included.) You don’t notice Spring’s bloom until it’s drowning. Every sagging cherry blossom begs for attention. So desperate that it’ll make its way to the cruel, cold ground. If only to be stepped on by an oblivious passerby.

The sprinkling generosity that, inevitably, keeps us going. The dew, left behind, makes Mother Nature sparkle (more than usual, of course).
“Over here! Look at me!” She’ll cry, winds and breezes only aiding in Her shimmering attempt.

The dense, sodden air steals time. If only long enough to let you listen. For once in your life, really, truly listen! You can almost hear existence in the pounding, relentless down pour. But only if you pay attention; and this is your chance! Umbrella or not, for the love of everything and anything you hold dear, embrace the eerie element.

And love it.

Undone June 19, 2009

Posted by findingherforte in poetry, Uncategorized.
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Pour me a cup
of nostalgia
right side up
for an upside down
kind of day
and hand me a
plate of memories
over easy
burnt to a crisp
but stone cold
Typical

An empty feeling,
more than a feeling,
keeps me dreaming
and reaching for
some kind of
answer
to this lack of color
It’s all black and white
if you tilt your head
just right
Just hope and pray
that your head
doesn’t stay that way
Keep my eyes closed
hoping it makes the
world at large
that much easier
to stomach

This time last week
was a whole ‘nother
shipwreck

This time tomorrow
I won’t even be
at sea
I’m ready, I am
No mind tricks,
believe it or not
Gotta catch the sun
before the horizon
swallows it whole
The wind cries
freedom
and though no tears
have been shed
I feel completely
Undone

Wind February 27, 2009

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A rush
adrenaline would be ashamed
Tugging, pulling, pressing
at the very fibers
of my soul
Intact
the holes in my heart
sing by your accompaniment
melodies I long forgot
and was afraid
to remember
Twirling, tumbling, twisting
my lips
into a foreign shape
Your chaos brings me
peace
in a form most of my kind
fail to recall
The poets are wrong
you do not whisper
You shout, groan, and boast
Your thunderous roar is
matched only by that of
Brother Thunder
The cry of a warrior
summoning my spirit
from where it lay dormant
Bringing me to the
edge
of reality
of space and time
I let go of all that attaches me
to this world
only to wake
when you die