Seedling’s seed to Earth

Simple seedling, to seed then shoot,
I pray you grow into a peoples brute.
Quiet, soft are all good and well,
but some won’t listen until you yell.

That mother Earth a champion needs,
our bravest hero now concedes.
And though I lurch into an absurd,
the champion I plant, a simple word.

Banish tyranny’s evil sword and gun,
there are spoken battles, that must be won.
Let all who live on this inhuman land,
know, no more will die from a raised hand.

Arise, and walk along these streets,
breathe and partake of the dregs
of the mighty industrial age;
paint the colours of its appeal -

toxic fumes that light the path
to days only just imagined.

Parted lips bare wisdom,
shatter the silence that shackles;
within parched throat, sealed
sounds peal from the belfry -

tender whispers caress
each unknown orphaned heart.

Lift high the banner brave;
let the bitter winds bite
lash fierce its tattered frame,
light gapes through its holes-

I came upon a house today,
though most of it had gone away,
and left behind its mossy bones
of listing piers and cracked hearth stones.

So I took a pause for pondering
in midst of random woodland wandering
to think of those who once lived there
where none go now but deer and hare.

My gaze took in a lonesome hollow
and found that it was drawn to follow
up the course of a clear spring
that issued from a small stone ring.

A mile walk through muggy July woods
standing dead timber draws nearer
as we reach the marshy shore
of our flooded destination

We wade wearing tennis shoes and jeans
into water whose coolness is welcome
and whose familiar depths are known

Drenched in heavy morning rain
Like an arctic soaking to the vein;
I just sat there stunned and wordless,
by the results of endless tests.

Only do I seek the scoffer's sympathy;
my litanies dot the bottom of this timpani.
No restaurant on high street offers...
Whoa! I found where my sanity rests:

A very comforting hand takes mine,
The other hand by her child as well.
I draw dry ice sculptures in my mind,
While a hawk’s screech rings overhead.

I feel your hopeless, endless grieving
and both our journeys you impede
there's reason in your remaining quick
and now, I with you, gently plead
to forgive me, let me go, allow me
move on and do what I have to do
my purpose over there is finished
apart, that is, from my love for you

A blank page staring
challenging me to fill it
with words of beauty

Mind searching for words
and thoughts to write in order
to form an image

Pen hand writes with care
to space and spell correctly
an eye-pleasing work

Then the moment comes
to share thoughts and words aloud
awaiting response

.

Just beyond the end of autumn
I hear the winter's call
and he arrives to slay the leaves
which, stubborn, clung through fall.

The land once green and full of life
has now grown cold and sere
and harvest's colors once so rife
no longer are seen here.

As white and silver cloak descends
to cover silent frozen land
air turns cold as all warmth ends
and quietens all at hand.

How selfish I must be at heart,
and claiming such is just the start,
for cowardly would fit me too.
I'm not the man you thought you knew.

We're both now coming of an age
that's like act three on our life's stage.
Our middle years are passing fast
with autumn coming near at last.

Our passion's not urgent or bright
as it was on our wedding night
but it's still more than just a spark
or memory on which we hark.

A huge old barn sitting alone
overgrown fields all around
its foundation made of local stone
with hand-hewed framework that's still sound.

The once red roof now rusty brown
with faded "See Rock City " white.
One rolling door has fallen down
the other is leaning toward the right.

All the siding's bare and gray
save peeling red beneath the eaves
betraying a well kept yesterday
now dilapidation, no one grieves.