Forest Green

Forest Green

(A Poem)

Forest

Towering evergreen trees,

bordering a low grassland meadow high in the mountains.

The sky darkens as thunderheads cover the face of the sun;

the sound of wind through the pines fills the once quiet wood.

Moisture accumulates on the pointed needles as the air grows heavier,

water seeps into the rich, dark earth as the first drops begin to fall.

Green

Luscious ferns, shrubs, and grass,

begin to shimmer as the moisture thickens.

The breeze dies to a whisper, then all together,

leaving naut but the sound of droplets striking the leaves.

Clouds twist and turn as the great air masses make their long journey,

but the water continues to fall, soaking the mountain side far below.

Forest Green

A lone ray of light breaks through,

and shines upon the side of the great mountain.

It grows and multiplies as the storm passes by overhead,

The rain lightens as the thunderheads retreat further into the distance.

Towering evergreen trees shimmer in the light of a clear afternoon sun,

a mighty beacon of light against the dark backdrop of the summer monsoon.

Poetry (A Tentative Assertion)

Poetry
(a tentative assertion)

Roses are red...
Violets are blue...
this isn't poetry,
I'll show you.

I know poetry,
like the back of my hand;
It's very poetic,
and also very bland.

Listen to me,
 I'll show you the way,
Because according to some professional experts,
I know what to say.

Rainbows

Ladies and gentlemen,
boys, girls, and all those in between.
Pay attentive attention for this is a poem,
that'll you wish you had seen.
For it goes something like this,
dude.

This is the poem that I wrote,
It's a very good one;
Just ask my dad,
he's a lawyer.

Unicorns.

First I use  lots of words,
all kinds
like the species of birds
this can take some time.

Oh Love, why dost thou beseech me
when I needest thine presence hither most,
and leave me to wallow in mine own transgressions,
wallow I say, Wallow!

Then with these words hither I rhyme,
all these words mine I shalt use,
always!
All the words, no less no more.

Finches.

Finally after a long day,
of lots of word play,
I end it...
























































Thus.

The Inner Poet Within

My inner poet looks like the mighty forces of nature; rolling thunderclouds, howling winds and flashes of lightning; but still retaining the beauty of nature in the epic sunsets of the Gulf of Mexico and the mighty rocky mountains of North America.  He feels freedom, the wind rushing beneath him as he stands on cliffs above the tree-clad valleys far below.  He sees the waning rays of the sun strike the mighty thunderstorms of  the mid-west; he sees the deep, star-filled skies high in the mountains and the soft, rhythmic motion of the waves on sandy beaches.  What he thinks, only he can know, for without the will to speak, what can he say?  He exists because I am he.  The escape from the mundane life of day to day, the embodiment of what I wish was, and the hope of a tomorrow better than yesterday's.  I and him, and he is my eyes to a world only I can know.  A world that exists, but exists not; that is seen, but remains unseen;  that is everywhere, but nowhere; where the laws of science govern, sometimes.  It is the land of my imagination and he is the key to the door. The door which opens to the land beyond containing what nobody else knows except him and myself; because I am him and he is the one who says, "look."