flowers

Poem – This Planet

Beyond the fields of flowers
reaching the horizon,
another field exists
reaching beyond the stars.

This home, this planet
floats in the endless
expanse of space though
fields of time and gravity.

We harvest the land
and pull sustenance from the earth,
while we gaze upon the heavens
and the possibility of other life.

https://iso.500px.com/usa-night-sky-photos/ Farming the Rift III by Aaron Groen on 500px.com

Poem – Birth

In the beginning we come into this space
as innocent beings fumbling around
the empty fields stretching forever.

We stare in wonder and with amazement
as to the endless possibilities
and the control we have of our life.

Then something changes and the field
begins to fill with objects and obstacles
and where there was no path, forks in the road.

How we navigate this field and
how far reaching our sphere of influence
determines the lanterns brightness when we return.

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Copyright (c) 2014-2016 Twisted Root Photography

Poem – Return

In the end, when this life becomes the next,
we become the raw materials returned to earth
only to rise and become the flowers of tomorrow.

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Copyright (c) 2014-2016 Twisted Root Photography

Poem – Flowers

In the end, when this life becomes the next,
we are left behind as one flower in the open fields
becoming 10-thousand blooming and radiant beings.

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Copyright (c) 2014-2016 Twisted Root Photography

Poem – Roots

I walk the worn dirt path
circling the overgrown fields
where the winds have abated
and the grass, flowers, and
trees have grown deep
roots while the land has
gone back in time before
the cities of industry.

Poem – When the Tree Speaks My Name

Weeks have passed since my last visit.

Jack pine needles blanket the pole barn’s roof

a painting of solid green and brown slivers.

The front porch is covered with maple and oak leaves,

spider webs and left-over wood that was cut for fires.

What used to be a driveway is now in the beginning stages

of returning to prairie grasses with spotted wild flowers.

Dragonflies, damselflies, and other winged creatures

casually float 20 to 30 feet overhead and beneath

afternoon blue sky, growing darker as the sun

is sinking below the treeline.

With what little light is left I choose the pruning

shears and work my way to the trail I have spent the past 3-years

cleaning, clearing, and moving deeper into the forest

of countless trees, creatures, and tall guardians.

My goal is to cut branches below 8 feet and leave

a tunnel, allowing more light through and the

path to take on murky, moving shadows.

At the third tree, I stopped, still, silent

and listened as the tree in front of me,

a white birch, spoke my name.

I touched its trunk, felt its heart and energy

and decided that was enough for the evening.

I will leave you untouched, as you are,

guardian of this forest.

Poem – Untitled War

Sun bleached dress
Vibrant orange into dull peach

Days wear long upon my body
Sun deepens, light spreading to my bones

One last request, please
A meal, a word, an exit

Give me dignity and grace, allow my family a place
To bring flowers and pictures and whiskey