How To Create An Atmosphere: Forest

Framed

What are the laws of nature? Can you tell me? I can only think of one That energy cannot be created Or destroyed That it can only reconstruct One form into another

So what makes a flower bloom? Did I give the blossom My energy? I assume it comes from somewhere Within the soil, the stem But let me believe I can transform Into a beautiful thing too

Idk who needs to hear this (probably everyone) but your body is a good body. Even if you don’t like the way it looks or people have made you feel bad about. Literally all bodies are good bodies. Have a good day and don’t forget to be kind to yourself and your body.

Nothing

To do nothing but stare at a wall, watch the sun wash over old paint. To cry because something blew into my eye. I thought of something funny and remembered your face. To cut a carrot the slow way, julienning each disc, one by one, to put my face over the pot as hot water boils. To do nothing but fold my clothes as if my hand was an iron. To watch your yawn like a slow-motion movie. To touch the thin film of dust without rush to wipe it away. To write as if I were talking to myself. To do nothing the whole day. To fill it to the brim with nothing, nothing but nothing.

On Writing Poetry

and I still

don’t know where to start

writing poetry any more be-

-cause every moment feels knee

deep in the ongoing fire of the

world perpetuated by forces

beyond my control but not

my understanding. They have

names and wear gaudy ties

and smile for the camera

after lobbying to reduce

safety to up production 

and pour toxic waste into

the ground / minds / air

so if I told you I was in

love with a jasmine on a 

bonny hill as the sun rises

would that lift a child from

the ruin of a hospital? I am

running out of time

for hope and trying my best

to throw spare change over

the flames and protest to the

powers whose pockets are too

full to move the dial an inch

away from oblivion and I

don’t know where to start

but this will end one of two

ways. So, maybe I’ll write again

for the end I want see

for the day after

when I can show you a jasmine

on a bonny hill as the sun rises.

We're neither of us angels

I

The crowd of lesser demons gnawing at my thoughts doesn’t come from us –

my mind circles because our moments won’t stand still to be captured.

I only haunt myself when you’re not in reach to remind me I haven’t died.

II

I weave secrets, around you, over you, yet in your presence nothing is hidden,

not even the carelessness of my wishing. You are the pennies winking low in the well,

taunting me. Every past moment of wistfulness for someone I hadn’t met yet arriving

with the grace and fluidity of rain now distils fears to the nightmare of losing this.

III

No angels will save us – still a barter better than any

offered at the crossroads. I’ll love the demons to death.

Staycation

Rooting through yellowed, dusty memories

Those of my grandmother's back yard,

The smell of sweet maple leaves

And the sting of late autumn

We made "potions" in my backyard,

Collected rocks from the stream

In the park, and amethystine bruises.

April, when the slush finally gave way

To the annihilated lawn, the mud warming

Bringing worms for fishing to the surface.

I remember when my brother lost his

Pink fishing rod to a monsterous carp

At the KOA campground pond,

How dad fished for it with his rod,

I can't remember if he got it back.

We never went fishing with him again.

I fold up my hippocampus and stow it neatly

In the chest from whence it came,

Closing up my ribs, I vow to discuss this

Experience with my therapist,

Cleaning off the dust of age,

Hoping his insight can interpret the

Dregs of this old cup.

Parties at Lake Mohawk

Church luncheons abound at the

Pavilion next to the lakeside beach

Concrete floor, cold against the

Raw, sandy feet of playtime

Coming out of the water for the

Potluck buffet, cheesy potatoes,

Dessert salads abounding.

A prayer goes up for the community,

For the healing of souls, or

For donations for the new church.

Small parties too, celebrated.

Confirmation class completion,

Ready for Easter Vigil.

Pungent incense and sweet oils

Will follow close by, but for now

We feast on our collective meal,

Camrederie with the priest before

Our big day.

Writing References: Colours

Black ⚜ Blue ⚜ Brown ⚜ Green ⚜ Grey ⚜ Orange

Pink ⚜ Purple ⚜ Red ⚜ Variegation ⚜ White ⚜ Yellow

Word Alternatives ⚜ Archaic Words ⚜ Dark

Describing Colours ⚜ Word List ⚜ Gold

Symbolisms: Colour Vitamins ⚜ "Magical" Uses

More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

A List of "Beautiful" Words: Brown

for your next poem/story

Adust - scorched, burned

Auburn - a moderate brown

Beige - of a color that is light grayish-yellowish brown

Biscuit - a light grayish-yellowish brown

Bronze - a moderate yellowish brown

Castaneous - of the color chestnut

Chestnut - a grayish to reddish brown

Cinnamon - a light yellowish brown

Cocoa - a medium brown color

Drab - a light olive brown

Infuscation - darkened with a brownish tinge

Khaki - a light yellowish-brown

Mahogany - a moderate reddish brown

Russet - a reddish brown

Rust - a strong reddish brown

Sepia - a brownish-gray to dark olive-brown color

Sorrel - a brownish orange to light brown

Tan - a light yellowish brown

Umber - a moderate to dark yellowish brown

Walnut - a moderate reddish brown

More: Lists of Beautiful Words ⚜ More: Word Lists