How intently and with purpose the wind blows
with every gust and turn in direction
it is the sweet laugh of God
combing through my hair
and untangling my scarf.
TDM
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Tag: poem
Have Been
I have forgotten myself many times
mostly on purpose
I have made days go by without saying
hello to a mirror
and have been even better
at making nights disappear
suffocating myself under blankets
the easiest place to be
where words are muffled and sounds elude me
TDM
Skipping Rocks
I would skip
rocks
with my feet plunged into moss
curl my toes underneath mud
grip myself
turning a stone over in my hand
weighing it with every rotation
to make sure it wouldn’t just
plunk
to the bottom of the brook
though if it did
it would not be lonely
because there are plenty of others
who have
sunk
to the
bottom
and nestled themselves
even after they’ve skidded the rapids.
TDM
A Little Nature
If only i could lie
in the grass for more
than just a little while
I could graze the atmosphere
with my drifting eyes
turning my head this way and
that way
I’d twitch my ears
to tune them to the sound
of daffodils being kissed
by tiny insects
I could wipe my nose clean and
inhale perfumed stardust
that would shake itself off
and hitch a ride on currents
golden flecks falling through my hair
hovering first like a halo
and I would not mind nibbles
from creatures polite enough
to make their presence known
take what they need and then leave.
TDM
Polite Love
the trees are polite
they bow to the wind
whenever it pushes through clouds
and knocks upon their cracked bark,
their aged and writhed skin,
contours of time shaped by the hand
of everything,
blushes as gusts brush upon them
like the touch of a lover’s face
pressed against a lover’s face,
comfort, sweet and warm
to contrast rough and gritty,
overwhelm these monuments,
make their leaves shake and whisper
to one another, excitedly.
TDM
It is Never Enough
I heard once
That slumping through
Moss was enough
To satisfy any
Lust for adventure,
That turning
Pebbles over in my
Hand would be
Rugged enough,
That I should not
Dirty my dress
Or get bugs in my hair,
But I have also heard
That rolling
Over hills and under
Starry skies is never
Enough for a
Single lifetime,
It is never enough
To quench a thirst
For dipping toes in lakes,
Washing hands
In rivers and falling
Asleep to the crickets
Buzz, humming in my ear
Whilst grass and
Earth so cool
Under my body
Tickles before I become
A treat for tiny
Bugs whom I implore
To be gentle
To leave a little something
For myself.
T. DM
P.S. I would love some feedback on this piece, mostly regarding whether or not it sounds incomplete. Cheers readers!
A Window With A View
Do I look upon a wintry night?
From a window with a view?
From a frosty ledge with chattering teeth,
All snuggled up in wool, and wear?
Or do I look upon a wintry night
From a rooftop high in the city’s core?
Leaning against a chimney with sniffles
Of ice, dripping from my frosty nose?
Surely I am bound to see more stars
With the sky as my canvasing frame
rather than if I were looking through layers
of glass and window pane,
for what is a perfect night
behind a wall?
Nothing but vicarious meandering
And wishful thinking,
No frosty breaths or rosy cheeks
To conjure the season’s spirits,
What a shame to let the
frost dissipate in that way.
T. DM
