Childhood tree memory...

Darkness of night
I'd lie on the ground
And skywatch
Dark tree-crown shapes
Would become a parade
Of mystical animals
Watching over me
Under the stars

The cursed perch...

And once again
The avalanche of explanation buries me
I lay crumpled beneath the giant rocks
Pummeled into silence and self-doubt
Hearing the voices of past accusers
Leveling me back
To the perch of paralysis
Once again

Scribblage from my journal: round 27, weeks 2 & 3

Weather

Whether or not you approve of me

is not irrelative.
Or is it irrelevant?

I like to be liked.

Just like any other mammal.

Are all mammals group species?

What about sloths?

Do I have an expertise?

Not one that I can authoritatively share.

I really hate the current cultural-political

environment.

I have never liked election years.

Since Trump's election, it's been
a never-ending election year--
years
of campaigning.

Th, 10/17/19
Week 2. Round 27.

~*~*~*~

Howl

Deep dark trunk and limbs.
Black. Rugged. Strong.
Rough skin. Bumps. Tiny ledges.

Over which ants crawl
Raccoon and bear climb
Inchworms, beetles, and caterpillars
Nests of birds and squirrels

Golden crown rustles in autumn.

Music, not of windchimes
But rather, wildness
Echoing 'cross the valleys and peaks

And then, your shimmering golden hands--

upon your tiny wrists
that rests on branches
that rests on limbs
attached to your dark trunk--

Your golden hands

Fall
Like giant snowflakes
To rot and feed the soil

Then you are naked against the elements.

And your song
For a season
Is a howl

Su, 10/27/19.
Week 3. Round 27.