Under the Apple Tree's Boughs

A place for me to share my writing and art.

The Sleeping Stone

Dappled sunlight filters down through the fingers of gnarled old trees

 

He sits,

surrounded by nothing but bramble and bush

 

Calling out for a guiding hand on skinned and scratched knees

 

Not a sound answers back,

everything down to the fallen leaves appear muted,

dead

 

The shades are steep here, covering everything in quiet melancholy

 

All of the forest life is hidden and silent,

as if God himself has but the great green earth to bed

 

He huddles,

eyes shut tight, hands clamped over his ears

 

Waiting, more of a sleeping stone than a dreaming man

 

Counting slowly backwards,

falling quietly through the years

The Rain King

I speak to the rain in whispered words

as it falls quickly, silently down to earth

 

The tiny little rivulets carve out their traveling trails

down my bedroom window, calling out as they pass by

 

The dark clouds in the sky sing to me in great crescendos,

flashes of light adorning the stage

 

Storms are summoned at my passing

staining the streets and flowering the fields,

a weather vane spinning madly out of control

 

Raise the rivers

crush the flood gates on a whim

 

I sit upon a throne of storms,

atop my head a crown of rain

 

The people dance and pray,

hands raised high as the sky opens up,

pouring down on parched hearts

 

They call me the Rain King

 

 

 

Figure Practice

All of You

I’ve seen you through lingering, stolen glances

 

I’ve spoken to you in wavering whispers, using shy and unsure words

 

My heart beats at a manic pace whenever you pass by

 

Every word you speak seems powerful, poignant,

veritable poetry to my hungry ears

 

My mind has wrapped itself up in you,

wanting to become familiar with your ins and outs

 

Mt body yearns to pull itself close to you,

a fool’s dance on invisible strings

 

It’s far too easy tempting to meander down your winding paths,

to get tangled up and lost in hidden places

 

My hands are hungry to pry you open,

pounding down into the heart of you

 

 

Solid Ground

I spend too much time with my head in the clouds,

my feet hanging  precariously below me

 

I need to come back down,

plant my feet back on solid ground

 

My dreams have grown too large,

I’ve outstretched my means, it seems

 

I’ve jumbled up what I want and what I need,

two quite different things, you see

 

I need to gather up all of these little pieces of me,

small, scattered around, and hard to see

 

Put them back in shape and form,

a resolve now made whole

 

Off in search of a new place to go,

many little seeds in hand to now sow

 

To one day grow into tall, tall trees,

whose branches rise high and green

All Messed Up

When I woke up this morning,

the world was not the same as it was the night before

 

Time seems to be crawling backwards,

the clock’s hands slowly spinning out of control

 

The sky is painted in a verdant green,

and the grass in the lawn grows in blue

 

It’s as if the sun packed up its things and moved away,

and the moon simply refuses to rise in the night sky

 

Storm clouds whimper instead of roar,

and the rain falls steadily upwards

 

Cats run through the streets barking wildly,

while the dogs purr softly in quiet corners

 

God stopped going to church on sundays,

saying he doesn’t believe in us anymore

 

The sea has dried up,

the only waves that lap against the shores those of sand

 

The great fires have died down,

the cogs of man irreparably stuck

 

Has the world really come to an end,

or did I just have too much to drink again last night?

Paper Heart

My heart is a fragile thing,

made of worn paper

 

It’s crinkled and creased,

with scribbles and scratches all along its face

 

Many times have I written your name

crossed it out

only to re-write it once more

 

Over,

and over,

and over again

 

Sometimes in a soft graphite’s gray,

bold black,

or ballpoint blue

 

Regardless of shape, size, or style,

your name has come to cover every corner of the page

 

It has become a mass of inter-flowing lines, garbled up shapes, and odd angles

that come together to form off-kilter images

 

Even so,

I still can’t help but feel that your name,

written across the page,

is a thing of beauty

A Restless Reprieve

I’m done carrying you around everywhere I go

 

I’m tired of seeing you on the backs of eyelids,

of the feel of you waiting behind my eyes

 

My hearing has gone to hell

straining to hear the whisperings of your voice,

of trying to pick it out of the murmuring crowds

 

I’ve gotten sick of you creeping around in my skull

during the long hours of the night,

and wondering what you’re doing in the early morning light

 

My voice has grown hoarse

from constantly calling out to you

 

I’ve been dragging my feet for far too long,

following blindly after you

 

You’ve grown much to heavy,

resting up on this pedestal I’ve placed you on

 

It’s time for you to hold yourself up

A Seafaring Heart

Like the boundless sea,

you ebb and flow within me

 

You are a great wave crashing,

a mighty current dragging me into the still, silent depths

(to a hidden, unexplored place)

 

As both a gentle breeze and a strong gust of wind,

you fill my sails through smooth waters and stormy seas

 

When there is nothing but fog and mist to be seen,

you shine a guiding lighthouse beam

 

I would gladly be caught up in your nets,

dragged up from the sandy bottom to see the light of day

Faces

I can hear the wind wailing,

and feel the rolling clouds rumbling

 

If I look up into the sky,

I can see someone staring back down at me

 

Some one with obscured features

and wise, all knowing eyes

 

Was it God’s face I imagined there

- or was it yours?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.