Upon A Howl

Twas, upon a howl, a gist a full moon lit terrain that the shadows whispered soft, between the leaves quiver ring stillness. Harmony chilled the bark of Poet Trees, sailing sensual sensations, wherein footprint paths, poets crunch fresh, just fallen pristine snow falls, amid winter wonderland passages of serene tranquility.

The moonlight glistens, adrift moonbeam reflections that set minds free floating, alight gentle wind ripple inflections; writing thee winter verse, upon fairy tale inspirational cast spells. Sense the frost in thy breath flow that finds solace; inside thy chilled air soul, a-midst consonant – vowels gaining crystal clarity, in the terse of being, and feeling so alive.

Where will the knight trail lead to? As the dawn, approaches quick, to bring on rays of sunlight sunrise. But still, the midnight afterglow, still dost create it magic. Where words find mystical music, within nature riding knight sails. Amid Nutcracker ballet spirits, wherein stillness, one prances in glee; wearing a poet’s pure imagination of cerebral contemplation composition. Where poets dew find their pounding heartbeat sounds, bear Poetry’s divine enlightenment.

Sad it is, to see thy knight take leave, to ride off, aloft Camelot dream escape that night dost departs, to write around the world, revolving among darkness, lit by moonbeams, upon fresh fallen sailing snow.

But wait, what dost one see, but pastels, between sparkling leaves, in snow covered trees, unfurling the chill trill of songbirds serenade sounds. Oh hear yea, nature’s awakening call that spring smiles, with dew drop breezes that fall gentle to bless this earth, germinating a new day. Snow crunches different under sunlight weight, changing sounds during the day. As footprints share other poets, one tries to find paths less traveled, upon a frost fork, somewhere beyond the echo of humanity’s congestion.

Far beyond tires crunching snow threads, one finds a recluse contemplative place of meditative seclusive power, wherein our owned depth, one reaches that deep core of a poet’s individual soul of solace solitude. Hear one exists upon “Once Upon a Time,” in past present future rhymes, of what if’s, what naughts, and/or whatever s. No judges hear yea here, so do not joust with one’s owned destruction. This piece of elite scenery, be made for one’s own healing therapy. While one might, write on roller coaster emotions here, upon leaving this peace, poets must exist in believing, our positive paths mean something.

Woodpecker knocks hallow bark sounds. upon wood, someplace in the distance, a deer darts upon its journey, an eagle flies overhead, then circles off somewhere. Seams hear, veins bear Mother Nature’s vital beat senses, upon healing poet mind-frame, amid tranquil mind traversals. Where upon time interpolation redaction's, contractions, and aberration conditioning; bye letting a poet, let loose of their self incriminating doubts. For here in this peace, they will find, no righteous vindictive societal judgment indignation. Herein this unique place of space, Mother Nature consoles in calm serene settings, where one find the spark needed to come alive, hereafter and thereafter.

There are times, one just needs to get away from it all that the built up pressure, just adds up to overwhelm basic survival instincts. Where the quicksand surge, pulls one underneath woe, upon tears torn inside, worn out cries that have gone heartbreak awry. Wherein going, in any direction, it leaves one still born, upon stationary place mat futility.  So one dost, have to plan escape, to travel that path needed to bring back one’s sanity. If not by physical traversing, a door a jar, by entering dream portals, to where one can reach deep in depth, of their soul being.

Sun shire neigh warms pleats, while the surrounding stallion chills, its stellar majesty cleats, upon living live spectrums, being brought full dimensional. That everyone needs their own space, to get their bearings, at times, lest we drown attached together, grasp gasping as two, drowning as one.   

Birth season’s greeting, dost depart us upon this livelong, lifetime tempestuous journey, where volatile emotions, find heartbeat calm motion to quell the turbulence. While inside stormy wrought wreck fraught trepidation, we walk the meadow balm that calms our spirits apprehension.  Insight, out-sight, we are poets wandering, wandering, straight, narrow, wide twisting taunt lines; we erase, write over, bury, unbury and deem them futile. But alas, what is one’s loss, is often another’s treasure. While what we treasure as sparkling gem, s-matters like jumping jelly bean matter – squished years.

Whom, am eye to eye that thee says, it be about me. Is naught the knot sever tied, to behead dye name, amid a Dead Poet Society anonymous character, bewitched upon time incrimination's. As poet naysayer slayers to the pious primp pied piper, who dost trump the wind, amid bellowing voices of self adulation. Leaders, who use the veins fang spite, amid hate infected bite, to spread their bile that ends up; dividing a nation, neighbors, friends a gist Civil War rhetoric. Thereafter, no Humpty Dumpty poet can mend, nor sow the seed of Love back together; for ever years, and more than that bare eon tears. 

Wandered down the wrong trail, so let us swing over, to this babbling brook, where meadow larks twill feathered quills, prancing amid majestic monarchs, adrift yellow ....

(Swinging it up, the babbling brook.)