there’s a time–

wrapped in ferns and webs,
i’m lost deep in the forest,

sleep in tree crowns, covered
by warm feathers, “there’s

a time to run and time to rest”
he says with age-old voice &
mountain torrents
run beneath his tongue

we sit on weather-beaten rocks,
talking, weighing, wind
blows through my wings

“most of you come a long way”
he says, tender voice,
hands like bark, his eyes

reflect the color of the sky, we go
to all these places, tear apart
and mend again &

buried in his breath i kiss
sun-warm lips that split
the spreading shades,

taste of mornings
and courage to move on &

when i leave, moss
& tiny splints of sunrise hang
like spray paint in my hair

.

Victoria has us write symbolism at dVerse today…she’s prepared a wonderful article and will open the pub doors at 3pm EST..

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54 responses to “there’s a time–

  1. I felt like I was reading about a heavenly dream. This poem is certainly symbolic of your limitless imagination. It was so pleasant to read.

  2. A time for everything I suppose, that is just how it goes, although too much rest might rob one of their zest. Balancing act, great imagery and that’s a fact.

  3. Hands like bark and then that wonderful image in the ending! Really love that “tiny splints of sunrise hang like spray paint in my hair”–brilliant

  4. Beautiful, very dream-like. I love ” we go
    to all these places, tear apart
    and mend again”

    and “buried in his breath i kiss
    sun-warm lips that split
    the spreading shades”

  5. there is a juicy bit of mystery in this symbolic poem. I especially love~~ he says with age-old voice and mountain torrents run beneath his tongue. yum.

  6. Sometimes sitting on weather beaten rocks and just taking time to breathe is what makes all the difference. I love the last stanza. Tiny splints of sunrise hanging like spray paint in your hair. Beautiful. 🙂

  7. Such a fairyland of wonder and enchantment you weave here, Claudia! You have most successfully turned us into sunrise beams and fern fronds. And so we cannot but dance among the delicate petals of wishes and dreams.

  8. there is some wonderful amgic in your words…the desription of the guy, love the nature hints…tasting the mornings….love that…there is an implied intimacy that is so cool….

    sorry i am blowing in a little late…smiles.

  9. “taste of mornings and the courage to move on…” LOVE that. Fantastic weave, Claudia…the moments reflected, the smooth and easy reading. Awesome

  10. Written in such a way that only you can produce.
    I have no [well, maybe some] idea why, but I heard Treebeard from LotR talking in this piece.

    • And now when I reread this, I’ll have no choice but to here that gruff voice working subtle magic .. no worries though .. just the way my head works.

  11. Give me that spray painted hair, just so’s I could talk with the spirit of the wood or ride on his shoulder like–was it Frodo? I will rest and then go, I LOVE THIS POEM SO! It even smells green.

  12. Love this…wonderful…and these lines..when i leave, moss
    & tiny splints of sunrise hang
    like spray paint in my hair….Just LOVE it.

  13. This is so beautiful… I especially love the line where the wind blows through your wings. I enjoyed this very much, it’s so poignant and touching.

  14. I love the last three lines. More often than not I don’t like similes, but sometimes they can be used to say something startling like (ah!) using a highlighter pen. The sudden and brusque intrusion of the artificial (spray paint) into a poem with a full-on rustle and clatter of woodland images – moss, bark, birdfeathers – is a wonderfully poetic moment.

    Claudia, you are one of my greatest delights on wordpress. I must put you up with Lane A Smith as one of the best barely-discovered poets of the 21c.

    (You will now embarrass me by pointing out your copious collections of published works.)

  15. Life and growth, the green of spring, the promise of rain and sun all evoked beautifully here, Claudia…and the layers of symbolism are never too obvious, an organic component of the piece. Beautiful poem.

  16. Brought to mind lines from “Evangeline”…”This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
    Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms…”