The Fate of the Wood

They are ripping down the cherry trees,
With teeth of steel and iron,
Before dusk, when the moon’s still up,
Beneath Draco and Orion.

The grunts of sweat and blood and men,
Are deafening in the night,
Shadows painted on the soil,
From their glowing torch of light.

The fruits were picked off long ago,
It was winter when they came,
Soldiers clad with helmet and axe,
And titles instead of names.

Amongst the throng there are no cheers,
When the first bough hits the ground,
A thud, then a scatter of leaves,
A resolute and aching sound.

The Prettiest Plot in the Graveyard

[I wrote this as a song, but you can read it as a poem too if you’d like]

 

Maybe a daffodil will grow from the cracks of my skin
Blooming just adjacent to my lips
I hope the buds stay open longer than my eyes
I hope that moss will cover my closed lids.

Bury me between two sturdy tree trunks
A willow or an oak with bluebells there
Crawling up the bark to reach the heavens
In an intimate, a longing kind of prayer

Gardeners will guard my grave like angels
I’ll take dirt stained jackets over wings any day
The clean, bright world above has always scared me
But I know I have to go I cannot stay.

There are things I cannot tell you so let the questions die with me
Don’t wonder why I’m going all too much
I’ve told the answers only to the September wind
Don’t listen to its whistles, feel its touch

Plant roses round my gravestone til you can’t see it anymore
I want to commemorate the living more than me
No one’s ever happy thinking about dead girls
So please hide it – I don’t want the world to see

I want their eyes on nature and on beauty
On the curve of crimson petals and daisy-grass
I may be gone but keep my inch of the world pretty
And through seasons and through years I will last.

The Dove

The dove sits on the bit of roof
That I see through the glass
It oversees a land of green
Of flora and of grass
Inquisitive, the grey dove looks
Gazing back at me
He stands his ground
And with no sound
He says please let me be

So I look with a still gaze
Arms firmly by my side
He glances back to moss and bark
With a sense of peace of mind

But then like dawn the silence breaks
Next door’s dog barks sharp and clear
The dove sets off to lands afar
He’s gone, the overseer.