Original Poems lll

THE DACKS
This ancient and untouched ground,
sacred to this population
and the rightful one before it.

Pines who talk
and stones who remember
the lakes who paint

The beating of centuries
sounds in the deep woods
through the ground, and up feet

4 YEAR PARTY
Its the only way to look at it,
every year for many months nothing but
shouting and talking ones mind
in the confines of the rough walls and glossy tiles

Some chose to like it some chose not to
the classic "Time of our lives"
coming out of the warm confused mind
in to the windy world which is there room for room
person for person
ours to do with

Sometime I wonder why
sometimes it gets hard and exhausting like every party,
but from the beginning and to now and further for sure
it still seems like a constant dance
to my music.

THE CHEST ( object poem)
In the attic sitting there by the round window
agains the rough wooden walls
 green and yellow light falling on it through the dust

the creak of the old boards
an old padlock, a new found key,
The hinges wined out of their long held positions

Inside were papers, ancient flowers and images
of a family long past, a family only my grandfather remembers
black and white, the faces I see in myself, my brothers and sisters.

The Chest receives them again, its treasure and
its duty to protect