skies of dampened shade
ascend over palpitating baobab tree trunks.
pious pulp feeds canopy deities;
calms the native understory species.
all eyes look out for rain.
*Title is written in Malagasy (one of the official languages of Madagascar): “Avenue of the Tree Spirits.”
Happy Earth Day! 😊🌍
This poem was inspired by the endangered baobab trees of Madagascar (but they do grow in Africa too), which holds some of the world’s most biodiverse rainforests and animals on Earth. These trees, specifically, thrive in the dry, deciduous regions of Madagascar and serve as a symbol of strength with divine meaning.
For more info on the baobab trees:
***Also please consider using Ecosia for your search engine instead of Google (at least for today), 80% of their proceeds from web advertisements go to planting new trees in threatened forest regions like Africa, Peru, and Madagascar.
(Note: This is NOT a sponsored post. I mentioned the site above because I appreciate humanitarian organizations that do their part to help the environment and make a difference in people’s lives around the globe.)
I will wait until you leave
to watch the purest flowers bloom,
beneath the willow trees and cloudy eyes
of the enlightened morning—
just the moment after you
tremble ethereal beauty among glory fields of blue.
You were everything I cherished,
every thorn I grew,
until you decided to cut me open
and let me fall out
of your bleeding cauldron,
with nothing but lace red currents;
tattered memories askewed.
Deep within dimensions of blue,
I should have known you were
breaking beside the ugly,
and any sense of
but I was I too blind to see the big picture
your illustrious colors exude staggering spruce.
Even in the beautiful dark,
I know better now.
Hearts like yours will never be enough
to seal severed scars,
or mend tunnels of turmoil together.
Yet when I breathe in nostalgia,
I’ll forever be capturing
a moonlit memory of you,
embracing the pieces
of our well spent moments
and long conversation afternoons.
You will always allure me
to the edge where I’ll falter,
and I’ll miss you long after
the earth sends me away.
It pains me that you’ve released me by these means,
everything I feel inside has been deceived,
like spring branches stripped of their sleeves.
the forest pricks my skin
to remind me I’m still alive,
and drafts of winter
crawl up my sleeves,
warning me to stay awake
the world doesn’t end when I close my eyes.
Dreams take form in the fresh, splintered air,
while my mind clears the mist,
so I’m able to climb
where I can feel
your true colors
before the spirits.
with the dewdrops of the
sorrow and sparrow wings
we’ve shed below the soil layers.
But I promise if you try
the shadows will do no harm.
They only reflect the other half of you:
empty and alone,
searching for someone
to grant you life,
a whiff of reassurance,
that everything will be okay
in these woods
no one has ever claimed for themselves.
the smell of cedar
as I suspect
closer to my bones,
lavish lotus spells.
When I’m upon
for your voice
to touch the sky
love develops deep
within the roots—
the nerves, the fireflies
that make us human.
Fiery amber lights
rain down skies
of fool’s gold and obscure kisses,
until the last countdown to midnight.
Happy New Year everyone!!! 💛
Pressing my hands
against the edges of my jean pockets,
I sit on the opposite side of the bench
Hanging by a thread,
we both know there’s a lot less in hope in the seams,
than there used to be.
which one of us
will be the first
I’m not smiling at the incentive,
not crying over the present,
though our heart muscles’ strain is relentless,
I won’t give up on love
We experienced so many moments together,
took milestone risks and veered straight through the pressure.
So what happened to all that time?
I’d wish for anything to make it play on forever,
but that’s only if you’re willing to
keep the threads strong.
Because I don’t want to end up threadbare,
stripped thin of every vein I own.
I can’t imagine you finding a replacement,
another heart for your home.
Hanging by a thread,
our exhales grow a little larger,
while your spirits struggle to get high,
but out of all the melancholy,
a lamp post lights up the dark
across bittersweet foliage.
I’m hoping it will give you a sense of mind,
and maybe a second chance for us to grip onto
rains a little dimmer
without the light
from your tears.
Time no longer glows.
of your voice lures me
into blue fatigue
where my head isn’t getting any stronger
is fetching consolation
in the breeze.
Succumbing to these senses,
I fall fatal for the rush,
the depths of devotion,
we blew out