In her walks through the
wooded forest,
March sun happened that day
crisp trees
utterable breeze
winding stream,
shadows fell a bit shorter
cast of light

She put her hand on a favorite tree,
its smile touched
a young face…
barefooted, felt the forest floor
chainsaws with handfuls of sawdust
on their teeth,
workmen chewing bark
silent lumber,
neither the scent of pine
nor oak.

Years later, her legs quite longer, 
closed eyes
holding hands,
boardwalk summer
air full of amusement rides 
and quarters
hearts falling,
board with spijkers deep,
died, alive again today when it
felt her touch,
smiled again.

Copyright © 04/19/2014 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®


blue on blue—the conclusion…

one stroke at a time, deeper and deeper
into a blue forest, night savors
her features,
“what should i promise him?”
one grain of sand, then one grain
of sand, closer and closer
into a blue forest, cloak to hide his
presence, his lust, “i seek
the feel of her skin, my heart
beats rapidly.” 
blue plume her sacred
instrument in the white, pure
virgin light, seeks him to
impregnate her, carries the quiver,
the bow, to haft the arrow,
“do not kiss the other, for you
to be mine.”

blue goddess eyes to see two in 
in love with one, her ears
to hear who he has cast his
heart out to, he stands
hidden behind
brown bark tree, cloaks his soul,
cloaks his being;
he approaches at last, young
one with a hat, as to
kiss her hand, on one knee,
on forest growth,
he kneels; the feathered
white pulls the bow
string, arrow rides silently
on wooded air, blood drips
warm on his fingers.

she whispers in her last breath
sweet, “i love you…”
falls gently dying into
his arms, he carries her to
his Arabian steed, they begin
to ride; a sharp arrow swift,
he pulls his sword and
cuts death in half, turns,
in a gallop pursues
one with blue feathers,
one with hate,
‘zing’ with a tempered blade,
a death instant; takes his
love back to the desert, magic
oil, wound healed,
married, forever in love,

Copyright © 07/08/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®


of PF flyers and a carport roof

staring down at scuffed sneakers,
shook off wood shavings
from a pinewood car,
blisters on my hand wrapped around
a crook handle of an umbrella
oft times sliced pieces of a child’s
stuck it on me like chewing gum
stuck to rubber soles;
my mom calls out, “what’ya doing
out there?”
her voice is a harsh sound in my
“nuthin,” i answer
my cat retreats quickly under vines 
that have captured part 
of carport two-by-fours
and shingles;
i look over at a tree with ‘our’ names
carved in bark,
an arrow once pointed the way,
i thought of chopping
down that oak
there i stood at the precipice,
valley floor below
as i imagined it;
on my way down i wholly relied
on one umbrella
to insure a safe landing, but
rather was punched
in my stomach by fear;
landed with a ‘thud’, PF’s
left a deep impression,
grass stains and scuff
marks on levi’s
brushed off remains of
dirt in an attempt
to fool my mom, but she
always knew
the minute she rifled through
my hamper,
“i thought i told you not to
throw your dirty
clothes in here!”
i swear, if i cut off my ears,
i’d hear her
through my nose;
took my Daisy following day
and pelted one umbrella
with BB round shot,
threw the bumbershoot in a 
lake where fish wearing 
rusted hooks in their mouths 
never seemed to shrug
off earthworms,
there, half-submerged, sits
alone a failed
attempt at air resistance, i
got grounded for a week.
Copyright © 05/25/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®