Running in the snow. The forest disorientates you.
The face of a wolf in the distance clams you. A familiar.
You slump against a tree.
Too young to freeze, yet too old to endure the middle of winter; distant voices sound.
You wake from a fever.
The cat licks you.
Tag: forest
Haiku: Bond
A dark bond binds two
standing in the cold forest.
Death covers the ground.
The Door
Shunned for being different, blamed for the famine and the storms.
An ostentiferous girl with violet eyes and dark hair, a beauty not fit for this world, was sent to live in the forest.
Walking to forget, to find kindness and a warm home, she stumbled upon a beautiful tree with a wooden door.
Feeling as if nothing mattered, she opened the door, stepped inside, and left the cold lonely forest behind.
Anchored: The Wolf and the Man
My mane is unbrushed and dirty,
there’s no snow for me to roll in.
My matted mane disgusts me;
once I was snow-covered, clean.
You saw me padding in the snow;
paw-prints, fur shaking, a look.
You caught me in your embrace,
free to be, yet anchored to you.
My soul remains free,
yet the cage you gave me is cosy.
I will stay if you take me back to
the snow, brush my mane clean,
and say the words you must say.
Breath of Darkness
A forest dream
under the full moon.
The wolves run wild,
an owl hoots,
the trees whisper words
you cannot understand.
A silvery moon
hides behind the clouds.
The shiver up your spine,
flesh touches flesh,
a warm breath of darkness
as you wake up.
Tanka: Forest Dreaming
sweet forest dreaming
mythical marijuana
smelling something odd
nose twitching, ready to sneeze
waking to grass up your nose
Forest of Forgetting
A bird chirps unknown thoughts from a branch in a tree that I have not seen before today. The air feels thick, with the taste of a storm or rain; I cannot tell for sure how the weather will play out, for I do not live in the clouds.
I stand in a potato sack dress, oblivious to my situation; I do not know how I came to be here, nor do I know the name of this country.
I know nothing, yet I feel the very fabric of my surroundings. The connection with nature, as if words are spoken directly to me and only for me to hear, guides me forward.
Trees remind me of the Tree-Folk and their many stories; the wisdom they share with only a selected few. I feel closer to something as I step across an invisible threshold into the forest.
The weight of some emotional distress lingers on my skin and in my mind; I hold back the welling of my heart and those tears wanting to spill and run free towards the forest floor.
Something is missing from my many layers. It is as though my past, personality, and me, the person standing in a forest, ceases to be what she once was.
I walk to remember. I walk to forget. I walk through the ever-increasing darkening of the forest as rain does not come. Instead, snow begins to fall.
The snow should be cold. The snow should make me feel cold, yet it makes me feel calm.
I stand still, waiting for something to come.
In the forest of forgetting, I walk, and I walk until I remember what it is that I must finish.
Phosphorescent Prints
steps are taken by
leaving phosphorescent prints
on the forest floor.
soft whispers stir
taking the noise of the night
into still music.
the forest holds
her breath waiting for the shift
from the moon.
she steps towards
the path of starlight as the snow
begins to fall.
To the Forest
The door opens,
she steps outside.
The night is warm,
gardenia nearby.
The moonlight full,
a forest all around.
The sound of a friend,
a call from the forest.
The door closes,
she runs for the forest.
Lost in Stories
Photo – Holga Jen
The trees bend towards me
as the forest listens to my stories.
I spin stories for the greedy trees
as birds circle and animals play.
The trees beg for just one more,
so I stay a little longer waiting for the rain.
C & K 