pine_needle_ashes
nomme like snowflakes the paper pieces of ravaged trees
watching falling
the pine needle single centimetres
pieces almost unrecognizable
blackened charred stories
see them they appear on the surface of everything
in the air i breathe i am breathing
go to touch them pick them up they smear like powdered makeup pictures chalk images floating on the northward rising breeze
drops of golden brown lichen joining forces with the troupe of trees
brackens on the wind so many casualties
war debris
030822
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oldephebe i like this one 030822
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ferret from my trees ferrets_goodwrite 030823
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oldephebe no really - i really like what you've shared - kind of tongue tied now but
i've always had this thing about, for pinetrees - rustic boquet - always knew there were black bears around when you couldn't smell the pine - well mostly because of the bears stifling, overwhelming "redolence", an entirely asphyxiating "boquet" - but ah this one was like a modern day Robert Frost rumination -

yep i really liked this one
030823
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nomme thanks ol' ephebe
it is an honour to inspire images in others and so it naturally pleases my mind to think someone might chance upon a verse or two i've enscribed in these pages and take the words into their own experience
i am in awe of everything i simply want to leave some indentation some scrap of semblance cotton pieces torn branch signals to help me find my way through this vast jungle
030823
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oldephebe yea,
i get that
...
030823
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sabbie walking away
from it all
while the ashes of my history
rain down silently behind me.

emerging out of the ocean
[wash me, wash me in the blood of the earth
wash away my history
wash away my sins]
clean
cleansed
reborn anew.
030824
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oE yeah...this is me untying me tongue and trying to paste a few adjectives together to say..something besides "that almost stopped my breath and made me well up with water.."

nice writing sab...
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040515
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Borealis and a flame is burning
sparking and sputtering

a wet flame
a damp flame
a flame winking in and out of existence for its insufficient fuel.

pine needles only burn for so long..
yet the scent is overpowering. heady and deep it is wafting..
rolling in through the currents, breaking through my wall, and through my non-existent ceiling.
040516
...
pete they were devoured so quickly. up in smoke, into the sky. they chased away the mosquitos and black flies, but left us gasping for breathe. the needles, this time spruce not pine, fell into the flames and disappeared. we cried not because of our sadness but because the smoke stund our eyes. tomorrow people will look at the ashes we leave behind and think nothing of it. but we feel it, smell it, believe it. 040516
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notme i remember the lightning, dry
my neighbour telling me, fire
i remember the ashes
falling from the sky
standing in my garden watching
everything being eaten alive by smoke
i remember the_guys_from_ontario
and the wind on the mountain burning
i took apart my spinning wheel
i hid it in the neighbour's cellar
with my mother's guitars, my own guitar
my father's drums, covered in tapestries
040516
...
notme everybody is still packed
'cause nobody knows
how this summer could be

get ready for another doozy
is the word on the street

everybody is still packed
but
.
040516
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mourninglight bitter sweet smoke filling the eyes
as incense
to something great and dangerous

appease him, or he may strike
a lightening bolt on your village
and burn
his own
pine needle ashes
himself
040828
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pete mourninglight, i feel what you have said has already been said by you, i guess sometimes words stay alive in the death before birth.


--

smoldering_coals leap to life
too many wornout faces
staring up into the stars
trying to emulate them
as the noon day sun blocks them from view

the life lives
but hides
because there is nothing left to do
and a moment of laughter
crackling
smoldering
with the life of the great pine,
felled for fire
and loved no more
except by the lost faces
struggling to emulate the stars
040828
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ever dumbening pine needle echoes trapped in the oxides frits and silica, the ashes now washed away. bodies borrowed to starve the wind, just until the clay can cool. copper swirls and crackles cross the tracks the former needles laid. 040828
...
mourninglight a thought process does not merely exist in a single instant
it is a way of life
040828
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from