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Monthly Archives: July 2013

(This is still very much a work in progress. If I edit it a lot I may end up re-posting)

I went out on my bicycle
one sunny day in June,
in waning weeks of freedom when
I knew I would be soon

departing from these verdant woods,
the towers of my youth,
for once this summer passed away,
I had to face the ruth-

less kids in middle school;
the girls and bullies that
I knew from shows and John Hughes’ films
would swat me like a gnat.

For I was not a criminal,
an athlete, or insane.
I couldn’t be a princess, so
that must make me the brain.

I rode from home in terror of
the fast-approaching year,
and pedaled Holst to Cultus Bay
at speeds to hide my fear.

Possession Beach lies way below
a hill of winding road,
and there I steered my boy-blue bike,
while tear-filled and alone.

The gears were fixed, I raised my feet,
the pedals spun so fast,
I lost control careening down
and very nearly crashed.

One little brake I squeezed with all
my fearsome pre-teen strength.
It barely helped me slow enough
to fly into the bank.

When several minutes had gone by,
and once my breath returned
I left my bent-up bicycle
and scrambled up the berm.

I found a forest bright with light;
lit by the morning’s glow
were pools of gold beneath day-spears,
that showed me where to go.

I hopped from each to each until
I reached a shaded grove
and clambered down through fallen cedar
roots that neatly wove

a mossy ladder just for me
descending to the ground.
While planning out my latest fort,
I climbed back up and found

a nest of tiny Robin’s eggs,
all built of twigs and grass.
Held up to light, each sparkled bright
with blue and flecks of ash.

I wrapped one up in fallen leaves
and placed it in my pocket,
and trudged away back to my home
to hide it in my closet,

But mother bird returned just then,
to scold me from above
and I was forced to turn around,
and give up my new love.

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He burns

outside her lakeshore,

For he knows she holds

back the vast, wetness of her.

A quenching solution,

plugged up, dammed by,

too much occlusion.

Burdened and fraught,

woven to tangle by

her Gordian thought.

If only his wildfires

could lap her ringed wall,

incinerate her brambled dam,

the withering forest might not fall.