http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/11/in-deep-when-ocean-was-forest.html

In Deep, 2008

When the Ocean was a Forest

By Everett A Warren

When the ocean was a forest, I was but a child,
I was but a young lass, when the ocean was a forest.
When the ocean was a forest, full of trees,
The sea without its waves, I was but a young girl.

When the ocean was a forest, ferns and trees,
I was then a young lass, when the ocean was a forest.

Each hundred years flown past, to the sea I return,
In the waves I must be bathe'd, each hundred years flown past.
Each hundred years flown past, to the shore I walk,
In the waters I am bathe'd, and I am young once more.

Each hundred years flown past, in the waters I must bathe,
Before bird or beast does speak, each hundred years flown past.

Upon the road I stop, cradling a life so dear,
Holding life within my hands, upon the road I stop.
Upon the road I stop, and I give them warmth,
Hold them as their life departs, with injuries so grave.

Upon the road I stop, as their soul departs,
My tears turn to stone, dripping grey rock upon the road.

I will be young once more, waves upon the stones,
Once I have bathe'd in the water, I will be young once more.
I will be young once more, as the tide pulls out before me,
I will bathe in the sea, and have my youth restored.

I will be young once more, when the seas have washed me clean,
In the tides my years wash 'way, I will be young once more.

It's early that the dog did speak, in advance of me,
The dog, in advance of me; It's early that the dog did speak.
It's early that the dog did speak, in advance of me,
In the quiet of the morning, on the ocean shore.

When the ocean was a forest, I was but a child,
I was then a young lass, when the ocean was a forest.
Each hundred years flown past, in the waters I must bathe,
Before bird or beast does speak, each hundred years flown past.

But it was early that the dog did speak, in advance of me,
The dog, in advance of me, as I crumbled before the tide.

Copyright © 2013 Everett A Warren

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/11/the-grave-of-dead-tanis-dreams-in-mist.html

The Grave of Dead Tanis, 2006

dreams in the mist

By Everett A Warren

ghost world
mists walk with me
hung in suspension
bathing with their breath
stained glass skies
framed by branching contortions
forest floor limned
moss, leaf, and fallen limb
crystals of ice encrusted
dreams flitter away
through minds of pre-dawn sleepers
seeking release, freedom of a thawing sky
sun melts away
the tendrils
Earth-bound no longer
and they know this
as they know deeper, darker truths
but in this drifting gray the sun has faded
cackling with madness, ripe with desire
dreams wander, untethered to a soul
yet held fast to the waking world
and there I walk, in their midst
calling to wayward thoughts
offering shelter for lonely dreams
until night cloaks the world
or dawn, delayed, arrives

Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren

This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/with-long-boney-fingers-spell-of-jack-o.html

With Long Boney Fingers... 2008

The Spell of Jack O' Lantern

By Everett A Warren

With the chill of the night air
comes the fear that he shall return;
Dried corn stalks without the gleaming bones
line the paths he walks,
grinning ear to ear,
as in his heart evil wyrms churn.

Come the harvest moon and the flurry of falling leaves
comes the fear that he shall reap what we have sown;
Cried our tears and left them out to dry
up to the windowsill he stalks,
plucking them up like roasted seeds
upon which he feeds – if they please him, he shall leave us alone.

As the midnight bell tolls
over the fields he rides;
Firelight like autumn leaves flickering in his eyes,
the only warmth he'll ever show,
dancing in the darkness and blood,
as his world and ours collides.

With a creak of a door in the dark of night
comes the fear that has become real;
Soft footfalls upon the stairs,
like whispers of the ravens wing,
silencing the blood in a poor soul's veins,
quiet, now, the night, as the final bells peal.

So heed this warning, for in the waning months
comes the fear that each year he returns;
Bitter winds and silent cries
are all that he leaves behind,
fallen leaves and fallen lives
fuel the fires that, in our dreams, he burns.

Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren

This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!

http://greenmanenvy.blogspot.com/2013/10/the-wind-can-not-win-wind-remembers.html

The Wind Can Not Win, 2008

The Wind Remembers from Whence it Came

By Everett A Warren

The wind comes through the trees
and sighs softly in an aside as it stirs fallen leaves
who no more it's way obscure;
bare tree bones tremble and shake and bow their leafless crowns
but not so low as they had of old, for, although they no longer catch the wind up
in green grasp, the wind finds it no easy task to pull boughs down.
The wind, if it were of lesser kind, perhaps would feel thwarted,
but the wind is the breath of the clouds who are the mists of mighty waterfalls,
and the wind remembers from whence it came;
from sunlight descended and leaves assembled,
through heartwood descended and through the roots transcended,
until once more leaves release it, cleansed, to the sky ascended.
The fallen leaves rustle, brought low by the wind, to shelter
and blanket the Earth before the snows;
for the wind remembers from whence it came.

Copyright © 2004 Everett A Warren

This poem can be found in the collection Poetry from the Porch Period,
available via the publisher or from Amazon.com
or on order from your local bookstore!