Featured Poet | GrammarFreak

Featured Poet | GrammarFreak

To contact this poet go to: http://isthisreality.webs.com/

Wandering Through the Forest

Mention fleetingly that

you’re going to a friend’s house.

You’re not really,

Are you?

Instead, you turn left, along the path;

Not right, towards the village.

You’re going towards the forest.

The magical forest

Your mother says it’s off limits.

What she doesn’t know,

Won’t ever hurt her.

You reach the edge of the forest.

It’s dark in there

And cool.

Taking out your

Jacket from your bag,

You slip off your shoes

And put them into the bag,

Along with the sketch pad

And pastel blue pencil case.

You know the sweet spot.

Tip toe,

Barefoot on the cool, dry leaves.

Quietly;

It’s like there’s

A big do not disturb sign.

You here a bird chirp here,

Nervous scurrying there.

Suddenly a strong wind

Picks up.

Blows, almost howling.

Awakens the whole forest

The loose leaves,

Now floating around your knees,

The trees, now alive.

Watching.

You’re nearly there.

It’s a small clearing.

Like Jacob’s Ladder,

A patch of sun

Shines upon the grass

Between gnarled old

Maple Tree roots.

You sit, and lean against one.

Now you watch silently

And wait.

You take out your pad and pencils.

You run a pale hand over the roots,

Then sketch them.

You sketch the critters

That scurry with

Such nervous haste.

The trees;

The entire forest.

In all its beauty,

It’s your one spot

To truly call your own.

Where by taking off your shoes,

You can feel the leaves,

Feel her breaths;

Beneath your feet.

It’s your place

Where you

Can feel alive.

As I Sit

As I sit,

I stare

At the bright blank page.

It screams at me:

Write something meaningful,

Or humorous,

But something people

Will actually like.

And if it turns into a chore,

You must cease.

As I sit,

And ponder,

I stare around my surroundings

Whatever to write about?

I wonder.

Perhaps a dashing man,

A lost cause;

A yearning love.

Perhaps a wild horse;

Or even one of

My fears;

My dreams.

Behind this veil,

I write what I wish.

Those people

Who read this

Won’t ever know

Whether it’s imagination

Or maybe something more.

As I sit,

I smile.

For what

I have created

May not be a masterpiece,

But, man;

Writing it

Was like living a second life.