Moment in the Night

~ From Through the Trees: Chapter 4 Bargaining

In the deep woods far from many lights

The stars fill the sky like frothy milk .

The scent of Alyssum sweet as honey in the night

Is draping the ground like soft white silk.

All can be seen in the moon’s brightness

Illuminating everything within its scope

Casting starlight onto the lake’s surface

And glistening blades of grass on the hill slopes.

The night appearing to be so gently calm

All life it holds seems to be in peace

And after such turbulent ventures

There is relief in such attainable ease.

I feel a sense of safety in this night

It as if tonight alone was called in truce,

So without foreboding I might freely roam

Passing through realms of bitter spruce.

Glaring eyes are held in the caves

And sneering mouths are tightly bound

Passage is granted for the night

For the moment I am safe and sound.

I cannot see the lurking monsters

Only the night’s beauty is lit by moon.

It is in these moments that I wonder

If I cast judgment far too harsh and too soon.

I realize now that I have found sweet content

This calm night is how I had wished it to be seen

For in this journey there is so much I could resent

But now I see beyond its smoky screen.

Within me I am stirred by a hopeful presence

I release it with a sigh from wakeless bliss.

I see far into the forest’s eye and find fortune

To have known a moment such as this.

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Copyright © Nina C. Palmer 2014. All rights reserved.

The Cloud

~ From Through the Trees: Chapter 3 Depression

The Cloud

Starlit eyes grace the dark night clouds.

Blanketing the heavens with a muslin shroud,

It drapes silently over the forest canopy.

Drifting its train through the pine trees.

It falls between the branches to the floor,

Sweeping the earth as many times before.

Dragging along following the winds.

With no repentance for its sins.

Caught up in gnarly twigs and boughs

Remnants linger behind as coddled clouds.

Hugged in the branches caressed in leaves.

It sobs of dew on pine bark sleeves.

The break of day crests over the mountain.

The night clouds come apart like cotton.

It trembles in its warmth and starts to thin,

Mourning begins to awaken within.

And from the tree limbs it drifts below,

Over fallen needles it sulks with sorrow,

Dissipating into a heavy humid mist,

It wanders; questioning why it even exists.

Copyright © Nina C. Palmer 2014. All rights reserved.

Yellow Roses

~from Through the Trees, Chapter 2: Anger

You have spoiled the seeds that you buried

With trample and flood at your feet,

And though we grew with fury,

Our scents could never be sweet.

Our crooked stems extend with angst,

You played with our petals too long,

We’ve become tangled and interlaced

Our moment of perfect plucking is gone.

For who would want a stem so bent—

Unsuitable for the shape of any vase

So here we are un-plucked with discontent,

Writhing with the sun on our face.

Shall we be your yellow roses,

Releasing all our petals to you

To be gathered in gnarly poesies

Or left to wilt into a bed of Rue?

Rooted in hardened clay

Our garden in need of tending

Petals on the wind seem at play,

But they are just pretending.

And when the blossom dies

Neither flower nor bud to find,

All will be heard is the gardener’s cries

From the piercing of thorns left behind.

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© 2014 Nina C Palmer. All rights reserved

The Mist

~ From Through the Trees, Chapter 1: Denial

Going down a lone dirt path,

It winds and twists through the valley

Swarmed in vines tangled in wrath

Clinging to earth feverishly and madly.

The mist stretches down the mountain’s side

Into the vale it hangs heavy down below.

In the haze, I am able to run and hide,

Left alone to distress and throe.

On this aimless path I wander,

The morning’s mist full of gloom.

I walk all alone so quiet and somber

The air is scented of Spanish Broom.

The mist is heavy and fills my chest,

I can’t breathe its humidity and I gasp.

To my knees I fall and I lay to rest.

My breath is stifled and filled with rasp.

Bogged down by the mist’s weight,

I drown in nothing more than heavy air.

Lying on a dirt path I accept my fate,

I am enveloped fully in its snare.

On this unmarked path I will not be found.

It seems the fog will forever persist,

And to this path I am eternally bound,

Fatefully indentured to the mist.

Copyright © Nina C. Palmer 2014. All rights reserved