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Monday, 16. January 2012 20:00

the enso

A picture of clouds on a winter day.

"Clouds" by marlowe

the poem

The clouds? They have
been everywhere. Listen
to those stories as they
interweave, bend,
and mix. They can
tell you where to go.
Hear them whisper
in wisps, follow
their rumblings before
lightning strikes.
No, this is not mere
fluff, some cushy
puff to soften
your day. This
is the chronicle
of your time, how
the hours churn
and evaporate, like rain,
into the sky, sliding
from one end to the next.
This is the miracle you
have been waiting for.

Category:Ephemeral | Comments Off | Autor:

Your Burnt Edges

Monday, 9. January 2012 20:00

the enso

A grove of burnt pine trees in Bandelier National Park

"Scorched" by marlowe

the poem

They say a scorched moth is later
quite shy but you continue still,
brave because you have no choice
but to rise from the coals,
not like a phoenix
but more like a spine
standing amid the blitz
as though these bombs
are the least of your worries. Your trunk
is charred, its past unrecognizable, brittle,
old rings forgotten by new growth.
Your green tips reveal hope, forever
reaching for the future, the sky, you will
not pause for survivor’s guilt
or speculation. Here comes
another storm.

Category:Ephemeral, Plant | Comments Off | Autor: