the russian olive

this is a little bit of word painting here, trying to bring an object to life through words. i wrote it at work back in early summer while i was out rolling pipe and took notice of two kinds of trees that grow along the creek there. one is the siberian elm and the other is the russian olive, both non-native, very invasive species of tree. i was gonna do a comparison of the two, but mostly just stuck with the olive. might do the elm one day though.

the russian olive is a delicate tree, and beautiful too. they can - but rarely do - grow tall, as wild trees do, but as they are wild, they are always lacking in orderly form or good grooming. they sometimes look like a haphazardly gathered bunch of sticks jumbled among twigs stood on end, and other times like a wet, huddled dog, crouching low to the ground in fear. so it is not the form of the tree that i appreciate, but the colors and the finer details that can only be seen on close inspection; by getting close enough to see the real heart of the tree. among it's colors, one finds in the leaves a soft, creamy, ivory-green rather than the true olive-green of the fruits of spain. the bark near the base is a dark, muddied brown, like the dirt in which it makes its home, but as the limbs climb higher in their straggled, mangled form, they take on first a deep and finally a brilliant red, like amber dissolved in burgundy wine, and splashed upon the canvas that is the bark. upon the limbs, the delicate leaves seem to be barely attached, like a grasshopper grasping a blade of grass, always seeming as if the thing to which it attaches itself is never secure enough to support its weight. but for all its beauty, the helpless russian olive is nonetheless a weed, and grows wildly out of control; so it is most usually uprooted at first sight by knowing property owners.

yeah. i think it needs more, and i'm not sure that it's very useful as is, but i kinda like it.

a halloween poem

i wasn't entirely sure what kind of a direction i wanted to take when i started writing this...i was feeling pretty inspired by the change in the weather and in the leaves, and figured i'd throw something together. so the first stanza is kinda...not the same as the rest of the poem, and from the second stanza on i went back to the usual approximately 5 beat pattern most poetry uses. part of me thinks i need to change it to conform with the rest of the poem, but at the same time, i think it kinda adds some cut to the way the words roll out. anyway yeah. good times and good business.

it has a little bit of some elements from dia de los muertos, or day of the dead, which is a mexican holiday comparable to memorial day, but celebrated at the same time as halloween, and uses the kind of imagery that halloween does. of course i also had to throw in a shout out to my homie poe.

The sudden ev’ning chill

Of fall

Comes quickly as it

Ever does

And the canyon winds come

Blowing

To warn all that night is

Coming.

I walk quietly along

In thought as if a spectre;

Mem’ry’s sullen song,

Sharp stabbing pains reflecting.

Beneath my feet the red, the

Orange and yellowed leaves,

From highest limbs fall dead.

Summer’s fall they do bereave.

The wind picks up in

Painful, dreadful, wailing moan

As if the earth in sin

To her dreary grave did go.

No coat to stop the cold,

In seeking tender warmth,

My own chatt’ring frame I hold;

Oh, if I could but touch her heart…

But that dark death,

The grim and blackened reaper,

Has in merc’less stealth

Sought from my grasp to keep her.

I see her loving eyes

I feel the softness of her hair;

A fool for life’s cold lies

Dark death has left me bare.

The last embers of day

Give way to chilling darkness

As they slowly, surely fade,

The moon her stage-call hearkens.

Through creeping, sneaking clouds

O’er low and huddled hills

In eerie silent sound

Her naked light revealed.

I descend into the town

Where once our burning love

Did in fruitfulness abound

As if nurtured from above.

Here life continues on,

Fearsome, ghastly shapes I see,

As children run in song

A trick for a treat on All Hallows Eve.

Down through the darkened streets

I wander through a haze

These children seeking sweets

And the lanterns all ablaze;

These people in their costumes

Taking joy in deepest fears,

I ask ‘What if they only knew?’

Death’s reality springs bitter tears.

I journey toward the lane

On which my home is built,

And my mem’ry like a flame

The hollow walls with brightness fills.

I recall a roaring fire

And pumpkins’ carven faces

By my own hand trembling, tired,

To bring light to shadowed places.

Their ghoulish forms contorted,

We carried them outside

And placed them on the porches;

Small lit candles gave them life.

And from their perch they’d watch

To keep dark spirits from this haven,

As we frightful stories taught,

Of wolves, dark lords, and ravens.

I turn in lamenting sorrow

Now down the lane again

No joy I find to borrow

The lanterns light the way.

Lined along the streets,

With fearsome faces glowing

They keep the ghosts upon their feet,

Down eternal rivers rowing.

I leave this place of sadness,

And go on to darker roads,

Lest I descend into a madness

And destroy my old abode.

But on to quiet gardens

On silent solitary knolls,

There stand stones of the departed,

Here rest the lonesome souls.

I hear a howling in the distance

The wolf’s cry gives me a shiver

His love kindled in an instant

From the moon’s cold spell he’ll never be delivered.

And there upon a barren tree,

Near the blackened iron gate,

A stately raven that I see

‘Nevermore,’ he quoth my fate.

Forward through a narrow path,

Lined on each side by graves,

A colder chill this dark place hath,

Than all others which I’ve strayed.

At last I see that somber stone

For which I’ve come to see

Believing she is surely gone

And long forgotten me.

But on that stone I see a pumpkin

Its flick’ring face by candle glows,

And a painted vase, which, there within

Rests a bloody scarlet velvet rose.

A bony smile splits my head

Of me a mem’ry she has saved,

For it is not her tis dead,

But I who call this bed my grave.

So now I feel the warmth return

And within a beating seems;

I make the dirt my quilted urn

And return to deathly dreams.

I can taste the moon so sweet,

I fly freely through the stars,

The dark world ‘neath my feet,

And a song within my rotten heart.

So to the living now I sing,

These ancient words so true

Do not fear the death bells’ ring

When they come to ring for you.

Let life be full of love, of

Many sad and happy things,

Till you join us here above,

Have a happy Halloween.

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this is my writing blog. i probably won't get to it often, but here it is.