My last two poems got a surprisingly decent amount of reception, so here’s something new, along similar lines as Tree Top Hat and Slinky Green, but much longer and looser. As such, I’d love to get people’s feedback on it, even if you think its a pile of poop, at least say why 😉
UPDATE! I’ve updated this thing since publishing it last night, and will probably continue to do so!
Slipping into the woodland,
Daylight turns dusty as the sudden tree tops shield away the brightness,
Nature’s hat for the heat.
Gambling merrily from bush to trunk,
And branch to path, furry folk squeak a greeting to me.
Daylight makes a pattern of pierces
Through the spotty holes in high-hung leafs.
A lanky trail sways the way forward,
Arched by sleepy trees, with terminally stretched branches,
And overly-stickly bushes brush their fusses my way.
Slugging onward, a beardy bush makes me fumble
Then tumble and land with a bump.
Dustier still, the daylight reveals me squatting in a valley.
Above, the beardy bush peers down and giggles
While all around greenery slum-mocks over the edge,
Hair without a comb.
Dizzying walls of cracked rock splinter like wrinkles,
While dotty black holes on the bottom lounge like idle eyes.
Spewing forth, tracks masked in long-forgotten earth lead me into an eye.
But soon they loose me.
Things poke, prod and protrude my twitchy skin,
Things dangle from above, brushing against my sharp, stabbing skin,
Things slither past,
Things breath on my blistering skin.
A spot, white and tiny, coming from above, grows larger as I make a dash.
Clambering skyward, digging and kicking into the cold, damp soil wall,
Thick clumps falling away beneath me with every kick.
Cascades of shapely colours riot before me.
Soft hillocks, smothered in lush green and Technicolor snaps, flutter nimbly in the breeze,
A paintbox on fire.
Smokey purple mountains ascend and fade gently into the high blue.
A lake, caked in sprinkles of trembling sunlight, slinks its way slightly out of sight
Where idle churnings slowly ring out.
Gathering up my slack jaw, the sounds reveal a watermill, lightly skipping in and out of the water.
Beside lies a house, its darkly thatched roof nestles snugly on top, like a favourite hat.
Uneven slabs of glossy concrete wall give a disheveled look, like a friend who never changes.
Thick, tubby chimneys swell with smoke, while smoggy yellow lights dot and spot from window to window.
The slipping sun beings to blend with the mountain, and the front door, ajar, beckons me inside with sweetly musty smells and high-flung laughs.
Its good to be home.