There In The Deep Wood

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the lights on the house in the distance burn,

the figures inside I knew like my own,

in the damp soil, I would wait in the wood.

wondering if they would ever venture out,

would they wonder where I might next shout.

There in the deep wood I would watch.

 

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the cars travel by all strangers in the hour,

their lives meant for homes beyond my eye,

I would ask about their wonders and wanders

though I would never hear, just keep an eye

on their lives in the brief moments, passers by.

There in the deep wood I would watch.

 

There in the deep wood I would watch,

the stars illuminate a night sky in fall,

I might wonder about the earth in universe

watching all the patterns of the Milky Way,

there were so many, so brilliant their lives

though some I had known, others would fade.

There in the deep wood I would watch.

 

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Traveling Mountains To Seek Valleys

It is not the end result we seem to favor,

while at the crest, noting the cool waters

floating downward toward a mecca

of personality, a vision of delight,

a land where each of our misgivings

might bathe themselves a cleanse.

 

It is these mountains I somehow travel,

a burden is a liking to hardship

where a journey

becomes the landing point,

that place where desire meets obligation.

We then wade in the refreshing waters,

gathered by the arches, the crevice

releases our lives toward a settling ground.

 

Oh to know the fascination that becomes

that epiphany, a cathartic finish, or an ongoing

realization of the constant cycle of humanity,

drawn by exercise,

forbidden the peril of temptation,

and yet we would continue the walk,

for it is in the actual stride of a want,

we do somehow then discover safe need.

Shaded Tone

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Amid a shelter sun glances my natural setting,

I do imagine only the lightest of notion,

the beauty of the day, the ease in time,

to know our lives were meant to live this way.

 

When the eyes forever see the forest blend,

Is it not a remarkable reality to breathe in,

such beauty in a horizon filled by love,

allows desire, passion, wanton hope evolve.

 

For I am a single soul in the grip of natural light,

expectant only to travel in peace tonight,

watching the world through leaves of July,

knowing the august of my life is near by.

 

Feel the breeze, cool dew lays ground,

coming alive, sweet Nature’s bound.

Living With Anxiety

How many are out there, when the sky turns gray,

where does the heart remain,

the fear in our mind,

in the quiet of an angry world,

how do we all come to terms with that reality,

the personality of peace.

 

We all seek that solace,

no matter the denial, beyond the circumstance

suggests we can belong inside this melting lava of judgment,

seems everyone does want some time to cool off,

and yet,

we plod on,

build the walls around ourselves,

that will prevent the leak,

that could envelop our soul to such a dire degree,

it no longer matters if we believe in freedom,

that kite has flown,

yes it is a pretty sight,

so tangible as the sky does drift its matter into eternal waste.

 

Would we really call it disposable justice

to recognize we might all feel it.

There on the horizon, we wake to look at the sky,

if a storm looms, we immediately recognize

the nature of our lives is out of our control,

and yet,

we fight that truth with every fiber in our body,

and then,

there is always the truth, when suddenly

we become lost in the translation of our it is,

we might even breathe another gasp,

instead we pretend we are beyond this mortality.

Isolated Storm Clouds

See them and imagine the future,

an ominous purple haze of opportunity,

for it is the chaos of our lives,

allows change to overcome the static.

 

Seek a society of forgiveness,

the travels of pain sometime hidden,

yet the exposure to the elements

often a truly ominous test resilient.

 

When washed ashore in crude oil,

stains did seem to be eternal,

with each soaking, the mind,

nearly gave up on finding shelter.

 

It is in the addict’s eye

the storm will always remain,

it depends only upon a realization

that life contains sweet horizons.

 

We would only give attention

to the happiness we dwell upon,

a city scape, an ocean view,

a soft breeze in a given milieu.

 

The deep and threatening wall

of circumstance that will prevail

is only Nature’s manner of suggestion

we all would know to typically fall.

Rainy Days In Real Form

When walking alone by the naked shore,

Small pebbles hurt the bottom of my soul,

while finding balance in ocean floor whole

I did discover real becomes much more

When standing in the rain to feel soft tease

I wandered further in the sea line edge

wanting somehow to find a proverbial ledge

a place to stand, to hope, to view life at ease.

When contemplating the gray upon my day,

I wondered about still seeking some answer

to the question does remain, when whether

the waves surreal, gather the rains this way.

Oh, to understand the reason a cleanse release

Oh, to recognize nature form a simple peace.

 

My World

Theresa Slaman

Theresa Siaman – Artist

***

In this flight, I am the victor

the wind is my guide, the waves my balance,

the forest ahead belongs to everyone who might see

a sweep of nature

an envy of a soaring reality

the world cannot touch except to dream

Yet

if we all might know

tranquility …

though as it appears

I am a free for all in Nature’s elegance

my reality is the catch below

your entertainment

your witness to some Darwinian metaphor.

I can and wish to survive whereby I

become a visual reminder in your mind.

Freedom

this is mine

© ta 2016

*inspiring new artwork from childhood nostalgia