Tag: leaves

I Want to Be a Poet.

by Lindsay, posted in poetry, writing 
I want to be a poet and a painter
 A writer and a dancer
  
 I want to capture the world as I see it 
 And dissect it to be examined
  
 I want to empty my mind 
 With the light and dark of the world
  
 And spend my days beneath broad leaves
 Or even bare branches
  
 The roots of trees hugging me 
 Without ever touching me
  
 Pulling me in through the dirt
 As I remain on top soil
  
 Though I am not a plant
 I would be lucky to be so green
 And growing towards the sun

Happy New Year everyone! For the first year in a while, I don’t have any concrete resolutions this January first. What I do have is this: a new year with new thoughts, new energy, new longings.

How I Feel About You

by Lindsay, posted in poetry

Do not ask me how I feel about you,
Because I cannot answer that.
 
Instead ask me what I feel.
I feel warm sunlight.
 
Ask me how much I feel.
I feel the number of leaves on the gingko tree behind my
old Cambridge apartment.
 
There were warm, calm days spent across six summers looking up
from my hammock through endless spirals of leaves catching
glimmers of dancing sunshine.
 
The memory of those days feels the same,
As the way that I feel about you.

The Fall

by Lindsay, posted in poetry, writing

Golden flame leaves against piercing blue sky

Through the window I stare

From my bed.

I label colors, objects.

I label with language. Language which has no emotion.

I stare through my window for hours

As lifetimes pass me by.

157,680,000 seconds

or minutes?

Through my veiling shroud I cannot read the clock or feel the weather that would hit my face if I mustered strength enough to throw open the window as I would’ve done six months ago.

(Thrown open the window to feel the

joy of sunshine, the jubilation of wind

on cool skin, the serene content of

sapphire sky.)

I lay still.

I label.

tree

yellow

sun

sky

My language has no emotion. My language has no actions.

My words have shapes, but I cannot touch them.

They have textures that I cannot feel.

(I recall a time when yellow sun

took the form of arms wrapping

around skin. The texture is joy,

belonging, hope, content.)

My language is words is perception as seen through a screen

through a screen

through a screen

Muted distortion.

Though just yesterday my sorrowful thoughts jabbed a dozen dull needles into my stomach.

Jab is action.

Sorrowful is emotion.

Today

bed

blanket

window

branch

twig

roof

gutter

I don’t know if I ever experienced a day lived absently looking through my window like a few of the days I lived this fall. I am a couple months past these days now. I wrote this looking back on the most poignant day, the height of the worst you could say. If you have these days now, I feel you.