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FOREST VOICES – John Barrale

on June 1 | in Poetry | by | with No Comments

I flinch from the sparks.
Everything is blurs and ashes.
Once in a while, a cloud separates
and breaks from the herd
crowding the sky above me.
This lets a star,
like a brilliant mistake,
break through.

* * *

Night is a buzzing flail.
 
The moon’s rising
makes the raccoons drunk.
 
The smell of wet fur
from mating skunks
is a cold, sharp odor.
 
Mushrooms
fill in my cracks
and crevices.
 
Everything around me
feeds in the night
and sleeps in the day.

* * *

The seasonal melodies of the geese have ended.
The wind plaits straw grass into ugly hats.
 
Like a predictable bout of insanity,
the snow begins.

* * *

I have lived through a string
of dry, thirsty weeks.
The rain is such an amazing,
hysterical thing!

* * *

Put down roots.
Speak only with green lips.
Listen with wooden ears
then pretend you’re deaf.
Cover your heart with bark.
Your sap is a secret.
Keep safe your twigs.
Pruning is not an option.
 
 
John Barrale is an avid hiker and a jazz aficionado. His poetry has been published in the Paterson Literary Review, Red Wheel Barrow (Volumes 1 – 8,) Poetalk, NJ Journal of Poets, The Lullwater Review, California Quarterly, Tiger’s Eye Journal, The Penwood Review, The Aurorean, The William and Mary Review, Narrative Northeast, City LitRag, Instigatorzine, Unrorean, and East Meets West—American Writers Review.

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