Follow the trail through
The head high mountain laurel
To the still waters
Of a secret pond
The grass upon its banks
Waves back and forth
In the cool breeze
A cloud spotted
Clear blue sky
Is mirrored on the surface
And you wish getting up,
Brushing off the seat of your pants
And leaving
Weren’t an option.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Dreams are dust
Drifting in the scattered
Sunlight through a curtain-less
Window
Open slightly, the breeze
Swirls the countless motes
A frenzied dance
With no apparent end.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Star speckled spring sky
Spreads out before us
Map of the universe
Unfolded, imagined, unfound
Naked and entwined
At the farthest edges
there be monsters
The corners house the winds
And your presence is the compass
Blazoned upon my eyes.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Clouds gather overhead
Gripping in the moment
Blown with the breezes
Stilling down softly
Rain patters steady
Tolling in your heart these
Melodies spring up
Etchings in your mind
Trickle in your ears
To arrive
And disappear.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
4*26
Monsters lurking near
Feasting upon fear.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Your sweat soaked shirt
Clings to your back
A chill, wet leach
Sucking the heat from you
In the cold spring morning air
You pick up your tools
And get back at it
Because work is warmth.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Our parting was a knife cut
Quick, sharp, clean
Nearly bloodless
At the instant painless
All of that came later
Like a slap across the face
Its aftershock
A welcome
Numb.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Ground fog slips around
The trunks of hickories and oaks
Pines gnarled with time
An owls bass hoot
Drums up through
Your belly
As you ascend the rock strewn crest
These hills are worn down
With age
But not brittle, not fragile
They possess a low slung strength
Resilient
In their ubiquitous power.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Its a long, dry walk
Across shifting sands
Thirsty and tired
Of all the dust and grit
Its in your boots
Your socks
Your shirt and pants
Your underwear
In your hair and up your nose
You feel it in your ear canals
Across your lips
A grungy mask you can never wash away
Like the crackling shouts
Of the Muezzin
Over the loudspeakers
Full of sand
And dust muted colors of the tattered clothes
That haunt your speckled dreams.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
The orange garbage truck
Squeals, hisses and beeps
Its stink alone
Obviously not enough
To announce its
Garish arrival.
© Erik Hansen 2015
Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing
Edges 