Posts Tagged ‘hill’

Floating Over

This mystic world, those colored trees,
Those rolling hills my dreams do paint,
My gloomy head and foggy thoughts
Collecting to precipitate.

For this place through eyes of men,
Or eyes of bear, or fox, or deer,
Their world’s see what I cannot,
My world’s smoke, theirs is clear.

Pure instinct makes those hearts guide true,
While clouding thoughts weigh on me,
For what to do in such a scene
But sit and think with large pine tree.

Colorful land, colorless sky,
These worlds meet at sheltered creek,
Autumn bronzed and flowing peace,
Pine needle forests pulsing deep,

And oh to sleep but it’s too cold
To rest and escape these thinking things,
You mystic world let me in,
Tell me what my heart can bring.

 Would I add to your confusion?
Or maybe I the one confused,
And this world makes all clear sense,
Or am I the one that has to choose?

Land shutting down, sky holding still,
What’s asleep and what’s awake?
Do shedding leaves mean drowsiness,
Would proper be my hand to shake?

But mystic world answer me,
Take me up in this color mess,
Where trees meet sky and sky meets trees,
Me to float between back and chest

So heart becomes the mystic line.
For land you have a spirit here,
But I the beating heart that’s true,
You confuse with your graying air.

My natural guide will let me hear
Half of your secrets in the ground,
And half the creatures’ place I’ll see
And know your whispers have been found

And placed in my secret pocket,
My thoughts on page, my diary,
But only by pouring out
And floating over all the scene.

Kyle McHale      2009


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I write for the hands that cannot,
And for those of us full of fear,
I pace a life to burn and live,
To fit all moments within few years.

Then I look at a man named Gramps,
At a life I do wish to know,
Then I shall see a golden heart
At a Korean hell in snow

That prevailed through three dead years
In a camp I don’t wish to know.
That one heart kept warm that dead chill
In a place where the dead don’t go,

Is a triumph of faith in life,
For one more day to give a try
Is a will to live again and
For the chance to see an eagle fly.

Then I look at a man named Gramps,
Who had two shots at all true love,
Then I learn from a man named Gramps
Who taught more than life and his love.

I listened through the years to learn,
“Do right, work hard, be a good man.”
I watched as the watchful will do,
The deer, the bear, the dogs loved him,

In a way most creatures did do.
He died in a most peaceful spot,
Not in the days of cold Korea,
But on a gentle sweet hilltop.

Kyle McHale      2006

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Dead Raven Tree

Upon a charming hill,
A dreadful tree alone,
And so well for so ill,
A place those birds have flown.

Top to ground, ground to top,
Lost old souls fill the trunk,
Where all their lives have stopped,
All their dreams, dead and sunk.

Do those birds give or take?
What darkness lost up in it?
Do they take those that are late
Or any passing of it?

All that haunts the mind and eyes
Seeps out the dreadful crust,
Keeping a dry dead sky
Keeps warmth from nature’s touch.

Beating ground lets out some air,
For all that tries to flee
The grips of claws grabbing hair,
Pulling in more mystery.

Did the reaper pass and keep you?
Where did you come from you black tree?
Why won’t God come and take you
Out of Edgar Allan Poetry?

Laugh a little, laugh a lot,
I before the devil’s arm,
Some trail I had lost,
To avoid danger’s harm

Led me to the foot of it,
That charming little hill,
Hoping that my honor’s lit
A higher power’s will.

Then out from everywhere,
Tree calling for the dead,
Yet so hard not to stare
When darkness is overhead.

That gathering above,
The terror in myself,
Shakes my thoughts up of
All I’ve ever felt.

Those ravens swarming high,
A moving halo dream,
A horrid beauty sky,
A circling raven ring.

Did the reaper pass and keep you?
Where did you come from you black tree?
Why won’t God come and take you
Out of Edgar Allan Poetry?

That dreaming flight spoke to me,
Then asked to take my soul,
To join the blackened tree,
To stay here in the cold.

I refuse! I refuse!
Why did I wander here?
A thousand birds to choose
From any type of fear

To try and take my hope.
This place unpleasantly
Takes the things I know,
Then rips them out of me,

Then holds me frozen still.
Shortening my breaths,
Feeling a demon’s will
To take all I have left.

Place me in a world of
Some life that’s glowing green,
Some place that is filled with love,
A place I find hard to dream.

Did the reaper pass and keep you?
Where did you come from you black tree?
Why won’t God come and take you
Out of Edgar Allan Poetry?

Do the ravens listen to
Their master in the dark?
What has this been coming to,
Some life falling apart?

Some empty morbid scene,
Just a tree, a hill, some birds,
And darkness whispering,
Hoping to be heard.

I hope all this passes me,
And Poe says what he means,
I hope the truth about this tree
“Is but a dream within a dream.”

Kyle McHale      2010

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