Hedges

If you arrived in Hedgeville

would not be soon enough

to breath relief to me

to speak believing to my soul

inhale toward a stillness

a soothing soft and sweet.

Thank you.

The mind is cruel and crueler,

unmeet,

in sabotaging,

making fun a ruthless ruler come undone

Undoing form and function

for destruction of itself

In multiples

sclerosis serves subpoenas

It has some nerve

while on the surface

Rehearses normalcy like FEMA

Behind the fire and the wire scenes

SOPS

the inner workings, cogs

The springs are seized

and sprung to stripping myelin

like lobes of grapes

initiates the robed raping

the peeling takes short work

It changes clothes toward a long and tired

haunched shoulders

stiff necks and backs

poor returns

In learning the work teeters

unappealing in the tediousness

Slipping, gripping

a thing one can’t hold onto

a game of boiled eggs and

netted fish

Slips away

I would have loved to taste

Your thinking

Traced your lovely…

Made ways

Instead this spread gives way to

Winter

Makes these frozen to me

in tonguing flagpoles

in taming sex roles

holds formidable

Displeases

serves more frosty treatment

toward bereavement

I feel I’m starving as

You dish out more than we can eat

In playing now the master

than the lover you once were

or are or could be to me

What will occur

in manicuring hedges?

In making pledges

Promised defenses

Unless there is a hope

a candle underneath a bush

A kingdom one would come to.

From haze and hush

This is the never ending

Bedtime story

The Never Land I fly to

just past morning and the bullrush

Pretend to…

Glory

Simultaneously

Ward away and friend

a distant place

of puzzling loose ends

a Maniac McGee

In nuzzling this

New

Know, know

No!

No more thinking

guessing at unknowns

blow out the candle

to coveted stuborn sleep

a certain rest in keeping

sprinkler heads beneath

caressing morning dews instead

and dreaming

Rub deep the crusty sleep from eyes

and don’t confuse the guise

anymore

Sudden falling

crows

two in a bush

Would rather have one dove

in hands delighting children

The cure, the plan

lies locked away behind the tangle

within a tiny door

Beyond the scratched and bleeding Hawthorne arms

a passageway in miniature

whose manager you are

and swore to keep

In dosing out these scars

You are my persecutor

and My promise

Flower under a bell jar

and me the beast

Within the hidden

beyond the brook and sedge

the opening lies sound, locked

and kept

without a doorknob

without a keyhole

Where only you and I

can think

to write the riddled combination

I’m Smithing in

this Indian nation

I’m trying to lift the pull

engage the lock to open

I fish with coat wires

and slim jims

write wrong deft Verse

Rehearse a rescue of myself

No worse than one that you could offer

These do not call to war

or hoof a fox hunt

steeple chase pursuing intimacy

in this amazing race

and yet they do

I pause to still

amid the roses of the secret garden

I gaze upon the door

that I am trespassing

I see your face and form reclining

on the blue shag bed of grass

I stride into the room to see you lieing there

You shake your head to negative

and on all fours I crawl away

leaves in my wavy hair

twigs under knees and hands

You seem to speak, but what.

I think beware.

I know this is your kingdom

and I am foreign in this hedging.

Perhaps your borders could turn friendly

Gift  citizenship

in finding nests and robin eggs

an empathy laid here before me

in the beauty of the hedge 

and new green grasses.

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About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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