The Return
The highway finds me broken
and broken free from the mountain’s grip
bleeding from a fight with the clinging trees
Distance restarts my heart
Each mile is another beat
At the edge of the ocean
my breath and my dreams
return to me
Song Behind the Trees
Beyond the tree line
music beckons
Keep reading for the two possible endings to this poem
Ending 1 –
Past the threshold
no trail awaits
The stars can’t breach the canopy of leaves
A chorus of vines wrap around me
I’m a present for everything that stings
Venom lessons leach into blood, muscle, and bone,
Wolves wait and rabbits
scream
Over the crickets’ wicked laugh
I hear the stream
whispering
that the forest doesn’t go on forever
The music is gone
so I write my own
Ending 2-
When I cross the threshold
leaves swallow me, doing their best to hide me
from things that steal and sting
Whisper of the stream
guides me
off the path
through briars that cut into my leaves
piercing muscle, clawing at hope
but the sound still calls
I hide from spiders and walk with snakes
through the rain
over places where the earth
split
Stars and fireflies stay true
And the night’s butterfly takes me through the last miles
to the heart
the symphony
the beginning
of everything
Image description – a photo of somewhat barren trees at the edge of a forest. The sky is overcast, and a layer of fog gives the trees a hazy appearance.
Why two endings for the poem?
After I wrote the beginning of the poem, I started thinking of two possible endings- one more sinister and one with a more joyous outcome. I remembered reading those Choose Your Own Adventure books when I was a kid and thought, why not have two endings to this poem?
A song, a promise, a path- hidden except for the first few steps- could be a trap, waiting to ensnare any who dare to enter. Will the price to move past the trees be cuts so deep that souls and bones need to be pulled back together with a needle and thread? Or is the hint of the hauntingly beautiful song a prelude to something wonderful?
The threads binding our souls and bones remember the agony of past lessons, yet the stitches come alive with curiosity. In stillness we dissolve. Beyond the tree line, we find reasons.
Life in a Bottle
Plastic bottles inhale
breath from the river
Corporations sell
life
and take it
without regret
Image description – A photograph of a narrow, winding section of the James River surrounded by trees on a sunny, spring afternoon
About the poem – Corporations have been given the rights (for the right price, paid to hungry politicians) to bottle up water from waterbodies that people depend on, both in the United States and in other countries. These soulless corporations then sell the bottled water to the people whose streams and rivers the corporations have claimed. There are so many short-term profit tactics that involve destroying water and land for temporary gain. Politicians who allow the land to be polluted and destroyed are often working under the assumption that the aftereffects won’t catch up to them in their lifetime. They assume that they will always live in the protected, fortunate areas where such things don’t occur.
The earth can’t protect itself from shareholders and CEOs or from smiling lawmakers bent on getting kickbacks for passing along environmental destruction laws, all so they can send their kids to the good schools and have summer homes by the river (in the sections the corporations can’t touch, of course), so we have to respect and protect the earth.
Earth Day is a chance to remember and appreciate all the beautiful parks and natural landmarks, but it’s also a reminder that we need to be active in the fight to preserve them.
Origins of a Ghost Story
Uranium invades harmony
Fish can’t out swim toxicity
Corporate goals achieved
Image description – photograph of a desolate dirt road beneath a foggy sky.
This is my first attempt at a lune poem (three words/five words/three words version). Origins of a Ghost Story was inspired by the ever-present problem of corporations and real estate developers overtaking a terrifying amount of natural land. The consequences are devastating to the environment but not to the corporate entities and shareholders who bring about the destruction. They have no reason or requirement to care about what they’ve done, so the damage continues. Ghost towns and over-priced, treeless suburban mega sites packed with chain restaurants and phone stores are often the result of these development projects.
The land doesn’t have a voice, so when I write fiction, I try to create characters who take care of nature and see it as a necessary part of life and soul, rather than a resource to be developed into oblivion. In my poetry, I often write about the harmony of humanity and nature, and the capacity for greed to disrupt what could be a peaceful coexistence.
Melting
Sun shines on the dance floor
melting away ice masks of
winter’s masquerade
Image description – The sun is shining on a partially frozen section of the James River. Sections of ice are thick in outer areas and broken and thin towards the middle.
I have to keep reminding myself that there’s always a light shining. Even when the sun sinks into the sky, the moon will still rise, and when clouds block her brilliance, there are still lighthouses on distant shores. And if we can hold out a little while longer, we’ll see the sparks of fireflies that risk their lives to light the night with the hope and truths that fuel our reason.
The Moon Screams the Truth
Spoiled
vines strangled the moon
She grew teeth and tore free from
rules meant to keep her
silent
Image description – a photograph of the night sky. The moon is visible and shining bright above several trees.
The initial shock and numbness of the previous day has worn off and now, I’m livid. Now, I’m gathering strength and screaming the truth. Many rules aren’t created to keep us safe, rather, they’re passed by those in privilege and power to keep people quiet. Their main objective is to shut questions down and make it too hard, too dangerous, too costly to object. My voice gets louder every year. My teeth get sharper.
We have to come together in anger and find ways to tear down the system that tries to silence us. We can stand and hold signs, write and call lawmakers and demand they give us an audience. We can run for office in record numbers. We can write about the truth, whether in fiction, Fahrenheit 451 style, or as journalists reporting the truths we see. We can continue teaching our children to be decent human beings and we can reach out to people who need a hand. We have to fill the time and space with our presence and with our voices. We have to be unrelenting.
Funnel
Sparrows navigate
through radioactive fog
Glossy brochures are selling the dream
Ornamental trees placed sporadically
near coffee shops and phone stores
Unforgiving concrete
choked up the streams
but developers were still hungry
They swallowed the river
and spat out luxury homes
Newly paved roads funnel shiny cars
into a rat maze
Competing strangers mow lawns and try not to drown
in rain that burns
and mortgages that sit like cinderblocks
on heavy chests
Keep moving in the circle
Don’t stop working
Don’t breathe
Don’t ask questions
The banks want you to hold on tight
to their dream that stops
everything from singing
Image description – photograph of snowy forest of barren trees. In the center of the barren trees is one small, bright green tree.
The county where I live is becoming more and more overdeveloped. Each month, a new cluster of expensive houses, condos, and high rises appears. The amount of forestland and waterways that have been destroyed in the last ten years is astounding. The traffic is an ever-increasing nightmare, and the air isn’t fresh and crisp anymore. The haze of funk is spreading and thickening. It’s harder to breathe. There are shops everywhere but nothing good, or strange, or weird, or unusually fun, just phone stores, vape shops, coffee places, and chain restaurants- the same old thing up and down the main road.
Did we really need more of the same? Was this necessary? Was it a good idea? I guess it was for the banks and real estate developers, but there are so many other ways to increase revenue to a county or city. There were other options. One of the best options, of course not the most beneficial to developers, would have been to help the people who were struggling with employment and with home maintenance and with feeding their families- on a scope beyond just the basic crumbs that barely suffice. When people are able to do more than just barely survive, when they have hope, there’s prosperity within the community. I guess it’s just cheaper and easier to ignore the people who need help and ignore the people who could use a few steps up the ladder to lift themselves into better circumstances, and to build new, expensive homes instead.
The people living in those new, high-end homes have their own share of problems. Some live in constant fear of losing what they have so they spend their lives working but not living. Others have so much, they forget to see and care about the struggles that people below their income bracket face, and instead become the monsters that eat the rivers and pour concrete over the truth.
A creepy poem in honor of Halloween month
Spider Rain
Silk that seems
like angel’s wings
are spiders crawling in the darkness
Webs anchored in splayed hair
Summer raindrop memories are eight legged babies
descending
into satin sheets and draperies
Shadows keep secrets
from the morning sun
Image description: a picture of a large green and black spider climbing down its web in front of a window. The close-up photo shows the spider in detail, including the hair on its legs and the translucence of its green and black body.
For Halloween month, I will be sharing spooky, creepy, haunting, and strange but lovely poems, pictures, and posts throughout the next two weeks.
Profit and Bones
Bottomless thieves
keep the furnace fed
with our bankrupted bones
Each stolen dollar and death
is fuel for the profit flames
The corporations collect
while they destroy
Image description – photo shows a section of oak tree leaves that appear burnt. The burned looking leaves are enmeshed with a tall fir tree. The ground below looks dry and lifeless.
I’ve been thinking about the tragic train wreck that is the for-profit health insurance industry in the US, because how could I not? How could the fear of the worsening situation not weigh on my mind? The past few decades have seen health care become a luxury. Insurance companies make their profit by charging a ton and denying coverage for needed services. People survive on pain medication because surgery is too expensive. Medical care is put off because people fear the resulting bill, and for good reason. The for-profit health insurance industry bankrupts people, lowers quality of life, and shortens longevity. And it doesn’t even bother to apologize.
Health insurance CEOs and shareholders are raking in the profits by refusing to cover medical care wherever and however they can. Hospitals and pharmaceutical companies aren’t innocent either, with their ridiculous costs. The idea of medication existing but people not being able to access when they need to without losing one’s home or having to choose between food or medicine is not some horror movie subplot. We’re living in a dystopian nightmare brought to life by greed. Many politicians’ careers were funded by that greed.
Will the situation ever be resolved, or will each generation grow more accustomed to the worsening lack of access to affordable medical care? The suspense isn’t fun.
Beneath Unsuspecting Feet
Shadows thrive beneath
unsuspecting feet
Vines trap and feed
Forest arteries
Image description – the photo is of a hiking trail at Robius Landing Park in Virginia. Along the trail is a tree with long vines that wind into an intricate knotted pattern. There are shadows on the dirt trail. The bushes and trees lining the pathway are a healthy shade of green.
For this short poem, I made the forest the hunter, taking what it needs from all who enter. The beautiful parks and hiking trails of Virginia continue to inspire both my fiction and my poetry.
Christina Lynn Lambert 