The Spirit of the Woods

Logs
burn in a cabin fire.
Sparks dance along their edges, where wood burns black,
and the smoke billows dark up the chimney
and smells
of cedar and pine.

Trees
like giant sentinels overlook the cabin.
A cool Autumn breeze combs their branches
and dances the leaves of their hair.
Slow rain runs over the cracks of their skin,
and the aroma of their spirit rises above the smoke
and smells
of cedar and pine.


© JMariah, 2011

I'm Not There Yet

A wind blows menacingly
through the stitches of my cardigan,
buttoned to my neck.
I'm not there yet.

Whoo! Whoo!
it whistles in cold tendrils
that lap around my ears
and neck.
Whoo are you
and where do you think you're going?
it seems to mock
as I pinch my clothing
tighter to my chest.

I'm a poet,
born out of sadness
and chiselled from the hardness
of life.
I'm walking a dark, windy road.
I know where I want to be
and I'll know the place
once I get there.
I'm just not there yet.


© JMariah, 2011