My Little Cube

Bjorn over at dverspoets.com issued a challenge for writing a cube poem.  As a man of limited means, this is all I can do:

 

Changes

Hey, I thought, this is a walnut tree!
I saw the walnut -eh, balls, on the ground.
Too close to the house though.
I could see some had fallen on the roof.
I would like to have a walnut tree, I thought.
It’s wood is so beautiful.
The nuts so tasty.  Hard work though.
And I thought, that’s a cool tree.
Then it was inside to meet my new wife’s grandparents.
That was so many things ago.
Two college degrees ago.
Three kids ago.
Almost one career ago.
One almost great love ago.
But it never really was.
More of her thinking me an idiot.
It’s over.  But I still wish I had a walnut tree.

The Idiot and the Walnut Tree…..

Purgatory

Tender ears, hear the quiet.
Enjoy the sound of nothing.
Let it surround your heart and
soothe your soul.
Swim within its peace –
drown within it if you like –
and avoid the din of this hateful world.

Blackness take me,
void this life and memory –
Pray thee God, oh thou great,
my Lord, my Master,
my Tormentor –
Release my soul from this cocoon!
This cacophony of evil!

And I will repent forever more,
for whatever it is that brought me here.
Except that to suffer fools….
For those who suckle the witch’s breast,
should stay here forever –
In this Purgatory we call life….

Hedge Apple

A hedge apple laid on the road…
It’s green-ness contrasting the black tarry pitch.
It’s weight too great for the limb to hold,
stretched down, and down, and down –
until finally the weight was too great.
The hedge apple snapped –
Falling, falling to the ground.
And mother branch returned to her proud position.
Almost.  But not quite springing back to her glory.
Just a little bounce robbed from her gate –
her stance against the wind a little less worthy.
But there she stayed to shelter her little hedge apple.
To wait for him to find his own soily patch,
where he can root and grow and grow.
Another year, another stretching sag,
another little hedge apple fallen…
and on and on.
And now mother branch hangs so low,
misery and pain her only friends…
Waiting to snap off herself – to fall to
the ground and give fertilizer to what
should have been her children.
But they aren’t there.
Because we thought it was fun to smash them in the street.