Speaking of Wood
What we speak of when we speak wood, is only a tonal nasal activity that soon fades into the ether of our landscape, where reside the scavenging lurkers who are too busy picking up the collected outcasts, those left over pieces of wood, that when finished are often disguised to resemble acts of wood bearing art!
….where i to tell you of my acts of kindness in birthing wood pieces,
the appointed self styled gather’s of other’s dreams,
would soon fall upon me in the oblique particles of my blackened wood holes,
and i would find the need for once again re-turning to the quantum forests….
—-oh waundering imaginations that have served me well,
i cannot see what other’s want with wood,
nor can i tell of all that is wood,
but in the early hours of dawn i can feel the wood seeking out it’s own….
—-carry me back to a time when the wood was before time,
and the gods of the forest saw into the clouds of heavens,
where spreading their oaken lofty branches above the tallest of the evergreens,
there was a stairway that connected from heaven to earth….
—-here i sit as one watching the blinded feverish crazed workers,
all running throughout their forest in daily pursuit of activity,
never having the time to just stop and look up and remember,
that the giving of thanks cancels out a whole forest of dis-ease….
....and so once again i ease back into the landscape of my forest,
where the times are written in the beginnings of all that speaks wood,
my words are soon forgotten just as my breath also evaporates into thought,
and even now i also am gathered into the snowy calefaction of my ether….
”....work smart, work safe, and live, to work the wood….”
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/