THE GREEN MAN
i have the green man
growing in his tree
feet to earth
hands in sky
head with heart.
prophetic and pagan
his persuasion
is asking me to be
like the mother who gave me birth-
but now,
even how
we go to die
is apart.
his eyes
behind his hair
both stare
at Babylonians
becoming Old Bostonians
changing us from Custodians
leaving the DreamTime
to work in line.
my door,
is always open
in case he comes back in
running half broken
father mine from the mill dripping
stale sweat
on the hearth floor
but i don't forget
him shaping his words and hands
everywhere he sits and stands
so selfless to let me see
how to set my own mind free-
break the blames that blind you
and liberty will find you;
real truth, is not what everyone knows
but in their echoes
unspoken shadows.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 30th June, 2012. All Rights Reserved.
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40 Poems From POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones
PoetryThis collection of poetry features 40 of the 75 poems from my latest book Pomegranate Flesh. You are most welcome to vote and comment and follow me. The poems in this collection show Strider's gift of being able to weave words into creative and surp...
