Tuesday, October 8, 2013

A Poem by Ryan Hardgrove

The Cathartic Tree
tiptoeing around bodies
that feign sleep
on a damp summer carpet
near dawn
it is rare
to find myself
     the closest to sane
amongst the LSD children
napping fitfully
after the storm
as the sun cracks slow
somewhere outside and somehow sudden
sunflower yellow and fire-water pink
last night
she led me away from the firelight faces
across the fresh verdant yard
towards the wise old tree
nobody knew the species of
I spoke gently but with fervor
as she listened only to the syntax
for the gnarled branches above
spoke to the smoking indigo moon
and her seamless tranquility balanced
     my frantic romanticism
now morning
the night vacuum sealed
in poignant memory
my boots still resting beneath
the cathartic tree
white fluffs of sock
growing up out of them
like sweat laced cat-tails
I try talking to the tree again
but it has nothing to say this time
for the branches now house
an assemblage of birds
that vaporize
every premature thought in my head
with beautiful morning songs
of a day begun
and my mind
is hushed
into a blissful silence
Ryan Hardgrove is a published poet.  His consciousness has grown and meandered like a weed throughout his 27 years crawling upon this rock.  He now lives in a small apartment along the Ohio River, just two miles north of Pittsburgh, PA.  When he is not writing, he is tending bar downtown or pacing on his fire escape smoking cigarettes.

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