HNP ( / )

Of Chestnut Trees And Naked Knees (A Forum Rebutt)

Tonight...
she will come and meet me
at the chestnut tree,
whose leaves are changing
and whose memories include
the first kisses of lean, pimply boys
rushing noisily
in their tradition Lederhosen pants
as to not miss the train
into the promised land.
I waited for you, girl
until the crack of dawn,
you must have used
(I'm certain) last year's calendar,
I picked fresh flowers too,
dark blue forgetmenots.

In my tree
I find nuts as chess markers
Camelots, Castles, Kings, Queens,
Cloak, daggers and pawned used teens

Leave is change... but meeting
Come is not still (but preferred)
Memories exude –
No hush sought in slurps and kisses
pasted in almanac notations pressed
with more than just blossoms of forgetmenots
I picked a journey and its dawn awoke
intuition. Training still crosses in steam...

Camelots, castles old Kings and young Queens
chimchimnery, meadows of bracken and greens.
You, lovely maiden, so high in the tree
would you consider to wait there for me?
Steam falls to earth as I look at your thighs
updrafts home in to the hidden surprise,
there will be room in that fork of your tree
destiny's scent - it is always a she.

Where there’s a fork there must be a spoon
to scoop in scent illuminated each full moon
Saturday I wait by telescope for in Venus I see
a river full of stars floating full advance of tree
the Manukau Harbour below, always my guide
and destiny is knowledgeable over patent of thigh

There are thoughts hanging high
like old ivory vines
twas the sun in my eye
and the scent of fresh pines,
yet I needed the awe
of the stalagmite cave
signals ready and raw
and the fishies, so brave
caught a glimpse as you rose
thus dispersing the shade
whether rhymes or plain prose
but no fanfaronade.

Within the prose, always the rose
Within the plain, some search out pain

Butt whenever I hang high in thoughts
that we’ve touched many times naught(Y)
on the scent of that pine, dark caves and raw
for always suggestive your ink does draw

regardless,
time through space, rhyme in pace
of battles to brave,
from cradle to or grave.

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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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