Tag: poetic prose

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The Lightning Walnut Tree

  I stand small, in the summer of my innocence, beneath the ancient, lumbering, struck walnut tree. The shimmery, amber haze of thick Summer sun, hypnotizes me; I dream of a silver winged storm that struck a jagged and cavernous rip down through the black walnut tree above me. Moving on the lazy porch swing by the river, I remember the pungent green scent … Read More The Lightning Walnut Tree

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‘Slippin Creek is Just a Stone’s Throw’

  I’m my Mother’s shiny girl child when she left me here I’m the seed of love from my Father, distant watcher; proud of my growing My Grandmother spoke to me on the last hour of her death bed; Child don’t take money for things undone and things that should not be done. Boy, don’t you know slippin’ creek is just a stone’s throw … Read More ‘Slippin Creek is Just a Stone’s Throw’

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My ‘Lady of the Woods’ poetic prose, can be seen on Rutger Hauer’s website page- ‘Soap Box Poets’

http://www.rutgerhauer.org/poets/0439.php   Lady of the Woods © by Tommie Flannery Baskis Shimmering ashes and silvered cloth, drape long and smooth, Like a slow fog that whispers over the forest path, to adorn the Lady of the Woods. As the sun lays down before her, a glory of misty silk in the smoky heaven; The very breath of Angels of the Winter land. Her lullaby, … Read More My ‘Lady of the Woods’ poetic prose, can be seen on Rutger Hauer’s website page- ‘Soap Box Poets’

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The Secret Place (11:11)

The Secret Place (11:11) In the long days and moments of her dream wandering, she will discover the Secret Place. She moves at peace through angel snow and forest, as a child that knows its way. She comes with the hope of eternal sun, a rustling leaf melody and the bloom of life dancing to cicada’s electric hum. Her eyes of wandering reflect what … Read More The Secret Place (11:11)

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‘Dreams From the Wood Porch’

Dreams From the Wood Porch December 30, 2014 A stirring of rust colored leaves rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat. Not yet an angel, gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone that beats with hypnotic fervor. He rocks back and forth ceremoniously on the … Read More ‘Dreams From the Wood Porch’

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