Log Cabin

5 Comments

Tags:
  • Nature
    • ,
  • Lost Love
    • ,
  • Love

    Log Cabin

    Nights without sleep,
    Days without hope
    Mailbox is empty-
    You laugh or cry
    The wall of silence
    Divided us
    The weary winter
    Is going by


    The depth of snow
    Is up to the hips
    Frost framed the forest
    Turned breath to steam
    You’re quietly sleeping
    After hard day
    In little log cabin
    Down the stream

    The spring will come
    To this frozen world
    To brake the ice
    And to move the rocks
    To fill the air
    With call of the Swans
    To lead to the North
      All endless flocks

    The Love and Memory
    Point my way
    I will return
    To the Land of my Dream
    But there is the path
    That I’ll never found-
    -To little log cabin
    Down the stream

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    Tinytree commented on Log Cabin

    02-28-2010

    You are a very good story teller. I could visualize it all, and the sadness of never seeing the log cabin or your love again. touching.
    Reply to Comment

    dancinghawk commented on Log Cabin

    02-24-2010

    this is an interesting visualization/metaphor ... one who is gone, isolated from the writer (by death or life choices? unimportant ... we know the writer cannot receive mail from the object of our love, for whatever reason) ... and this separation is as a frozen winter, with hope of spring and new life (and sometimes sudden violent changes, rocks moving, earth changes), tho the log cabin remains only in our mind's eye ... we will have to find a cozy place of our own ... for this log cabin belongs to another ... whose comfort comforts us ... fascinating take, and a lovely, ethereal write, Forestbird ... ty for posting! -dh
    Reply to Comment

    ginga commented on Log Cabin

    02-24-2010

    Forestbird, How did you know that my favorite home would be a log cabin? This poem speaks to me in so many ways. The serenity of its remoteness brings calm to the soul and your references to nature once the melt comes are refreshing. A keeper to my favorites. ginga
    Reply to Comment

    origionalmerlin commented on Log Cabin

    04-26-2009

    perfection in every word and between the lines also!! I would push my way through the ice fog to offer you bread and salt!!
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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