Templar Phoenix Literary Review

Templar Phoenix Literary Review - Volume 1, Number 2 - Summer 2000

PHILLIP WOODRUFF

on the lake

we sat on
whitewashed wood
furniture
by the lake
we watched the night
sky go by
and fire flies
made green glowing
serenade

we drank lots of
white wine, the way
the lake
drank the stars
drank from the glass
that flashed
in the moon

all night we
talked by the lake
about fate
about the weather
laughing together
and i held her
never wanting
to let go

i found
the morning star
in the reflection
on the lake
it rippled
by the shore
closer than i feared
morning was near

waking thunder

waking thunder
somewhere distant

wet black night
moon shadows dripping

tent splatter pitter-patter
leaf rattling tap

a whisper
and a rumble
getting closer

bursting vapor charge
the grumbling ground

phantasmagoric flash
euphoric glowing aftermath
the evil that clouds do

electric residue
heart beating triple time
static eyes

backpacked in
to find the devil
crashing back

this night
on green mountain

moon crash

moon
and
lake
bright stars
tender fire, slow
burn
lapping sweet sand
liquid sounds
soothing
moon crashing
over
open
cove

this is the tale of no one

she loved no one,
and no one loved her
like no one.
always wondering why never
no one brought her nothing.
something somewhere not here.
and she came as she went,
walking backwards
through the neighborhood,
didn't smell the lilacs
didn't see the rock doves.
looking forward
at nowhere she'd been,
nowhere she wanted to be.
and no one spoke to her,
but told her nothing.
walking downtown
through no town at all,
always never looked around
and nothing caught her eye.
and no one noticed
that she never noticed
(no one important enough
to ignore anyway)
the collision that never came.
but nothing no one ever said
never seemed to matter not.
so,
she didn't feel the wind,
didn't see the speeding train
that missed her by several
non existent inches.
no one's hands pushed-pulled
and saved her not and never.
she didn't die,
but she didn't live
neither.

and she not lived happily never ever,
the end?

About the Poet

Phillip Woodruff has lived most of his life in Colorado and spends a great deal of time in the Rocky Mountains. He is an avid hunter, fisherman, and backpacker, He loves nature, and most of his poetry reflects this. He also writes on love, life, and a variety of other interests. Currently, Phillip is working his way through school, and will soon transfer to CSU (Colorado State University) to receive a degree in wildlife biology. He has been published previously in Templar Phoenix Literary Review.

E-Mail: wood71@netzero.net