Campfire
Charlie Green
In the winter, the dark woods are quiet
The insects have perished or gone dormant
The bitter cold calms the rest of the year
In the summer, dark woods are deafening
Watchers, deep in the trees make themselves known
In the heart of their lair, they are screaming
The cicada, cricket, and katydid
Immersed in wood, an invisible choir
A drone, a buzz, a hiss. Right in my ear
Many nights the invisible choir have carried me to bed
But tonight I'm awake, and I can see
I see the strobe of many lightning bugs
Hundreds of them signaling at a time
I blink, and all of them are different
The oaken canopy obscures the sky
but I am not without constellations
An ancient pine stands tall despite its age
They line the path like soldiers, long and thin
Matching dark green uniforms, sharp and slim
Wind blows, they sway, cool breath against my skin
I look up and see my brothers, their faces ruddy and dim
Silent solemn circle around the fire
The foolish, fervent tongues of flame have died
Only the noble red embers remain
Quiet, black, smoking, hissing, smoldering
I look across the smoke and meet his eyes
The birds now slumber, silence overhead
A distant drum, a strum, sound in their stead
A dark circle of fire burning red
My pillow, far away, awaits my head
I close my eyes, the invisible choir carries me to bed
Colors
Ella Green
When the world seems black and white
My eyes long to see splashes of color
Golden drops of sunlight
Wet glistening greenery after freshly fallen rain
The fiery citrus of sunrise
The peaceful canopy of trees
Vibrant soft flowers
A road that longs to be taken
A journey that lays right before your feet
Colors that bring views alive right before your eyes
Everywhere All the Time
Charlie Green
On the road to and fro it’s all I can see
Smiling faces, shiny toys, calling out to me
They scream their name, their stake in the game, their monetary worth
To ensure they fatten their pockets, and thereby fatten our girth
I guarantee it’s what I’ll see, from daybreak till I bed
All the time, when I close my eyes, I see it in my head
Endless effort and resources poured into design
Would be masterworks reworked to compel to buy
So it seems with minds on green the artists intermingle
A would-be modern-day Mozart writes a catchy jingle
We slumber for rising numbers, yet for it grease our elbows
A would-be modern-day Da Vinchi designs a crisp new logo
One day we’ll learn (with time, I’m sure) to project onto the sky
And instantly send a message, to all with seeing eyes
I’d look up, and nothing’s changed, everywhere all the time
“New crispy chicken sandwich, only four ninety-nine”
Self by Juden Green
