Upon Its Silver Leaf

As much as I love being in the woods, experiencing all that my imagination can muster, I still always want to go home.


Even here in the wood,
where magic sweetens
each shadow,

inviting fancy
to discover its root
and grow,

gnomes riding
chariots pulled
by ladybugs,

sprites sharing
a tulip’s nectar
with a butterfly,

I still seek the music
of these halls:
the coffeepot gurgling

in its corner, its stomach
as deep and wet
as a bullfrog’s,

the furnace’s thunk
and pump
when the wind

paints winter
on the shivering glass,
and your footfall against

the shining oak floor,
each step hidden under
a deeper hush as you drift

up the stairs, higher, higher,
as a fay finds its flight
weaving through a sage’s

thorny tangle, there to know
rest upon a silver leaf.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Home Turf.”

3 thoughts on “Upon Its Silver Leaf

  1. A transporting poem. Well done.

    You reference coffee in your fifth stanza. You reference a hammer in your title. Your name is Thomas. There is a coffee chain in my neck of the woods (Spokane) called Thomas Hammer Coffee. I think you have no choice but to check it out. I mean, this is like a scene from “National Treasure”. 🙂

    I won’t leave a link because I don’t want you to think this is some intricate spamming attempt, but, if you just google Thomas Hammer Coffee, I’m sure it (or perhaps your post) will pop up.


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