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“Your skin will feel
Like orange peel,
Before a thumb has dug in,
Anticipating
Every scraping,
Till there’s nothing hugging.”

O N E

We lived our lives
Beneath a sky
Of vaulted emerald,

Produced by weaves
Of ageless leaves
That had excelled themselves.

By morning swoon
And afternoon
Viridity was taught,

And when retired
And closed of eyes
The green engulfed our thoughts.

For in this land
The trees demanded
Vision from below,

As over time
And its design
We’d lost the need to grow;

A history held
Unto itself,
And leveled off a while,

Until refined
And underlined,
And settled in profile.

Where every trunk
And offshoot hung
Appeared oversized,

And spread across
Old Helios,
And sheltered our eyes.

Whose pounding fist
And frantic kiss
Of life were kept at bay,

With thunder crash,
And lightning flash,
And all their disarray.

Though day did bright
To partner night,
And wind and water filtered,

And ample fare
Grew everywhere,
And herds were in good kilter.

But this stockade
Had for us made
An idle co-existence,

As business lost
Conveyed no cost,
Because of our systems.

For our toils
And few turmoils
Had been replaced by waivers,

Allowing us
To barter much,
And compensate with favours.

And trade was good
For those who could,
And even those who couldn’t,

While some were fey
And got away
With things they really shouldn’t:

Deep in the dell,
And hidden well,
Their pitch had often flourished,

And seldom failed,
Or met a trail
Of folk who were malnourished.

For it was said
In chattered words
That they communed with giants,

From far beyond
The furthest frond
Where sunlight reigned defiant.

And elements
Embraced events,
And swept away the surface,

Condemning peace
To a surcease
Because it had no purchase.

But where this was
And why it chose
No part in our recital,

Was not discussed
By people much
Unless they meant to frighten.

For such, these tales,
Were spectral veiled,
And mostly ill conceived,

And made you glad
They never had
The facts to be believed.

So heed ye all,
Indeed recall,
These themes when out exploring:

Don’t dally long
When you’re among
The canopy’s outpouring.

T W O

Now one fine day,
Beneath the sway,
A jobbing laggard rose,

And dreaming last
Threw off the past
That bade him to repose.

Some fortitude
Had crept into
His purpose overnight,

And down by dawn
He made it known
That he would seek the light.

His mother bawled,
His father called,
And begged him reconsider,

To stay in bed
And keep his head
Below the tree line hidden.

But bold our lad
Ignored his dad,
And laid his kit about him;

He packed it thrice
Until practice
Had rid him of his doubting.

And by mid noon
Left his bed room
With last words in a letter,

Addressed to those
Who like him chose
To leave their beds for better.

And with his stores,
And own applause,
He checked out of his nest,

Where he had spent
His life’s events
In misty coloured dress.

His name was laughed
By those he passed,
Who thought him broken headed,

But new found sense
And diligence
Combined to keep him steady.

While some did seem
To be up stream
Acclaiming his departure,

But once approached
Their voices chose
To ridicule his charter.

Unbowed a route
Passed underfoot
Until the town bar beckoned;

He paid its toll
With one bread roll,
Though it required a second.

And it being free
Of sentry keeps,
He left another note,

Which promised that
He would come back
With more than anecdotes.

Then out he went
Amidst the scent
Of elder places present,

Wherein a vast
And verdant cast
Of shadows rose to heaven.

And quietly
The boundary
Of all he’d ever known,

Released him from
Its opium,
And left him out alone.

By well sprung soil,
And branches coiled
With nameless energy,

He laboured on
Until he’d gone
As far as he could see.

Passed handsome gems,
And garnered stems
Of untold shades of plant,

And tallest grass
That did surpass
The finest in the land.

The forest guard,
Unfolding far,
Embraced him newly passing,

And all involved
As one, dissolved,
Before around him massing,

And finding quilts
Of finest silks,
To cradle him a bed,

Coerced him down
On covered ground,
And crept into his head.

T H R E E

Up startled, hard,
And clearly heard,
A shrilling and a fuss;

He quickly rose
And found his clothes,
But they were dressed in dust.

And everywhere
The earth was bare
Of greenery and growth,

And overhead
The mottled spread
Of yield had lost its troth.

The noise returned
And slowly burned
The skin around his ears;

He clapped them hard
But they were charred,
And crumpled like dead leaves.

As did his lips
And finger tips,
Whose branching bones appeared,

And just as they
Were set to fray,
He woke from nightmare’s fear.

On looking round
He saw the ground
Was just as it should be,

But something vexed
The forest’s text,
And its authority.

He dwelt on this
Until the kiss
Of day break called him in,

Then bundled up
His evening robes,
And set off once again.

Now pondering
Was not his thing,
And morning cleansed his mind,

Whilst following
The hallowed green
To where it cared to wind.

But as he wove
Through densest groves,
As thick as eager thieves,

The woodland noise
Seemed tranquilized,
And listless on the breeze.

Now round a bend,
From end to end,
And troubled recently,

A well worn track
Of foot step marks
Appeared suddenly.

He stood up straight,
And raised his gait,
And followed their direction,

Until the path
Curved to a graph
Of several intersections.

He chose the right,
To expedite,
And soon it straightened up,

Until a rise
Of smoke arose
Beyond a small hilltop.

With weighted steps,
And bated breaths,
He conquered yonder crest,

In hope again
Of fellow men,
And all their Sunday best.

And from its crown
He saw their town,
Though smaller than so-called;

He’d come across
A trading post,
With all it secret stalls.

Where goods exchanged
Themselves for gains
Of equal enterprise,

And creatures bold
Of chronicle
Imported merchandize.

So on he went
Until he sent
His sight to a dragoon,

Who bade him in
As if he’d been
Expected like the moon.

He bowed in thanks,
And entered ranks
Of every trader known,

Until the breath
Caught in his chest,
And from his father blown.

F O U R

Once lifted neat
From off his seat,
Where shock had rudely placed him,

He rubbed his eyes
In case the tide
Of facts had just effaced him.

His father sighed,
But could not hide
A look of urgency,

So quickly led
Him to a tent
Of finely crafted leaves.

And settling
He set to sing
Of honest fatherhood,

But truth was out,
And in no doubt
How false he truly stood.

So for his son,
And his patience,
He left and came back holding,

A gleaming chest
With ancient crest
Well gilded deep and golden.

Where by he flipped
Its splendid lid,
And lifted out a letter,

Then cleared his throat
To open out
Its contents for the better.

It read that he,
His father, free,
Of all encumbrance known,

Could shed himself
Of floral wealth
If bravery was shown.

And leave the trees,
And their beliefs,
Behind for evermore,

By treading fine
Across the line
Where boughs break open doors.

And into hues
Of rain swept blues,
Beneath a previous sun,

Where colours seen
Are not all green,
But every single one.

His son fell back,
As if attacked,
Or only quelled by death,

And reaching to
His sire, threw,
More questions with each breath.

Whose words were these?
Where from their seeds?
How did his father get them?

Why chase them here?
When first appeared
This desire to abet them?

And how come, he,
When spoke of leaving,
Was told to stay in bed,

Whilst all the while
His father’s guile
Was gamboling ahead.

His father blushed,
And finger hushed
His son for silent lips,

Then gestured out
Towards the crowd
Of gathered dealerships,

Who looked in awe
Of what they saw,
Within their hidden market.

As giants knelt,
And gladly dealt,
And caused a little heartache.

For recently
There seemed to be
A lot more than once ventured,

Into the woods
To bare their goods
For any so indentured.

And that was how
His father found
The letter and its message:

He’d caught the word
Of giant herds,
And secrets in their blessings.

And that was why
He bade his boy
To linger safe at home,

In case these tales
Bore worse travails
Than they had ever known.

F I V E

The giants spoke,
And laughed with folk,
Into the olive night,

Whilst father made
His son a bed
That cradled candle light.

They’d covered much,
And subjects such
As they had never shared,

Then out he’d gone
To be amongst
The gathering prepared.

He left his son
Time to dwell on
The evening’s implications,

With its parade
Of truths arrayed,
And all their revelations:

The boy’s old man
Had been coming
Out to the deep for years;

At evening fall,
At school’s recall,
At opportune all clears.

Exploring for
A myth’s reward;
A life times worth of meaning.

For one last burst
Of mystery versed
To complement the scenery.

But any wait
To compensate
The length of erstwhile debt,

Could not remove
A father’s love,
Regardless of regrets.

So to his one
And only son
He promised not to stay,

And by the rise
Of morrow’s light
They’d head home straight away.

And with these words
Administered
The boy made fast to sleep,

But once within
Its beckoning
All promise failed to keep.

For dreams again
Of burning pain,
And wastelands coruscated,

And now his bones
Were all exposed,
And flaked like bark cremated.

But more than this,
And emphasized,
Was where this soot occurred:

At first obscured,
But then assured;
His own home woodland burrs.

Where all his clan,
From man to man,
And woman, child and beast,

Burned like a stack
Of driest flax,
Until the burning ceased.

Then ashen blown
On exposed stone
Were all the forest’s clothes,

And overhead
A whittled thread
Of drifting mist composed,

That settled slight,
And clogged the light,
No longer jealous warding,

The old chartreuse
And ancient views
Of wonderment’s recording.

And like a sleet,
But warm and sweet,
And falling over brows,

The boldest sweat
About him set,
And woke him from his drowse.

He screamed, but held
The sound, and then
Shot out into the day,

Where all around
The sights and sounds
Of traders were at play.

He asked of where
His father was,
And each of them informed him:

He’d left the camp,
With giant vans,
First thing that very morning.

S I X

Our young man’s bed
Had once more made
Itself without his service,

With no concern
Of sleeps sojourn,
Or meanings in its purpose.

So seeking charts
To further parts
Of forest than before,

He set to chase
His father’s pace
Until he had him caught.

But as he packed
His camping sack
A fell hand rose to halt him,

And whilst it hurt
‘Twas not the burn
Of his past nighttime’s haunting.

It turned him round,
And pointed out
A fact he had neglected,

What if his dad
Was homeward bound,
Not wanderlust affected.

So bargaining
With everything
He’d left of worth to barter,

He sent a bird
To carry word
Back home about his father.

And news was raised
Without delay,
And sent to every tent,

And wagon trail,
And minstrel way,
And little known merchant.

And carefully
The traders eased
Him back into himself;

It would not do
For him to prove
Unworthy of their help.

For eldritch lore
Held their rapport,
With unknown souls, in place,

And knowledge keeps
Itself asleep
When being pursued by haste.

So sitting back
He let their knack
Of knowing things proceed,

As one by one
The caravans
Of creatures all agreed.

And as he ate
His breakfast late,
A circuit thronged about him;

With open arms
And every charm
Available for touting.

As goods were switched,
And often mixed,
But seldom swapped for worse,

And all who left
Smiled wide as if
They’d bargained off a curse.

And by the dim
Of evening
A grand bonfire was lit,

Where round a wad
Of people shod
Their tales of age old myth:

Of common sense
Lost in defence
Of countless contradictions,

Or traded for
The tools of war,
To keep it from affliction;

Of status won
With laughter’s boon
Before the face of fear,

And loyalties
Cemented with
The odd barrel of beer.

And on they went
Until the scent
Of sandalwood delighted,

And amber ash
Encouraged less
Of them to be excited.

So our lad stood,
As all guests should,
And told his dreaming tale,

And silence fell
As if a knell
Of death had been exhaled.

S E V E N

The crowd dispersed,
As did its mirth,
And left him in the round,

Until the slow
Diluted glow
Of embers slipped their crown.

And silence broke
As night awoke
Until, ashamed, he lay,

But fearing dreams,
And their regimes,
He let the twilight stay.
* * * *
An urgent shake
Shot him awake
Before he realized it,

But thankfully
No visions breezed
Across the dawn’s horizons.

And helped to rise
He met the eyes
Of the previous day’s seer,

Who made him feel
At once serene
Whilst equally unclear.

He gently smiled
And gliding, filed,
Them both towards a table,

Where food was laid,
And mead arrayed,
And privacy enabled.

With breakfast planned
The man began
Explaining what occurred,

And how the tale
The boy revealed
Had frozen all who heard.

As from days past
A legend lasts
Of ill received foretelling,

And that a youth
Will dream the truth
Of future for the selling.

And knowing not
The force begot
Will come to activate it,

And trade for pain,
And its terrain,
All beauty incarnated.

Our boy looked sacked,
But quickly asked
The man about his power;

The day before
When heeding all
To caution and to scour.

The man confirmed
That many learn
The art of precognition,

But not in youth,
Or sleep, for sooth,
And never with ambitions.

And older, now,
He’d lost know how
Of finer cultivations,

And guessed most things
Because the winds
Brought decent information.

The lad stood up
And drained his cup,
Then spoke of last night’s rest,

A dreamless sleep
Of instant peace
With no illusions blessed.

The old man’s shade
Turned morning jade,
Then evening fatigue,

And whispered once
A short sequence
Of words he’d long received:

“When dreams commit
Themselves to it,
then it will surly come;

When dreams emit
The opposite,
then it is nearly done.”

Then rising bowed,
And turned around,
And left the boy alone,

Who did not move
Or act to prove
Himself a chaperone.

But as he felt
His haunches melt,
And leave him to his falling,

He heard the sound
Within the town
Of messengers a calling.

E I G H T

They scuttled in
From directions
Of every known extent,

And even some
From way beyond
The edges of events.

With frothing mouths,
And fixed accounts,
Of what they had received;

Reported sights
From many heights,
Of giants in the trees.

Out seeking trade
Beyond the lanes
Of regular transactions,

With unknown gifts
And promises
Of wealth beyond attraction.

And word was caught
Of what they sought,
In turn for patronage:

A little time,
An open mind,
A station on the edge.

But no one had
Word of his dad,
As most folk set for staking,

Appearing to
Be of the view
That one less claim was vacant.

So gathering
His strength again
Our lad approached the elders,

Who’d run around
Their council mound
Discussing what to render.

For time was dear
As trade appeared
To have been set aside,

And more than this
Their exclusive
Arrangements compromised.

And feelings rose,
With vocal woes,
And tempers followed suit,

‘Til loosing sight
Of countless fights
A foreman stamped his boot:

“All listen clear,
My comrades’ dear,
And ease thy strained involvement,

There’s much to plan
And understand
If we’re to remain solvent.

Now first of all
We must recall
All members of our guild,

From every wood
And neighborhood
And lowly bowered field.

And tell them firm
What we have learned,
Of giants undercutting,

Then send them back
To every track
Of land to be rebutting.

“Then secondly
We must proceed
To find last evening’s giants,

And question them
About their aims,
Until they are compliant.

And furthermore
Get there before
Incursions are complete,

And nothing’s left
To bargain with
Beneath the giants’ feet.”

Then looking passed
The throng amassed
His gaze fell on our boy,

And beckoning
Him to the ring
Said “You’ll be our envoy.

“For was it not
Your kinsman caught
That first approach of promise,

That led him here
And made him steer
Well on beyond the forest.

And so it is
That by the rise
Of morning light you’ll follow,

Your father’s trail
Until you’ve hailed
Him in the deepest hollow.”

N I N E

A fourth night slept,
A second swept
Of undue reverie,

Then morning green
Unlike he’d seen
Beneath his childhood leaves.

A final word,
At first unheard,
Then urgently repeated,

And kitted out
With no one’s doubt
Of delicacy needed.

As angering
Their giant friends
Would benefit no party,

And all who could
Made understood
The need to be stout hearted.

So setting fair
Beyond a pair
Of limitless sequoia,

Grail seekers crept
Into the depths,
Beyond the market’s foyer.

Our lad was there,
As was the seer,
And too an earthy lass,

And in the group
Were two tall troops
Equipped with biomass.

The fuel would keep
Them in the deep
Well nourished from the dark,

As further out
The branches grout
Conspired to stifle sparks.

For though they lived
Beyond the sieves
Of ordinary dwellers,

The traders knew
Not what things grew
Deep in the forest’s cellars.

As they’d no need
To gather seeds
From underneath the awning,

As punters came
To their ballgame
Each and every morning.

Though one poor soul
Had trod this road,
And lived to speak about it;

As pure as day
Before she strayed,
But evening soiled once routed.

She told at first
How she’d traversed
A tract of well known land,

Until a hedge
Around her spread,
And started to command.

Its fertile roots
Appeared to shoot
Themselves in one direction,

And driving her
Along its curve
Therein lost day’s reflection.

With little light,
Or edge to fight
Her way out of the brush,

She strayed for days
Until a ray
Of brightness made her blush.

And so intense
Her eyes lost strength,
And forced their lids to close,

Until she found
Less hostile ground
Whose touch made sight compose.

Back home she was,
Or very close,
When trading voices found her;

Astounded by
Her clarity,
But scared of her surroundings.

Her brow was tanned
An umber brown,
And creased beyond its years,

As though it chose
To decompose
Before its time was near.

And though she swore
She’d nevermore
Reveal that cursed way,

The times were dire
So she was hired
To guide the group’s foray.

T E N

The foreman watched
The group dispatched,
Then urged his colleagues forth,

And idling
Out of the ring
Retired to his berth.

Where in his shack
He fast unpacked
Some parchment for creating,

And once complete
Turned round to greet
The giant who was waiting.

“Now it begins,
The quest for things,
By those we have deceived,

So take these notes
Charged with the quotes
Of deeds hereby decreed;

For as we planned
The realms of man
Will quickly fall away,

As ravenous
As scavengers
They‘ll flee their homes today,

And leave them free
For you and me
To occupy instead,

And take at last
The unsurpassed
Resources they will shed”.

The giant swayed
His mighty frame,
Then shook his head a while,

“But are you sure
We can procure
The end of our exile”

The foreman rose,
As if opposed,
And barked a sharp reply:

“The forest hosts
Are seeking ghosts
They think will make them wise,

Whilst my men race
Their tails to chase
What business will be left,

And the seer’s gone,
As has the son,
On their fictitious quest.

So get thee hence,
My giant friend,
With letter in thy hand,

And tell thy folk
The ash and oak
Will soon be stripped of man”

The foreman smiled
As to a child
Consoled by bed time tales,

The behemoth left
Like morning breath
In search of restive sails,

Uncertain of
Whose cloven hooves
He’d bargained with today,

And whether it
Was worth the risk
Of being led astray.

But as he fused
Into the roots
Of larger trunks than he,

The giant’s cares
Were being shared
By our young hero’s team.

Whose truth, the seer,
Knew to be near,
And tinder charged as well,

And at the back
Of the group’s track
Felt all their sorrow swell.

For he’d told the boy
He would deploy
The violence he foresaw,

But actually
It would be he,
The seer, who’d make war.

For such were times
When harbored crimes
Conspired in the woods,

And only strife,
And it’s cold knife,
Could break their brotherhood:

As giant souls
Once more resolved
To with the trees be fused,

And scale the fence
Of innocence
They’d long ago eschewed.