Poems by
Benjamin Vines DELIGHT This light is not bright, not as bright as I like it to be. Let me open the shades so I can see more of what is around me. And what of this show of the light which can be placed upon my space? Seeps into my hall of life… Where darkness prevails, we can lay in our beds like beached whales. Candle light, daylight, artificial light. Shining, spreading, providing warmth and much delight. Starlight, star bright—most of the time the blinds shut tight. Lying in my berth, embracing the dark of rest I wake up to be my best. So these words on the concern of my delight— strung along as a rope or telephone cord— are the moonlight, daylight, nightlight, starlight of my soul’s delight.
ACTING LIKE A TREE I’m standing there just looking at me. Looking in the mirror, my clothes just hanging off me as if I were some tree. The first official day of winter is arriving— Winter is on my doorstep, spring is in my heart. Christmas trees, Christmas parties, Christmas time, Christmas dinner. Music being heard over this joyous yuletide herd. A tree is a tree even when there’s no one climbing it. A tree that grows in Brooklyn is bending so slightly. Covered in snow that may turn into ice perhaps. After, we are speaking about a phone tree, the tree of life, the learning tree. Or maybe the tree of the season. So, as I leave my tree house, I remember I’m supposed to be acting like a tree.
Situations15
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