Christine K. Trease

Christine K. Trease Poems

Beside the raging river rhyme
poetry florets flower with prose.
Scripted sweet petals grow and entwine
English gardens of fragrant rose.

A long time ago when me mum’s mum was small,
when frightful ghosts haunted the Trankleville Hall,
my great, great grandmother made a name for herself
using common ingredients found on her shelf.

I see you and my palms begin to sweat.
My mouth grows drier with each breath I take.
My knees begin to quiver and I say the darndest things,
which my mouth can’t stop, and my heart begins to quake.

Don't look at me that way; don't say those things to me.
Don't make me notice you; I do not want to see.
Don't get inside my head; don't tell me that I'm smart.
I do not want the pain; you're too close to my heart.

I have seen the wind through its invisibility
Sometimes I see the wind when it shows itself to me.

Sometimes the wind is brown and gritty and forms in twists and spires

My grandpa is a special one, he lets me climb his tree.
He helped me build a birdhouse, he says he's proud of me.
His face lights up with smiles when he sees me in the drive,
he says I am the reason that he cares to stay alive!

My grandma is a special one, she's always there for me.
She kisses all my blues away, and takes me
on her knee as she cuddles me down in her
arms and sings sweet songs to me.

Apron undone
Weeping begun
Once keeping a heart was sincere
Hands clasp a face

Once upon a daydream, many years ago,
all the jungle elephants wore a short, gray nose.

It didn't seem a problem, they were all made that way.

Every night when I kneel to pray,
I ask the Lord to keep me this way.
Through tired eyes and thoughts sometimes hazy
I ask to remain just a little bit crazy.

The newly kissed cheeks of the blood red roses waft in the fragrant breeze.
Though firmly planted in brown dirt beds they sway about with ease.
They bask in the sunlit fields of warmth while safely tucked away,
They dance about and chance to guild the lilies across the way.

I've asked myself so many times, the answer's still the same,
How does a raging fire start from the smallest flame?
From a tiny seedling the tallest oak tree grows?
And from the calmest breezes, a hurricane blows and blows?

If I only had a minute,
Maybe just a day
I could talk to you and tell you
All the things I did not say

The grave of your father grew a cactus, you took it as a sign,
which you didn't know the meaning of until your heart was mine.

The cactus came year after year; you dug it out each time.

Artless autumn leaves now fallen lifeless on the ground
have reached the end of summer's journey intricately found
as a multicolored blanket, blown by fall's frail breath;
the forest's fragile overlay has now met with death.

All through our lives we'll have moments to
Moments when we triumph and moments we

My list in hand an ink pen ready
I write each name so neat and steady
Printed on the envelope
Sealed with a kiss and hope

I carved your name into a tree,
It was for you, but also me.
It wasn't planned, as it should be
derived from spontaneity.

Like a jagged cardboard puzzle piece, this misfit castaway
could not embrace his future and detested each new day.
He didn't fit the picture but he liked his bitter fate.
It tends to make me question why some people love to hate.

One foot crossed in front of the other pulling me down the tree-shadowed sidewalk.

The trip was short in distance, yet long in thought. The frames held no images, the
pedestals no sculpted masses and the tags no scribble.

Christine K. Trease Biography

I am a mother and grandmother and the children in my life are my greatest joy. My passions in life are poetry, pottery, printmaking, digital illustration, typography, and digital design. I hold my own in 2 dimensional design, 3 dimensional design & sculpture. Needless to say, I love art and I love to be an artist. I adore black and white photography and really enjoy incorporating my poetry into my black and white photography. Hand coloring pictures is a passion of mine as well. I love the older arts that seem to be getting lost. My husband is the most wonderful soul mate in the world who embraces my zaniness and tolerates my Geminian helter skelterness. Together we have a love that cannot die. What more could I ask for?)

The Best Poem Of Christine K. Trease

Beside The Raging River Rhyme

Beside the raging river rhyme
poetry florets flower with prose.
Scripted sweet petals grow and entwine
English gardens of fragrant rose.

Immortalized in pantomime,
the sonnet's nuance smell,
intertwines with ivy vines
and comely cockleshell.

Flowing water of endless words
gather and come hither.
Make known your message meaningful
before the blossoms wither.

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