5 Poems by Shari Green

By Shari Green

The Weight of Giants

There’s a little dying in every day—
the ending of moments
and eras,
closing doors, closing hearts,
fading memories and dreams—
and with each death comes mourning,
a great sorrow
or the melancholy ache that wrings out passion
drop by drop.

Some days we pluck bright joys from the air
to soften our losses, like sour-sweet apples
collected in lengthening shadows
on crisp evenings.
Other days—storm-ravished dreadful days—
the ending-closing-fading rips through us, breaking spirits
like bones.

In the forest, a two-hundred-year-old Cedar lies dead,
toppled by wind that now,
manifesting as a gentle breeze, transforms
Big-Leaf Maples into fair-skinned maidens
waving a thousand paper fans
to cool my skin.

And there beneath the prone trunk, Lady Ferns
crushed when the giant thundered to earth
peek out from beneath the weight, reaching
elegant fingers toward the sun.

There’s a little dying in every day
but there is living, too—
a carrying on that is all at once fragile
and resilient, damaged
and perfect—and I hope
when giants crash headlong into my life
I will scrabble through darkness and find resolve
to reach for light, courage
to push my broken heart back into the world
and say grow,
be strong,
you’re not finished yet.

"Autumn in the Forest" © Shari Green

“Autumn in the Forest” © Shari Green

Autumn Morning

I step outside
to a world refreshed with dew.
Silver threads newly-woven
by a master’s hand
stretch between porch rails,
and it seems if you could find
a bow delicate enough
they would make the most lovely music.
In the yard
raspberry canes
and the branches of an apple tree
bend low to offer their wealth.
There’s a chill in the air
yet the lucid blue sky gives promise
of afternoon warmth.
Birdsong whispers
all shall be well
and all shall be well

and I’m not afraid
of the coming winter.

The Smell of Hope

Hope is built from dry grass and twigs,
fed with salvaged wood,
warming hands,
brightening dark places.
When it fades, I grab,
fingers clutching,
It drifts away like smoke.

Next morning I wake with the smell of it
tangled in my hair,
woven among the threads
of my sweater.
It clings as I stroll through the market
perusing fresh breads,
testing the firmness
of plums.

Strangers lift their chins,
noses sniffing,
Their steps lighten
as they pass.
Who knew hope was contagious?
It’s carried on the breeze
from my soul to yours,
from yours
to mine.


I pitch my tent on a circle of dirt
in the forest,
string up my need and offer it
to the wind.
I can’t light a fire—
not for want of kindling or skill
but because of drought.
The forest, so deceptive in its lush wardrobe—
salal, huckleberry, fern
cushioning the earth amidst maple and fir
hiding the truth that a single spark
can fell many giants.

How near am I to going up in flame?
How desperate for rain?
These dry bones stumble through days
strapping on flesh of tasks and duties
fashioning skin from illusions
only to have it peel off and scatter
like ashes.

I’ve stopped now—
stopped trying to cover my brokenness
stopped draping my skeleton in verdant cloak.
What does it matter if others see my nakedness?
If they turn away
it is no loss to me.
But if they look on it with love
perhaps they will take better care
with matches.

I pitch my tent and string up my need
dry bones waiting
for life.

"Rainforest Soldiers" © Shari Green

“Rainforest Soldiers” © Shari Green

Rainforest Soldiers

Moss creeps across the forest floor—
swallowing up the fallen dead
and wrapping itself
around those that remain,
enveloping their barren arms
and hanging there
like so much loose skin.

But up, way up, green needles touch the sky—
crowning the battle-worn trunks
and declaring them
fully alive,
held fast by ancient roots
and standing there
like faithful sentries.

Shari-Green 400 x 265Shari Green lives on Vancouver Island, BC, in a small town sandwiched between the rainforest and the sea. Her middle grade novel in verse, “Root Beer Candy and other Miracles,” will be published by Pajama Press in Fall 2016. Visit her online at www.sharigreen.com.

Subscribe / Share

It's very calm over here, why not leave a comment?

Leave a Reply

What Is YARN?

It's a brilliant thing to have a place where you can read fresh original short stories by both seasoned YA authors and aspiring teens. YARN is a great tool box for growing up writing. - Cecil Castellucci

Imagine. Envision. Write. Revise. Submit. Read.

YARN is an award-winning literary journal that publishes outstanding original short fiction, poetry, and essays for Young Adult readers, written by the writers you know and love, as well as fresh new voices...including teens.

We also believe in feedback, which is why we encourage readers to post comments on pieces that inspire thought, emotion, laughter...or whatever.

So. What's your YARN?

Publication Archive