Trees of Grim Designs

Trees resound hollowly, secrets passed by leaf
echoing splinters through soft earth
twine-like roots entangled, entombed in the deep
woody overgrowth contrives
dimly plotting against man and bear
whispers chatter, needles and twigs with wind-like designs
bare clattering branches, bones of transmission
the brook and the birch,
the boulder and pine,
conspirators all,
allies in crime.
Preemptively seeking maligned machinations
tangling trippingly devious root, a loop for a boot
a steep crumbling trail, rutted from rain
a tumble a gasp a thump and a crack
and warm sticky fluid, life-giving solution
staining the boulder, droplets plinking the brook
but murderous trees have consciences too
the noble pine broke the fall, and it's sap sacrificed
the trees aim at ending, but save a man's life.

Seasoned Rivals

The bitter rivals sling desperate barbs of malignancy, tea grey teeth gnashed and bared in acute hostility. The rubber endcaps, vilely yellowed and brittle from age and use dreadfully slide across the brown linoleum as the two adversaries advance toward one another. From the unsettling clink of a rusted walker to the muffled rustling of depends on crisp grey slacks held up with brass clasped suspenders, the stage is set for a brutal geriatric clash in the Main Leisure Area of Hyland Nursing Home. Sporting freshly fitted and glued dentures, hugely thick and widely framed glasses, a darkly stained oak cane and fresh depends, with two tours as a marine in Korea under his considerable belt is Walter Drubner, slouched and metronomically thumping his cane. On the other side of the ring now formed by most of the cognizant residents of Hyland is Charles Brainard, the (relatively) young challenger, vigorously shaking and swinging his walker. They continue to toss insults about, one asserting the other is a "weembly commie-loving fairyboy" countered merely with a tart "drool-monkey". The name-calling is fairly ridiculous and rife with outdated words but cussing is frowned upon at Hyland and the intentions are real and are spit vindictively. No one laughs, murmurs circle and fade. A wisecracker towards the back offers bets. They stop with a few inches separating their tumid red noses, Charles's walker is now carelessly cast off to the side, and they take turns clenching fists and leaning in towards one another. Crusty nostrils flare and thin pallid lips twitch and sneer. Far off, the clatter of a dropped bedpan can be heard. Someone coughs. "Why don't you go back to your namby pamby sewing circle, Chuck", Walter growls, raising his meaty forearm, complete with green crinkely tattoos. Just then, the kindly young nurse steps in, and both wrinkled necks turn. "It's bingo time everyone--oh, and Mr. Drubner your family is here." "You lucked out this time" Walter mutters as he turns on his cane and walks towards the door. Charles picks up his walker and sticks his tongue out to Walter's turned back. "We'll see who lucked out tomorrow Drubner."
The End.