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Narrative Nature Poems | Narrative Poems About Nature

These Narrative Nature poems are examples of Narrative poems about Nature. These are the best examples of Narrative Nature poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Pride of the Motherland

Riding an elephant
Down the narrow trail looking triumphant
Scanning the golden landscape
Like Hannibal with enemies in flight
Sight from a lofty height
King of the jungle moving
With lioness by his side

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro
Guides by my side with packs on their backs
Some paths steep with rocks
Boots slipping below our tired feet
Beautiful birds in unison flight
Moving with terrestrial light
Stunning sunlight summit on the peak

Praying in an Ethiopian Church
Preserved in rocks built by humans’ hands 
Never touched by conquest plans
Protected from the invaders’ footsteps
Queen of Sheba and Solomon’s nest
Touched by Arch of the Covenant
Mary, Joseph, and Jesus once slept

Eating yam, sipping palm wine, and tasting milk
Freshly squeezed by experienced hands
Taste of life in the mosaic grassland
Sustaining and soul refreshing
Cradle of humankind adorning
Invaded for its gold, riches, and human capacity
Birth of life on earth with tenacity

Respecting its living and arduous journey
Essence of life once was and is again to come
Riding a camel across the hot Sahara sand
Once wet now dried, exported gold from Mali…
Treasures from the hearts of once African empires
That which was, is, and shall forever be
Africa the birthing Motherland
We still love and respect thee!


Seventh Place Winner
"African's Pride" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Adeleke Adeite
June 30, 2010


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New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behing,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...

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Birth, in a Quiet Room

“Well,” She asked; her eyes wide. Beads of hot sweat glistening on her brow like miniature 
crystal suns. Her angst was palpable. “What is it!”
     The air was still. There were no words. Just the sound of bodies breathing in – and 
     “Congratulations.” He held out his arms, handing the mother, her baby, “You have a son.”
     The moment shone like glass in the center of the heavens – pure and eternal.
     It was redemption from every wrong thing she’d ever done. 
     It was the shining eyes of God smiling onto her exhausted face; lighting it with hope.    
     It was the only place there was – the only time, the only space. 
     It was the only feeling that existed. 
     They were the only two incarnate souls in the room; on the planet, and in the universe.
     This was her child –
     her son.
     And she was his mother.

     (there are no words for such things. suddenly, I feel like an intruder. there are too many 
eyes, words and moments here. so it is here, I take my leave; leaving this mother and the 
only soul in her universe to their perfect moment. they will have many more moments in this 
lifetime; but none as sacred, as human, or as eternal as the first look from life to life; 
mother to child; heaven to earth, as the very first. None.)
“It’s a boy.” she whispered. Her throat a crumbling tunnel; stunned, but not really. Like 
she’d known it all along. “My baby boy…” She smiled into his ancient, brand-new face; 
tracing his delicate cheek with the back of her finger. “He’s perfect.” 
     She ran her palm along the bottom of his soft, miraculous foot, and laughed. “Look at 
your feet – they’re huge!”
     And as she wiped the tears with the heel of her shaking hand – smearing what was left of 
her mascara - she looked in to his, as close to heaven as one can get, eyes, and said, “Hi.
I’m your mama.” He smiled at her. He knew. He’d known it all along. “And I’ll love you 
     The world closed its shades then. Leaving the sacred to its history; the moment to 
eternity; and their universe to its quiet, little room.

*Inspired by Deborah's, You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby, contest; and every mother 
who has graced this sacred room.

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King and Queen for a Day

We bound down the stairs, out into the light-of-day, and into the blue of the
misty breezes, heavily laden with the smell of wild sea salt roses that grow in 
perfusion along the winding road, that bends and turns in gentle lifts and dips to 
the other side of the bay, where it crosses the bridge and rises up and winds 
away, over the hill.

Overhead the seagulls screech and glide over the ocean spray that washes on 
the rocks on the lower banks behind our house along the Fundy Bay, where we 
run like the wind through the fields of fresh cut hay and make our  way to the 
rocky mantle below .

There in the volcanic plateau, worn smooth as glass by the constant rolling 
weight of the ocean, is our pool, known by all in our village, as ‘Lizza’s Bathtub’, 
created by the eruption of the earth’s inner core, millennia’s ago.  

We slip into the still, salty water that has been warmed beneath the blazing sun, 
and float with the perry winkles and tiny crabs and  listen to the sound of the 
ocean, that roars beneath us as it leaves in the receding tide, while we drift 
away, in our minds, my little brother the ‘King’ and I, the ‘Queen’ for a day on 
the ‘Fundy Bay’.

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Here, the Leaves Engulfed themselves 
in Glorious Golden Symphonies 

Here, the Trickling and Tepid waters
Silked over Smooth Stones

Here, is where we Lay for Hours,
Together under oaks shadow

Here, you enjoyed brief Slumber as
I Ran my fingers through your Hair.

and it is

here, I keep you Sacred, as I lie 
Alone within the Shade.

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A World on Fire

We live today in a world of great tumult
And of rising uncertainty and anxiety 
Which pervade the world stage like a cancer

Despite soaring technological advances
Our environment and our home Earth
Are bearing an unimaginable burden

People are wondering what must be done
To right these wrongs and adjust our course
Before we turn the corner to “No Return”

Tyranny, Poverty, Disease, and War 
Are still with us today since the beginning
Of time and are mankind’s greatest shame

God may be with us intellectually
But mankind must be self-reliant
To survive an inattentive, distant deity

People see answers to these enigmas
Sounds are made, echoes are heard
But nothing comes back in response

Frustration reigns supreme for many 
Fear and anxiety multiple all concerns
There can never be easy answers


Tyranny still reigns alive in many countries
As the actions of tin-eared dictators abound
And are on ample display for all to see 

Poverty is still a shameful, terrible curse
Which afflicts the most unfortunate
And is paid lip service by the wealthy

Disease is a scourge still in our world
And still felt by those most in need
And never enough is done to change this

War is the ultimate insult to mankind
And its wide-felt swath and affliction
Plagues yet our modern, enlightened world 

What to make of all these challenges
Is not easy for any of us to digest
And let alone understand why

Yet understand, comprehend we must
If we want a better world for all to live in
A Sisyphean task at its very best

Man still holds the key to make change
Positive and real for our troubled Earth
But can it ever be really so in the end

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
Schoeningen, Germany (October 16, 2014) 
(Tercet unrhymed poetic format)

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A Walk on the Beach

Morning breaks in cheerful warm brilliance,
pale sapphire sky pristine.
Grey-white gulls glide vociferously above
in search of firma bound fare.
Reflections of Sol’s arms vault from the sea,
smooth but for zephyr stroked folds;
pure, sugar white sand kissed softly
by persistent waves subtle roll.
Soft ghosts of tepid breeze course random,
sensually caressing what be;
long thin-bladed grasses sway lightly
in synchrony and shameless delight.

With bonnet in hand an aged woman strolls 
beside the vast Gulf of blue; 
damp, firm sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.
Her large eyes of brown focus ahead,
bear no witness to her days and shine;
fine flowing hair of luminous white 
draped over shoulders so slight.
A pause, though brief, in quiet reflection,
her gaze upon the distant view
and mind in stoic reminiscence
of past friends and loves and wonder.

His strong arms hold her close tightly,
warmth of body and soul unite,
while gaiety in unbound laughter
disclose love once again renewed.
A tender brush of hand upon cheek
raises fiery passion in both,
as excited young eyes meet in ardor
essence link in eternal embrace.
One warm briny tear born of these thoughts
streams slowly down her cheek,
she slowly walks on as sand squeaks soothingly
against the soles of her tired bare feet.

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My feet are cold; my tiredness lingers;
My back aches from stooping so low.
Dampened by the frigid water below,
I breathed warmth into my numbing fingers.
Again, I dipped my shovel into the coarse gravel
Of the stream dredging up with a gurgle
A mixture of pebbles and sand;
Into a bucket I poured it, firsthand.
In this wilderness I'm not alone, there's bear.
Mindful I am of the sounds around me;
A churning stream, rustling leaves, an elk groan,
Snapping twigs, anything that would put a scare
Or raise my hair. I looked around for a tree,
Somewhere to flee before darkness set in.
Not far from here, I spied a log cabin.
Into this stronghold I placed my supplies;
Nature's calm was just a disguise.
I latched its massive door; and bolted each shutter.
In its stone hearth, I started a fire;
Basking in its warmth worries melted like butter.
Outside, darkness enveloped the cabin;
Strong claws raked its walls peeling away its skin;
Relentless growling resonated through the dusty din.
Suddenly, I awoke huddled next to a glowing flashlight.
Shivering against the muddy walls of a beaver's lodge, 
I could hear the bear feverishly ripping 
Through the muddy grass, and the disjointed timbers 
Above me. Deep beneath the surface darkness arrived
Just, as my flashlight flickered, then died.

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Midnight Blue

My blue eyes welcomed the first day of a new year
As the sun rose into a sapphire sky
That graduated from Cambridge in the east
To Oxford in the west
With every cerulean hue in between

The winter light accented the glaucous leaves of the olive grove
Against the nudity of the forest beyond
And I was struck by the gamut of my favourite colour

Closing my eyes, I smiled as the projectionist hurled memories
Onto the backs of my eyelids…

Blue Norwegian glaciers
Gentians in an Alpine meadow
Irises in Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny
A bunch of forget-me-nots for a childhood sweetheart

The ultramarine of the ink with which I write
And the lapis lazuli in the cloisonné that adorns it

Swards of Meconopsis in the Himalaya
Carpets of bluebells in England’s ancient woodland
The Virgin Mary’s dress in a stained glass window
Stars set into an indigo backcloth

Images of the sea…
Caribbean blue
Mediterranean blue
Adriatic blue
And the sea off the glorious west coast of Ireland

I open my eyes again to drink my tea
From a cobalt glazed mug
While wistfully acknowledging the haze of blue smoke
From the village hearths
That hangs in the cool calm air of the valley below

I am greeted by more shades of blue
As I login to post my words

It has always been my favourite colour
Except for the midnight blue that wells within my heart
When you and I are apart

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Summer Scent

Summer scent is the smell of freedom
where we can escape the flavor of boredom
so we plan to have our vacation on the beach
where we can relax and fresh air is within our reach

The warm wind tenderly embraced my spirit
I felt excited on this first visit
on an island where refugees can find paradise
an island where spending time is wise

The dulcet breeze gently kisses lush green trees
and the mirthful sun smiles over the vast seas 
Where surfers play with gigantic waves
and are not certain on what road it paves

The fluffy clouds are smoothly sailing 
the birds are singing and harmoniously dancing
There are butterflies that are colorful in hue
like enchanted fairies changing colors from pink to blue

I need my sun block, it's time for swimming
the tables are full because later we're all eating
Ladies are smiling to many cool surfer dudes
Children are hungry seeing delicious exotic foods

I picked a shell that whispered peacefully in my ears
and we built castles that we fancied over the years
out of the small grains of white sands
and all you need is helping hands

God was really great in creating splendid wonders
that were loved by all especially the nature lovers
There are numerous oceans that are aquamarine
and abundant trees and grasses that are green

The brother sun was slowly hiding
because the sister moon was coming
I guess it was our time to pack
but there will come a time for us to go back

Go back to a place of leisure and freedom
where you'll not taste the flavor of boredom
It would be hard for us to say goodbye
because truly we will come back and say Hi!

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A Long Cold-Chill

I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.

From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.

Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.

Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.

He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.

For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.

Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.

Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.

Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.

With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.

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On Comes The Night

Sunset like a cotton candy world full of color
fills the sky with mock representations 
of the earth below.
Hills, valleys, rivers and fields in panoramic view
float above my head.
Clouds disapate and colors deepen  
as the temptress of sunset takes flight
her time now spent.
Twilight whispers and seduces 
as she brings on the blanket of night
with bed warm promises
till sunrise arrives with it's golden light.

Kash wrote a Thau-bauk called Twilight Her Name and through this poem he was my muse for this poem.

This is now part of a series of poems including   Sunset Reverie, An Evening by The Lake,
Days End, A Night of Dreams and Tiny White Canoe

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Horizon after Horizon

I welcome change
For I realize this life as a journey
Travelling insinuates progress
Progress means change
...of scenery, of events, of climate

Everyday I search
Treading one small step in front of yet another step
Travelling in a world of discovery and understanding
Today I see in me more than I did yesterday

The more I forge forward
The more I am enlightened
Hence the more I improve

I change and upgrade my goals out of newer acumen
I discard my old values like worn out tyres
Thankful to them for having brought me this far
For the journey to continue
I must swiftly replace the worn tyres of old values
With the newly retreaded ones
...of newer, higher, and better values

Yesterday, this day was only an imagination
Today it is a reality,
But since I have attained it, shall I stop travelling?
Nay, that is against Nature’s Law

This horizon has enabled me to perceive
... a far more beautiful end which I couldn’t yesterday perceive
Nor could I ever have perceived it any way had I not travelled this far
To it I feel drawn
To it I feel summoned with urgency
To it I must let my destiny flow
To it I must ensure my efforts guide me
For in it must be the clue for my next thrill

Such is the nature of travel
Such is the nature of humans
And I am only human

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Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    

Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...

After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "

Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  

My theme is: Happiness In Childhood

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I found myself shedding a tear at a train seat upon seeing the sights leaving the Wellington city train port to Woburn.
I don't mind being called a sentimental freak, if I could just have any describe more than I can the beauty that leaves 
one more than enamored, bewildered and perplexed. How is it possible for nature to marry humanity and vice versa? 
How does it happen when the city buildings lay backdrop to the turquoise waters of the pacific ocean and vice versa? 
How does its waves recognize no rules to follow on where it comes and goes or the wind for that matter? How does the 
birds play so freely as if happily almost touching the great body of water, back to air, then back again to the base 
surface of the waters? How does the water vessels cruise peacefully with some other ships finding their places like 
home amidst the many other small boats around? How does the sun give off its summer heat amidst the windy air? 
How did I end up being in that rugged train witnessing all the massive spectacle of beauty in a country a million miles 
away from my homeland? Tell me why I should help myself to a silent tear.

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Autumn Evening

Tonight I found friends
Not in human form but;
In the land, sky and nature.
I strolled along a country road,
Taking in what the 
Good Lord bestowed.
The sunshine, green grass,
Birds of the air.
One could almost hear
Our Father's voice in the
Gentle breezes.
A deer ambled 
Out on the road,
Not noticing I was there.
Thoughts of Him that put
Us both there.
The locust sang their
Songs in the trees.
The glorious afterglow
Of the evening, as the
Sun bids a farewell 
Good Night.
Oh, thank you Lord 
For friends like these.

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The Willows

Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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Indigo Haze

Alone on a crisp seashore

Bellowing storm clouds engage 

Rolling above me as I walk the beach

A pleasantry lifting my rage


Bending my head back looking up

My arms stretched out to their sides

Cool rain drops lightly kiss me

Sensuous tempestuous skies


Taking in a deep breath

I let my repression fade 

Peace penetrates my Heartmind 

Removing the storm's I've made 


Slowly with each rhythmic beat

From these tiny three foot waves...

My anger vanished with the storm

Into a gothic indigo haze~


Copyright 2008

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Jasmines are flowers of paradise...
an absolute work of God...
sense of the splendid inheritance...
omniscience of God to his servants...
nutrient for the pure of heart.

Nobody can be absolutely...
album, which sets no time...
The love for resemblance does warm the soul...
harmonic songs echo in the life of love audible noise...
actors are like living shadows...
nugget, voice and feelings of those who want to hear...
igneous flame that all travel...
exercise for the imagination of those who observe...
living is not for everyone - only the strong survive.

Birthdays are acts that comprise only a single contemplation...
equivalent to the jasmine garden of the Lord...
host for the coming...
real, for those who know how to love.

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An Autobiography of a Banyan Tree

I am a Banyan tree,
More than hundred years old,
Near a beautiful lake I stand,
In the heart of Mother Nature.

During my life span I have seen,
Days both good and bad,
I have experienced the strong forces of nature,
Surviving them courageously.

I have grown tall and strong,
By drawing nutrients from the guardian soil,
Soaking in the moist rainwater,
Bathing in the holy sunlight.

I have made some good friends who have,
Explored my heart,
Cheered up my soul,
And brightened my days.

One of my good pals is the lake,
Who has added meaning to my life,
A kinship has developed between us,
From him I have learnt the value of stillness.

I remember you well the nightingale.
You lived in a hole made in my trunk,
Many a time you have sung your melodious lyrics to me,
Providing relief to my aching heart.

I love breezy nights the most,
With the moon shining brightly in the sky,
The divided clouds passing by the moon,
And every instrument of nature showing an aura of magic!

My branches begin to dance,
My spirit awakens,
My soul becomes alive,
On hearing the hymning influences of the wind.

The Earth is a heavenly place,
The Nature is its heart,
With its mystic charms and wonders,
Has shown me a world next to impossible!

Oh god! Thanks for granting me a blessed life,
This life I have enjoyed to the fullest,
I hope I have satisfied you,
By playing my role in this universe sincerely. :)

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An Autobiography of a Parrot

Draped in blooming green,
Colored with a rosy beak,
Blessed with wings free as air,
With crazy dreams of naughty playfulness,
A carefree young parrot I am,
Taking refuge in prospering wilderness.
The forest is my abode,
Never failing to amaze me with its overflowing abundance,
Where rich tress grow in ample,
Gifted with content flowers and melodious fruits
And where birds and animals turn on the mysterious charm,
Letting creative forces smile gently.
The sky is my best friend,
Who embraces me with tenderness.
Our souls have merged into one,
She treats me as her child,
I have slowly grown familiar with her,
Experiencing ecstatic aliveness in her presence.
Woven with the shine of the caring sun,
Along with my fellow parrots
I soar high in the sky,
Taking the form of a military group
We encircle the horizon
With deep sincerity.
I frequently visit vineyards,
Where vines are laden with overgrown grapes and strawberries.
They kiss the earth in gratitude,
Rejoicing at her homely delight.
I feast on these juicy fruits
Like a new born prince.
At Night time  I stay still in my nest
And keep staring at the bright stars.
At that moment I am reminded of something,
Dreams of naughty playfulness come running to me
And start mingling with me making me jump out of sheer joy.
Yes I do feel like a carefree young parrot then.
With each passing day I am born again,
Providing me the strength to become more carefree.
Freedom is welcoming me with grace,
Encouraging me to be loving,
Helping me to be myself
And I have decided to dance through the tune of life.

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New Paths

A new path is what we seek.
The surroundings are taking a peek,
Going through, very meek,
Seeing no bleaks,
Getting piqued,
While hearing creaks,
In the new paths that we seek...

The new path is what is found,
Going through forests bound,
Going through the path inbound,
With soothing and raging water sounds.
Walking confound,
Silence profounded,
Sight astounded,
Passed through burial grounds...

Seeking for another way around,
Noises resound,
Spirits surround,
The paths newfounded,
Our instincts compounded,
Followed by the hounds,
Echoes in ultrasounds,
Passed through mysterious breeding grounds...

Going to stamping grounds,
Trying to get off this ground,
With those burial mounds,
Death moving the wheels around,
Silhouettes running aground,
Trying to leave safe and sound,
Passing through some hunting grounds...

Seeking for common grounds,
The mistaken path redounded,
Regretful screams abound.
Plans propounded,
Though some are fouled,
Throughout the paths that were found...

However, most are lost and wounded,
Most tended to walk out,
Some minds and hearts full of doubts.
Hearing salvation shouts,
From all these new paths walked and found...

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He was coming.
He was coming fast.
He was coming to pay us a visit
A brooding, lethal monster 30 miles out.
He was coming straight at us
and nothing or no one could stop him

Our house was on the back bay of Biloxi,
a short distance from the beach
so we fled twenty miles inland
to a friend’s brick house in the woods

I was afraid, yet fascinated and spellbound.
I had been through only minor hurricanes before
so I couldn’t help but go out and watch
as he decided where to attack.

The first gusts were like a late summer breeze,
calm, stronger, calm, stronger, stronger
but the trees seemed familiar with that
bending, swaying and springing back upright

As the gusts blew in more powerful and threatening
they seemed a little unsettled and alarmed.
Their leaves were getting stripped and scattered
By five o’clock they were fighting for their lives

The older, stiffer trees were crackling and snapping
while the younger, more limber and flexible ones
were bending violently almost to the ground with each blow
then not back upright as before because the reflex action
and momentum sent them halfway back the other direction.

By nightfall there were no more gusts.
He came chugging in howling and screaming,
roaring and raging and shaking our foundations
His winds were clocked at 135-140 MPH.
I timidly (and foolishly) slipped back out. 
I could not have heard myself scream...

For the rest of the night we huddled together
in the kitchen with candles and a transistor radio.
Next morning it took all day to cut our way back home
Roads clogged with timber; the whole forest broken and uprooted

We came upon what at first looked like a new-cut firebreak,
a swath maybe fifty yards wide and five hundred yards long
We stood there kind of gawking at each other then realized
it was where one of his mighty spawns had touched down…

The power was out for two weeks
There was a dip in the road where a stream flooded
This is where we took our baths
The whole neighborhood met there
armed with bar soap, washrags and towels
Actually, it was quite pleasant and enjoyable
sitting contentedly, letting the cool water
flow over us while we gossiped with our neighbors

Pascagoula, MS and the Alabama coast 
bore the brunt of Hurricane Fredrick
One of the giant cranes at Ingalls Shipbuilders
toppled over and crashed in the water 

Biloxi was in the western quadrant and got only wind and rain
Later I heard some life-long residents say
this was a minor nuisance compared to ten years earlier
when Camille made landfall…

*Hurricane Fredrick - September 12, 1979

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A Burger And A Fry

What was better than pumpkin
pie stuffed in my eye? Nothing
more than a burger and a fry..
That's why I wonder why? 
If pancakes are great at 
breakfest time? A sandwich
is great at lunchtime? 
A spaghetti a great meal at 
dinner time? But what was 
better than just old fashion
ham on rye? Nothing more
than a burger and a fry..

Lunchtime Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2010,2014..All rights reserved.

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Magic Beans

Some pretty brown birds nesting on a tree
Prank frequently at my other room balcony
Apparently, they were once the main culprits
Of messing it up, bringing a variety of leaves and twigs

They also build thin nests behind my air conditioner
When an egg drops, they may reckon I’m aborting their daughter
One day, I wondered what had sprouted on the floor
At a grimy nook, not quite far from my door

When I looked closely, I was so skeptical
It was a great masterpiece of these clever winged pals
I was so certain that it was not a moss or a grass
But a vine bearing flowers with pretty purple petals

After a week, it revealed exuberantly itself
A lush vine of string beans, I didn’t sow by myself
Was it dropped by those birds or sowed by an invisible elf?
Oh, if it has grown taller than my room, I must have cried for help!

As it crawled and climbed up to the balcony wall
In fascination, I deigned not to ask questions anymore
It climbed up freely to a wall’s faucet as its sturdy trellis
And feasts proudly, spreading its huge and verdant leaves

In tandem was the bearing of its long string bean fruits
Heavily laden, their numbers had no hints – that was a bird’s hoot
I harvested thrice while my smiles were all in glints
And had a delicious vegie salad twice from my lovely magic bean

My last harvest was meant for the next crops
I took all beans from the fruits just for drying up
The brilliant brown birds will no longer need to drop
New seedlings from their magic beans are now growing in pots

I thanked those kind creatures for the magic beans they’ve given
Growing them in my concrete room balcony was like a dream
It wasn’t a fairytale at all,  I’ve already given myself a pinch
And my balcony even magically turned into a  mini vegie garden

Jan.  31,2015 11.15pm
By: LG
-This is a true story: an experience last July, 2014 

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In The Meadow

Out hiking one day I happened  upon a little meadow.
The sun was on its downward path and its light
shown gently . A quiet stream came from 
the northern hills and wound a ribbon through
the  grass. Blackbirds called from the reeds 
along its shore, and the shy brown eyes of a
doe watched me from a little pool where she
had come to drink. A wild rose bush trailed its
vine across a fallen log, and the buzz of bees
came to me ,as lovely as a symphony. I could 
only stand and drink in the scene before me,
 fearing I might intrude on natures wonder.
It came to me that when the trivia and angst 
of daily living become a burden, remembering
 moments like this might lighten the load and
give perspective to the lives we lead.

This little meadow is in the Lassen National
Park in northern California. It is one of the
 most beautiful places I have ever seen. A bit 
of a hike, but worth every step.

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A Mother's Cry

"Tap! Tap!" the drop
of Her tears.
Pouring on the
ground from the
clouds of fear.

'Roar! Roar!" Her
thunderous shout.
From the pain She
felt, She cried out.

"Woosh! Woosh!" She
breathed fast.
"Why my love?" She

How poor Mother
Earth was.
Tortured by her
children, She sent
Haiyan to us.

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The Fisherman

Never once have I been enclosed in exhaustion
Until now - like a black woolen blanket, drenched.
I've looked and crawled and even found unceasingly 
Before screaming from the riverbank: "This Is What It's For."
But now I can hardly whisper,
Sensing, maybe, a changing tide that sends the fish away
Or remembering past moons that moved them to more fertile feasts.

Yes - both it must be.
For now the water's meandering isn't hopeful wanderlust;
It only serves to annoy me.
And is it me or has its flow slowed?
Although now more than ever I note its swiftness
In comparison with the glassy new-born lake
Or the black curmudgeonly seas.

The gulls still call but no longer in triumph.
It seems it's morphed into a dirge
Though their wings still hang a crisp angel white in the sky.
Gliding, though again more slowly,
Before snatching a fish with ease;
Now it's mockery in their squawking. 

Continuing along,
Trudging through muddy waters,
I feel more akin to washed up wood
And the log floating on
Than to the swift fishermen
Across the river.
I sit and listen to their songs
Carried by the soft wind,
Encompassing the gull and my own fragile breath 
(A song of a son lost at sea and I can't find where to put my hands).
I taste their hope in the sand and the sun
And it oozes from my eyes.

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What do You Hear

I took my students outside
Told them to be still
They looked at me in wonder
Outside of the classroom
What was teacher up to this time?
I whispered….
“What do you hear?”
The booming of the cicadas
In the pine trees on campus
Drowned everything else out
They smiled….

“Write….write about the sounds you hear
Nature has a voice
What does it tell you?
How does it make you feel?”

Today, as I lie on my living room couch
Laptop on belly
In my own world of words
I look out the window
To a over towering pine tree
My little Africa, I’ve called it
The branches curve like the western side
Of that continent
The tree is ALIVE
Little cicadas….irrespective of size
Boom a symphony
Dying to be heard
The rhythm of summer
 Maddening chorus
Made by body vibrations
Part of the mystical magic 
Of the pine scented trees that
Surround my home

I too need to be heard
For some…the sound will be monotonous
For others…a pulsating melody of a body, a mind set in motion
By dreams, desires, wants, hopes, expectations

A short life span has the cicada….
I, too, am here today, gone tomorrow
But I will not be silent
You may like the “music” I make
Think it heavenly
Enough to make you dream sweet dreams
You may find it aggravating
Vulgar and loud
Whatever the case may be
That’s me….
Singing in the tree of life
Singing because I know
I too will have to go
But you cannot silence my voice
I sing for me…
I sing for you…
I sing for anyone willing to hear
The vibrations of my soul
I sing because....
I'm dying to be heard
I sing because
Simply because....

Eileen Manassian Ghali

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She was out there in the dark
A brooding, angry monster
She attacked, screaming in fury
Wind gauges flattened and futile
She came to purge, to cleanse...

*Wind speed estimated at 230 MPH 
Sumitted for: Black Eyed Susan's contest

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The Owl

Hey there Owl sitting up in that tree,
What are you doing looking down at me?
So with a quick little wink and a short little sigh,
that old Owl just replied,
Well I don't see any mice or rabbits or bears ,
no Eagles or Hawks or Robins, any where.
No Deer or Elk or even a Moose,
So then; yes Mr. Owl I was speaking to you.
That old owl just turned his head,
looked the other way and calmly said;
So with a bit of disgust I started again,
naming off animals, and  even some kin,
I don't see an Elephant or a Zebra or even a  laughing Hyena,
I don't see my brother or sister or even Aunt Myrtle,
Why I don't even see a slow crawling Turtle.
That old Owl turned his head about and looked straight at me,
and with a bit of chagrin in his eye which I could see, said;
I could see I was getting no where fast,
and this questioning I was doing was not going to last.
So I decided I would end it and just walk away.
I was wasting my time trying to get him to say;
anything but,  
So I turned and started to walk away,
when I heard these words, in a wise old way.
"I am the wisest of all the birds, because I listen to all I've heard.
I don't interrupt and I wait my turn, 
these things are what make me the wisest bird." 
I turned back to him and with a wink and grin,
I simply said;

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The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, 
but I have promises to keep, 
and miles to go before I sleep” (Robert Frost).

The woods know my secrets
For I open my heart
In this enclosed sanctuary of God
As folded branches draw my eyes
Upward, ever upward
Towards the emerald ceiling
With a skylight
From which streams
The light of heaven
Pure and sweet
On my face

The trees are my counselors
Sacred dispensers
Of the mysteries of God
Sentinels tall and majestic
Guarding my hushed sacred hours
Of contemplation and renewal
The would be silence
Sweetly disturbed 
By the sounds of His creatures 
Filling God’s outdoor sanctuary
With a heavenly hymn of praise

Each trail leads me deeper and deeper
For my heart longs to be
In the Holy of Holies
In the very presence of the Creator
On holy ground
Yes, Yes!
He is here
His presence
Envelopes me

After my communion
The closing benediction of sunlight
Guides me home
The thinning trees whisper 
“Forget us not” stories to me
As I pass them by
Stories of long ago pilgrims
From another time
Yet one with me
The same
Pilgrims in search of sanctuary
A place of solace
A place of tenderness
A place of discovery
Where they come to learn
The miles left to go
Till journey’s end
When they must lie down
In well deserved sleep
Safe under the shadows
Of God’s mighty trees
Resting, resting
Blissful sleep
In the Sanctuary
In HIS sanctuary
In the woods…..

For Caleb’s Smith’s In the Woods Contest
September 10, 2013

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The Bad King

Ana Cecilia Callejas 

Rodrigo Perez Gavilan

The Bad King 

“Lexer” was a lion who was the King of the entire animal kingdom, during his reign all the animals lived in complete harmony, they were all happy and graceful, and Lexer takes care of them and protects them. One day “Lexer” and his wife had an adorable baby lion that was named “Dylan” as he grew up Lexer teached him a lot of things since he was going to be the heir of the animal kingdom. Dylan also made a lot of friends but his best friend was Jim. Dylan and Jim spend almost all the days together, as the time passed Jim started to hang out with the Rhinos, which were the bad ones of the kingdom. Jim turned into a bad lion and started to incite Dylan to make bad things and he became also a bad lion. One day lexer got very sick and a few days later he passed away so Dylan became the king. All the animals were very sad because they loved Lexer he has been so far the best ruler of the animal kingdom. Time passed and Dylan forgot all the good things his father taught him and started to become a bad lion and a bad king. Influenced by Jim and the Rhinos that were friends with Jim Dylan started to do bad things. He put animals to fight between each other just for their amusement and had some of the animals as slaves just to be his servants, he also ordered other animals to kill so he can eat and have feasts, and this caused a lot of panic in the entire animal kingdom. Dylan mother tried to make him reconsider and change, to do all the good things his father taught him for him to be a good king but Dylan just became worse. All this caused that the animals lost his confidence towards the king and started to live just with the ones of their own kind and also began to fight with all the other animals to survive. This caused that the world became a bad place and since that moment the harmony did not existed anymore and the animals had to take care on their own.
Moral of the fable: if you are a good person and you have good values don’t let anyone to influence you and change the way you are.

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For the Love of: Love Bugs

Even though you don't have a lick of sense
in that tiny black-and-red head of yours,
I am forced to admit that I envy you
spending ninety percent of your life
flying around hooked up that way but heck,
life is short and we all gotta die anyway and
wow, what a way to go...Just wondering - 
Do you folks have multiple orgasms?
Do you have monogamous relationships
or do you fool around with other bugs?
And when do you ladies ever find the time
to lay eggs and just who is flying who?
Which one flies backwards and if you're the pilot,
how the heck do you see where you're going
and don't you ever simply get flat exhausted?
Or maybe when one of you gets tired
it's like "Hey hon, you mind taking over?
I'm just gonna try and grab a quick nap...
You okay? You sure?..."No I'm fine, really"

Well I say shame-shame!...Flying around 
impaired like that and I would STRONGLY advise
against flying while having sexual relations...
Geez!...No wonder you end up
splattered all over my windshield...

Well, I-um...DID have sex once during flight
but she DAMN sure wasn't the pilot...
or even the CO-pilot...Oh-no-she-was-NOT
I mean, maybe a co-PARTNER but not...
Ohh...just forget it you little maggot!
You're really starting to bug me

***For those readers who live elsewhere and have not had the pleasure...Love bugs are a common pest in the South in May and early September, particularly along the Gulf Coast. They swarm in pairs with abdomens hooked back-to back, clogging up radiators causing over-heating and can ruin paint finishes if not washed off immediatley. It is rumored they are a botched genetic experiment...bred to eventually become all females to mate with male mosquitoes thus making them sterile. Unfortunately, someone accidentally let a boy-bug meet a girl-bug and the two young lovers made their escape to freedom...  

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The eagle launches flight and beyond the mountain
trout runs along the river and across the ocean
both to return to their nests.
The eagle is hunting
while the trout a dreamer
The perception of such different worlds makes life renew.

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I hooked a JEWFISH back in 67 near
Key Largo in a creek of the same name
stripping my gear she yawned and swam away
at 50 lbs she was a monster I wanted to tame

2011 I hooked him yes him again
she’s a he they change sex unknown to me
in 50 years he gained 450 lbs my
massive tackle yanked him up for a look see

I cut the leader as he broke the surface
illegal to boat him between you and me
an endangered specie since we first met but
something else transpired in his family tree

JEWFISH no longer correct since
GOLIATH GROUPER gained political sway
opening that cavernous mouth again
flicking his fins he lumbered away

only in the Keys could a creature age 50 yrs
gain 450 lbs change sex and given name 
long after becoming an endangered specie
he’s still relevant and evidently in the game 

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The Night is Upon Us

Darkness is upon us, let it creep upon you like the ghost of the stale blue night.
Let it find you in your most time of need, but let It not destroy you in its fight.
Because night is upon us, and it waits  to find you like its prey.
Just may it be where your cold bones lay in the pits of despair.
Let it be where your last breath is taken in its cold lips of air.

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The Murder of Willow

A gentle breeze fluttered the curtain I hid behind, as I strained to hear above the 
pounding of the heart that was trying to break out of my chest, and above the 
roaring behind the eardrums that were channeling to me, the conversation taking 
place between my husband and Mr. Burly, who were standing out on the upper deck 
of the backyard.

“WE HAVE TO TAKE HER DOWN,” Mr. Burly commanded. 

“Is there no other way,” my husband asked? 

“No” Mr. Burly replied.  “You and I both know, she has gone too far… getting tangled 
up in all that underground activity.  It will only bring you BIG TROUBLE if you don’t 
stop her RIGHT NOW."

Many times over the years, I had fought for her life and won, but I knew there would 
be no changing their mind this time.

So…I locked myself in the bathroom while they murdered her.  There… on the lid 
of the porcelain throne, with my head hanging over the sink, I sat, watching a 
stream of tears slide down the drain as the sound of the chainsaw outside, shattered 
my mind. 

No one will ever know how much I loved her…no one but me and the drain.


It was days before I had the mental and physical strength to bring myself to the 
place where they had thrown her torso and severed limbs in the ravine among the 
discarded clumps of kitty litter, waterlogged cardboard boxes, weeds and wild 
flowers that grew there, in abundance.  


I remembered the first time I had ever seen her…a tiny sapling born from a seed 
that had flown on the wind and landed in the lower level of the backyard and taken 
root. Not knowing who or what she would be, I left her there thinking she would never 
survive the winter…but she did.  

“Too close to the house and the septic system,” the arborous said. “She’s a Willow, 
and her roots will cause you nothing but trouble, mark my words.”  But now she had 
leaves…and they were so beautiful. 

For twelve years, I fought to save her life as she grew and grew until she reached 
the upper deck, her beautiful branches and tri-colored leaves reaching over the 
railing…touching me as her long supple limbs swayed and moved to the will of the 
wind as she danced to the tune of the wind chimes as humming birds came and went.

Sentenced to death for growing to close, my beautiful Willow was brought down in 
the prime of her life.

Then, I had turned around, and looked at the barren place where she once stood, 
and heard the words someone once said to me, ‘NOTHING REMAINS THE SAME 
FOREVER’, but those words brought me no comfort.

The only solace I could find in that moment, as I stood above the quickly decaying 
remnants of that once beautiful creature was: knowing that my willow would never 
weep again.

Written:  August 26, 2014
Author:  Elaine George

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No Dreams Tonight

Can't sleep, deep in thoughts,
keeping beat with the clock.
Looking threw mini blinds.
Olive tree branches, draping
down; I'm envyous, they seem
relaxed. I see the moon between
the leaves. No barking dogs,
just stillness. Quiet moments,
calming down. Keeping thoughts,
down to a roar;--- good night all.

03/11/14   written by,  Larry Berdoo
                         WRITE ON!

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Mother Nature

At dawn the flame shines
the dew drops from the leaves
dampening the floor
the seeds sprout
under the sun that shines
makes the sea charm with its waves
Where are the birds?
song for a happy day
Where are the flowers?
joy to the eyes
soon comes the night
delirium for lovers
Wolf Howl to acclaim
the formation of dew
to a new day

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Fire And Rain

                             Fire And Rain
Fire and rain - two things we require in our society. 
We need fire to keep us warm and power industrial
Furnaces, for generating electricity and manufacturing
Various goods, and we need rain for our existance on
This planet of ours - an important commodity, that we
Are slowly running out of, but there are dark forces with
These same two friends of ours: during the summer months
Fires break out in bush areas threatening homes, people,
As well as animals.  Yes, this good friend of ours turns against
Us and threatens our lives and everything we have. Water
Is then required to fight the fire, which causes our dams to 
Deplete.  There is also another enemy, man himself, creating
These very same fires, a lit match dropped or cigarette butt
Or even worse than that, children or arsonists lighting fires.
Yes fire becomes a fierce enemy to man, but our other friend
Comes to our rescue and eventually saves the day.  The story
Is not over because the hot weather creates large rain clouds
As the barometric pressure drops, storms break out and the
Rain comes to cool off the hot temperature, but if it does not
Stop raning it could cause flooding and even worse, massive
Destruction as the dams overflow and floods valleys and
Towns killing wildlife and many people in it's flood waters
What saved us before, the Rain, now turns against us
Forcing people from their homes and destroying properties
Over large distance. They rely on sandbagging towns
Till the waters abate.  Then finally the rain ceases, and we
Are all safe again, which all goes to show that fire and rain
Can be enemies or friends and we all need to stay prepared
When it comes to a an emergency, it could be a matter of life 
 And death, seeing two sides of our friends: one good - the other evil.

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                     A TRAGEDY OF PRIDE ( hubris)

In the Arctic nights the jazz born North Lights sound
with a music of their own. Fair winds ferry fragile birds--
take to the skies in search of sympathetic warmth profound

while white breathless silence magnifies each sound as it is heard
and few venture forth, like bears they dash to find a haven
where they can hide until reluctantly the sun has stirred--

But, there is one jay bird who is not one of nature’s craven
creatures-- Waiting for a spring call from his mate, he hops into the hungry snow
to dance a dangerous dance in icy morning with the ravens.

There is a God flung magic that dashes high above the haughty human know
among the ancient secret kingdoms of the mystery sky--
And there it is that Wisdom’s Word is spread by wing and wayward winds that blow

their way in worldwide splendor and intricate magnificence that defies
the mind of man.  It is a truth that dalliance in vanity is inborn---
Man or bird, into the nature of some spirits-- it low lies

and becomes incited when grand fame or imagined glory has been shorn
by another .  And , so-- in Persia when the Prince of Peacocks heard
murmurs of the razzing ravens and the sassy sparrows high sky airborne

a proclamation that the World knew now there lived a peerless bird--
plucky-proud, surpassing the peacock -- Jay magnificent with a spirit daunting, a weight
of valiant blue in shades escaped of double rainbows, color-blurred

who bedazzled all nature’s eyes and winds of ear, that judiciously beheld each trait.
The peacock, no longer Highest Prince of Birds, screamed a terrible and cosmic sound
of jealousy.   Ignoring all the glory that still made him great--
the vain and foolish peacock fell-- stunned and breathless to the ground.

Victoria Anderson-Throop  2012 ©
Written in Juja, Kenya
Bird is Stellar Jay, common in Valdez, Alaska

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Mourning Over The Locust Plaque

Some sounds like the noise of bees
Hovering around the atmosphere
Or like rain drops on our roof tops,
I opened my round window
The window of my hut,
I wanted to know
Why my sleep won't mellow,
All i saw was sorrow
As the atmosphere turned green.
The cassava farm was over shadowed
Banana plantation feebled,
Apple orchard struggled
Yet their efforts stifled,
Lemon grass for mama's herb withered,
Rose flower shattered and our 
Groundnut farm tattered.
Suddenly,the green army fled,
Tears exuded from my eyes
As i sputtered in pain,
Mother filled with melancholy,
Father tore his heart in grief
Villagers hope captured and crippled,
So their travail displayed as
Everyone mourned over 
The locust plaque.....


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Prelude to Summer

A prelude to summer… spring’s glorious awakening Green meadows are alive, littered with hundreds of wild flowers Soft and wet, bright, green grass sway, unhindered by morning rain All awaiting warm sunshine to fill with more glee! Out of woodsy habitats come young foxes and hares Their watchful eyes keen as they search for a meal Then hurriedly down a winding path the brave hares disappear But soon become startled as a butterfly flutters by! ~*~
5/29/14 Note: For Kelly's "...As A Butterfly Flutters By" Contest

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Finally..Mr.Whitman, I understand as my journey is symbolic to yours; but, through my poverty-strickened doors. Fighting your human instincts... while learning your internal glow within. Frightening, enlightening, inviting his omnipresence in and as your reward he transforms you into him. Breathing your FIRST breath again. Loving life from the core of the earth to the pull of the moon. Stuck in the middle yet understanding all of the connectivity; because I'm living in a state of Divinity.

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Robbing the Nest

I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttled after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.

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Misty White

Distracting my skin from the icy mist,
The horn booms in the distance.
The black horizon glows,
The moon reflected from our grave. 

Misty white threatens to consume us,
Feet slip and rope drag against the deck,
Their voices grow louder as
Waterfalls of rain pour into the ocean,

My stomach grows as cold as the rocky face before us, 
They hold on for hope and I let go,
Too late to turn back, I welcome the mist,
And all hands are lost.

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Look Memaw

Look Memaw!

I went outside when my grandson called me.
Down the wheelchair ramp I walked while looking.
I glanced all around, left and right, searching.
Then, I heard it, his wee small voice saying,
“Look, Memaw, I am up here in the tree!”
To my surprise, I had to look way up.
Not ten feet, not twenty feet, thirty feet –
Yes, tiny as he is, he climbed that high.
Afraid to show alarm, that he might fall.
I laughed and said, “What are you, my primate?”
“What’s a primate?” he asked curiously.
“A monkey, a primate is a monkey.”
After I responded, he replied, “No.”
With great pride, adding, “I am a tree frog.”

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

© February 29, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Narratives Free Poetry 
Sponsor	Catie Lindsey

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O, The Solitude

~~^~~ Standing at a quadrivial on a wooded road, knowing that each led to a mystical, ethereal place, the lushness of the forest inspirational and incredible, I opt for a footpath leading to a shady grove. Far from the clamorous, chaotic world ever beating, and beneath a weeping willow tree I find my solitude, O, how unbelievable the bird songs each a ligure, a gem, the forest a harmonious moan echoing my aloneness. I behold the scented flowers unfolding and unfurling, the murmur of a meandering stream not that far away, while filigree clouds drift above a dark green canopy, and in my mind is held a reservoir of words. Closing eyes, I listen, I listen, then take up my pen, and I write, I write, I write the lazy, beautiful day away, that I may offer you a fleeting, momentary pericope, of my words this summer day . . . ~~^~~ July 9, 2013 Narrative For the contest, Any Subject

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The Destruction of My Home

It was a quiet, peaceful morning in the vast meadow.
I could hear the thump of hooves as other deer grazed in the valley below,
but across the sea of grass, a sight I feared,
two burly men slowly neared.

I dashed for the woods hoping my herd would do the same,
for the men, I could see, quickly came.
Like cracks of lightning, their gunshots fired.
The safety of the forest, I really desired.

As quickly as it came, the mayhem subsided.
Where I was to go was still undecided.
I moved through the forest with plenty of caution,
trying to ignore my shattering exhaustion.

Suddenly I found the scent of something burning.
My brief moment of peace was rapidly turning.
As I got closer to the source of the smell,
I saw that the men were to blame for this tragedy that was soon to befell.

Their campsite was set ablaze, for they left their fire going.
Now all their belongings were eaten by the fire without them actually knowing.
The flames quickly spread to the trees overhead.
If I didn’t leave soon, in no time I’d be dead.

I swiftly ran from the site,
as the billowing smoke began to block the sunlight.
Everywhere I looked, there were trees on fire.
To escape this inferno is what I aspire.

I finally made it to the safety of the lake,
wondering how much more trauma I’d be able to take.
I sat there watching my home being destroyed.
Leaving my abode, I had always tried to avoid.

The furious fire blazed for hours to come.
I saw the effect of the fire, and it was gruesome.
The pain of the upshot was an arrow in my side.
None of these animals should have ever died.

I was so tired I could have slept for a year.
If I could cry, I would have already shed a tear.
Oh the tragedy! Oh the despair!
How I wish mankind would learn to use fire a little with more care.

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Lulu's Cow Has a Calf (A Male Calf)

The grass, just about dry, 
 is canary, clothed in evening sun, 
now sinking beyond the colorful portrait,
canvassed on nature’s abundant spread;
a brilliant form, painted by fall’s seasoned fingers. 

The cool breeze funnels through valleys 
carved into towering crags, 
and gently commands the trees to stir, 
while prompting nebulous wits to think of wintry smiles. 
A lonely guinea hen begins a boisterous chatter, 
a crack at preserving a cogent mind. 

Water lilies, a daub of pink and white, 
caressed by the sun’s slight light,
settle buoyantly amid roaming rain clouds, 
but secluded from toadstools sowed in animal droppings 
on the mucky banks, which hush the tributary. 
Waterfowl soar across the blue in a unique motif 
to slice the resisting wind, and ride the up-lift.
Young goats ramp on the giant shaft of a fallen oak tree, 
and Lulu’s cow has a calf, a male calf.

The bovine, English-bred, is a burden to his mother.
Round and apathetic; he lurches like a drunk. 
His back is a toilet for egrets and sand-pipers. 
He impedes the progress of the herd, 
and the bellowing is far too concentrated around the stream, 
where, on tranquil days, sad reflections trickle away. 
If anyone should inquire why life here is such a drag 
Your best reply should be:
Lulu’s cow has a calf, a male calf.

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The Median Death of the Red Delicious

“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us, 
only then will we breathe our first breath,
and awake 
from the long dream…”

Forging past the indisputable summit onto the 
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat. 

The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck, 
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s 
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun 

shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all, 
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat, 
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face. 
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with 

a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold 
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes 
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its 
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats. 

It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough. 
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle, 
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit. 
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint 

of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams, 
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows – 
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert 
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality), 

the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye, 
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition. 
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.

It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends 
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge 
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness

in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert. 
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.

*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)

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De Andy Lee

De Andy Lee (part one)

Talks about the little Lady Lee and me,
It all started at the first flight
Our adventure had an origin---
From Off-ego was where we met
So dazzling was her beauty that
Caught my eyes at first sight
And unresisting, my passion wooed along 
Believe me, my eyes contended and my heart clamored
Though my lips stuttered
Deep down inside me was stamina within
Whispering “You can do it, yes, you can”

As I opened my eyes, unknowingly, I’d reached for Lee’s hands
“Hi pretty damsel… as anyone ever told… you…‘re charming”
Perhaps this was a poor pick up line
But she smiled anyway and then freed herself away 
Like a butterfly hovered from my hands.

Not so long, Terry, a neighbor from Long-town
Knocked at my door, walked himself in as I consented
And handed me a postal, “thank you Terry”, I said
While I thought through who might mail me this 
Piece on my palm which I was about to cut exposed
Alas a nightmare-like knocks from the dark 
I (already) left my door ajar
 “You help yourself in please” I utter’d as expected
“Good day sir, I’m Dandy. There is a lady waiting for you outside
She said are name is Lee De Lee”
Agape! “It must have been that lady from Off-ego,
Yes she’d seized my throat already. I think, my previous 
Chat with her there was not bad after all”
Walked myself out with one of my finest attires
Dandy took me to that spot she picked him for me and left
Me, only me wandering and wallowing nervously in the chilly clouds

“Hail Mary, hope I guess right… and where is little Lee De Lee?”
I soliloquized… and as Heaven helped me, 
She appeared and approached
“My apology for keeping you waiting Mr Handsome,
May be you did wow me like you did other ladies or not
But my question is this… Will you love me like
You never have loved any other lady in this city?”
 Though puzzled me but “I must top this chat” I assured
“Not only love will I give, but all for our short courtship
And the thereafter long and everlasting wedlock”
 I could see from her face, expressions said to say
‘Another clever words from your sweet mouth’ 
But lo she opted for most sensitive part of me,
Which could be very vulnerable sometimes
“What did you say that your sweet name is… Handsome?”
There I unveiled my name, which is Agape-
“A-G-A-P-E, yes, pronounced Aa-gaa-pey from On-town” I said….


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SHIPWRECK OF THE FISHING FLEET                                 11/24/2012

He was lost in white surprise
Of drugs and doctors quips
His mind was filled with flapping sails
Of white that guide the ships
To dance among the white capped rocks
In North white nights of June
Bring in the catch to catch the maid
Who’d be his wife so soon.

Wild hair so white it shamed the sheet
That soft caressed the grass
The grass-plagued daisies held her there
As clouds triumphant passed
In columns white the bossy clouds
Marched brisk across the sky
But none of them could match the spark
Of whiteness in her eye.

Fishing was the fruit of life
their land bore little green
the joy and danger that it brought
left little in between
and men who braved those waters
better be prepared to die
for reaping nets and filling holds
bows to a fickle sky

And then his shocked brain shifted
Jigged timed across his life
How many white nights had escaped?
The maid now was his wife!
Saw breasts so white that milk they gave
Seemed paltry in contrast--
To feed the babe that snuggled there--
The fruit of love surpassed.

Then shipwreck banged into his head
The white-flashed lightning zing--
He tested feet and moved his legs
Seemed he’d  survived this fling
Of nature’s whims again he’d live
To tell the lusty tale
      of how north winds had jumped from waves
      to grab their ship's main sail.
Before the White-Christ
Had emerged from his Semitic genes
The sailors would have cried for Thor 
To ease his hammerings.

Sailors lost were prices paid
To live in Arctic shores.
And, lost at sea was ever feared
By them, and wives adored.

He’d play a trick, they’d think him dead--
Would make a crafty tale!
By his hearth and in his bed
would sound a mourning wail.
His house would be a feast of black
Mad weeping would impress--
Then his imagination called her tears
He vowed each tear to bless

He smirked to think of their surprise
When he stalked through the door--

       An unsuccessful leap from bed—
                       He’d rest a little more.

And being man-- he pondered sex
And pleasures it would bring
There was no sizzling passion like                            
His lover’s offering.

a putrid glass forced through his teeth-
Morphia drew him in
To dream the dreams of healing arms
       prickles kissed his skin
       He found her face beyond his pain, smile that could disarm--
       In dreams , with wife, in languid bliss
       he caught a fish of charm

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The Trees Cry

A tree stood silent, motionless and still,
Enhancing the beauty on top of this hill.
Timber is heard as the axes fly,
I thought that I heard this tree cry.

It wasn’t hurting anything, just soaking up sun.
That was the day the developer was to come.
They tied little ribbons on the ones to go.
The trees start to shake as the wind blows.

One by one all the mighty trees fall,
Crashing to the ground across a stone wall.
They say this is progress and it must be.
Did anyone stop to ask the tree?

Years go by and some new trees grow.
I wonder to myself will these have to go?
I look up and watch the leaves dance in the air,
A green canopy under a sky that is fair.

It’s a cycle of life but I still wonder,
Is there any sense to all this plunder?
The tree I once knew now has to die,
I drift to the day I heard the tree cry.

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It was just another December day
Not cool yet - due to global warming they say
I’d taken leave and was feeling restless at home
A bit depressed and all alone
Stepping outdoors would do me good
Walking some miles would change my mood
As I stepped outside and turned right 
The sun was bright and gradually reaching its height
Past the kids I walked, who were out at play
And headed for the busy highway
Walking along the asphalt road
Past the hospital crowd of anxious faces of young and old
Crossing giant pillars rising from the ground
Supporting prefab blocks and tracks on which carriages would move around
Changing gradient and plunging underground
Carrying masses to work or passengers homeward bound 
Not finding my rhythm, I retraced my steps
And headed west, to a lake which comforted me in bygone days
The park around lay ravaged by our man made ways
Trees which survived and construction equipment were cloaked in a dusty haze
The Metro eventually would connect the city’s east to the west
For now, winter’s migratory birds have forsaken this haven of roost and rest
And we are anxiously awaiting this work to end
Allow time for Mother Nature to heal and mend 

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Weather Forecast

The weather man on the local radio station had forecast a blizzard.
It was Saturday. Many folks were out shopping on this beautiful sunny day, 
one that sometimes comes in March on the North Dakota prairies.
We were having an early supper when Mama said, “Well I guess 
the forecast was wrong,” when it struck, coming out of a clear blue sky.

Spring was abolished instantly, as the arctic wind picked up snow
hurling it at anything in its pathway, and though we were safely home, 
we were worried about those who were shopping and had lingered
to visit with other shoppers or perhaps to have coffee in the local café.  

We knew that my brother and his wife and two small children
were among those stragglers.  There was no way we could check
on their safety.  The phones were out with that first strong blast.
It would be two days before we would hear that they were safe.

Others were not so fortunate.  Some died in their cars.  
Those who left their cars, perished anyway.

My last big storm, I married and moved way that next summer.

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Rescue Squad-16 - Part 2

Ok let's go up to the fire tower, talk with Ranger Ricky, Heh, heh,. What's so funny Harry. When I was a kid we use to watch the Ranger Ricky Show. He would run Popeye  the Sailor cartoons and every week He would say "An a very Hap-py Birthday to the viewers."An a very Hap-py Birthday to Harry, he is 8 years old today.He helps his Mom around the house by doing the dishes and sweeping the floors. Morning Rick, morning Harry, I've been expecting you.  I have some bad news, the  avalanch started at the top of Demons Bluff. Your chances of finding those kids are slim and even slimmer finding  them alive. There is some good news, 7 members of Killington Rescue have joined the search.That's great, the four of us have 2 advantages, we only have to climb 50 feet to the top of the mountain. Demons Bluff is on the otherside, down hill with very little snow
for 3 quarters of a mile. What's the secound reason asked Billy. Harry cooks as well 
as he knows this mountain, he is an Ace Rick, stop! Alright, I have 5 thermo-laser poles, should we bring the 5th one. Yep, I'll carry it.
                                           To be Cont.

   Author's note: This all took place in less than a 5 minute span if you think we were Dilly-dallying

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Getting Old

As I sense the daylight strut through my mind,
I open my Squint's just enough to find,
one more day on this circle called Earth.
only 20,125 since the day of my birth.

I pull myself up with creaks and groans,
not stopping once until I've reached my thrown.
Start, Stop, Start, Stop life has played a trick it seems,
making this function that should be simple,
most difficult for me.

My friends all tell me age is just a number,
and I couldn't agree more.
20,126 and counting as my feet hit the floor.
Start, Stop, Start, Stop prostate exam on the 5th,
why, this growing old isn't all that hard as I take one more barium sip.

The hair is diminishing on the top of my head,
but growing in my ears someone once said.
The wrinkles on my for head that once never showed, 
20,127 just a roadmap to go.

It use to be my youth was free, careless, casual, and wild.
now in my old age I'm sorry to say;  I 'm out dated, out witted and out styled.
so to be apart of the elderly,
you have to be a bit bold.
just get use to the fact for the rest of your life,
you'll always be getting old.

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Summer Waterfall

Deep in the woods I hear an angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.
Where the oaks and wildflowers shade the creek,
reflections fall to earth from rays of destiny,
refreshing my soul and setting my spirit free.
I smell the aroma of rain mixed with the paradise breeze.
Tranquil and serene, a natural wonder and rainbow of peace.
A cascading sparkling jewel,
above a wave rippling whirlpool.
Upon the wind rides the angel's lyrical call.
Tranquil and serene, a majestic summer waterfall.

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The Scottish Wild Cat giving facts of its Life

I am a big admirer of all large cats, one of my favourites being the Scottish Wild Cat.
It is one of the wildest of all cats and will fight to the death to protect its kitten even with a golden eagle. It avoids humans like the plague preferring to live a solitary life.
They have survived human for over 500 years longer than the wolf and over 1000 years more than the bear and british lynx. They have been on the planet for millions of years before either humans or domestic cats. 
They look much like a tabby but gait like a big cat, males weigh between 6-9kg, females smaller 5-7kg. They have rotating wrists and razor sharp claws for gripping and climbing trees. Fossil remains have been found measuring 4 feet.
They can sprint at 30mph and fall from massive heights landing on their feet, they are a stealth hunter and mainly nocturnal covering up to 10km range. Even when born in captivity they are un-tamable.
They charge when fighting but don't lie on their sides like domestic cats.. Renowned for biting right through gauntlets vets dart if they have to handle them.
Wild Cats enjoy their own space and daily schedules. They like things to be peaceful so live as far from humans as possible. Usually heavily forested and near water, they frequently change dens.
They are a friend of crop farmers by keeping down rabbits etc. They only eat meat consuming most if not all of what they kill. Killing by grabbing prey and pulling it down then biting through either neck or spine.
Wild Cats like to fish by using their paws to scoop out fish, and like eels, lizards and frogs. Their other food is small deer, ground birds and hares, nowadays they rarely take a lamb seeming to know the farmer will try to kill them. Most Scottish farmers are proud to have a Wild Cat on their land.
Their night vision is exceptional about seven better than ours. They can rotate their ears 180 degrees enabling them to hear all around them. They then triangulate and pinpoint the source, and exceptional balance as well make it a super predator.
Some Facts taken ad lib
Mating season: January to March, most births in April to May
Oestrus: 2 to 8 days, in presence of males
Gestation: 63 to 68 days
Litter size: Mean 3.4, range 1 to 8
Age at independence: 4 to 5 months, up to 10 months
Age at sexual maturity: Females 10 to 12 months, males 9 to 10 months
Inter birth interval: one year, females can only exceptionally breed twice in one year, such as when the first litter is lost
Mortality: Studies suggest human caused mortality (snares, roads, gunshot) account for up to 92% of deaths
Longevity: Probably around 6 to 8 years in the wild, up to 15 years in captivity 
Usually one litter a year with 3-4 kittens born in early spring, they learn to hunt from roughly 7-9 weeks old by the mother bringing home live prey then with her becoming independent around 5-6 months.
This just scrapes the surface of this fascinating cat. I think the following quote sums them up well
"They'll fight to the death for their freedom; they epitomise what it takes to be truly free I think."
Mike Tomkies
If interested you will find most if not all you want to know on this site

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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The Garden Spider

Among the flowers of beauty bright,
Upon leaves of green I sight 
Graceful webs of intricate fashion 
Of labor and of passion. 
No architect so proud can craft this shroud; 
Its sticky vines of ensnaring gloom 
Tell little of an impending doom.  
Hidden fangs await the unwary,
The thirsty, the greedy; 
Entangled vivacity thrashes about 
With a dreadful shout. 
The spider’s banquet is short and rich 
As it savors every twitch. 
No prying eye will dare to spy
On death’s descending cry. 
At dusk it drops from a canopy sky 
To taste the spoils from its ravenous eyes.
Death wrangles a martyr, wraps it in twine
Then dangles it from a vine. 
Flowering sprouts enjoy the morn, 
Marveling at the horde of spiders born. 
A cloud of spiders take to flight 
On currents of air lassoed
Just right.

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Cradle of Thread

It happened when I was not noticing,
yet I was so close,
that had I not have been here,
disregarded as I was,
I would missed the weaving,
from branch to branch, a spider’s thread,
meshed with the sun, 
as if spinning itself with velvet fingers.

A net,
cradled over the leaves, 
slung low over the dew.
Evidence in the spring daylight,
of a chore needing to be done,
skillfully being crafted,
trembling in the soft breeze,
as the sun fondles each delicate strand.

This is not new, or kept a secret,
but I can't help but wish,
for someone here,
to share my excitement,
and to also recognize,
the magic of the silver thread
and a miracle in the making.

For Suzanne's Contest

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Come With Me

You question why I wish to live
In isolation among the wilds,
Forsaking all society gives
And its lure of ventures beguiled?
To answer this I can't decree
In words what lacks simplicity
Instead, why not come with me 
To taste my eccentricities.

Come with me to stand
Atop a snowy mountain's peak
To gaze at miles of virgin land
The beauty of which words can't speak.
Come, let it strip away your cares
And then perchance you just may dare
To feel the peace that's waiting there
Atop that snowy mountain fair.

Come with me and walk
Along a winding river's brink
To listen to the wood thrush talk
Or watch a doe come out to drink.
Come, watch the beaver's clever craft
Then pause to hear what few men have
Come stroll along that peaceful path
To listen to your spirit laugh.

Come with me and run
Through golden fields of flowing grain
Then pausing there to fill your lungs
Take time to smell the windblown plains.
Come, watch the merry butterfly
Float 'cross an amber colored sky
And hear the earth give out her sigh
As now the day says his goodbye.

Come with me and sleep
And lay beneath the star strewn skies
In timbered heights, so dark and deep
To find repose for weary eyes.
Come, think of all you've seen today
Of Mother Nature's grand display
And once we have knelt down to pray
Then let your dreams come out to play.

Then arise with the sun
And return to society
To work until the day is done
On another man's proprieties.
Think then of our day gone past
And of these questions you've asked
You'll know then why I'm an outcast
Who's chosen the more tranquil path.

                         Timothy I. Brumley

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Untitled #351 / Sagittarius A

In the center of our galaxy
from 1992 through 2003
astronomers were able to observe
a star, orbiting compact radio source
Sagittarius A.
The star had an orbit with average radius
1.4x1014 m
and period 15 years.
From this information astronomers estimated
the mass of Sagittarius A.
v = 2π(1.4x1014)/(15x365x24x60x60) = 1.86x106 m/s
a = (1.86x106)2/(1.4x1014) = 0.0247 m/s2
0.0247 = (6.673x10-11)M/(1.4x1014)2
M = 7.24x1036 kg
7.24x1036/(1.989x1030) = 3.6 million suns!
Astronomers infer that Sag. A is a
supermassive black hole
(it cannot be seen)!

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Sacrificial Ritual

All answers want to be given unto you
As swiftly as you can illustrate them
Point to their essence, serenade them
Aboard this passing ship, my view casts not a glare, nor reflection, nor stare,
Roaming freely as the Earth through the timeless air

My outer shell is my greatest inception
Yet as time comes to a crashing halt,
The faintest glimpse of the Strange and the Familiar approach together 
As the rime of my belt

A horticulturist’s dream says I 
The blackened period that wallows alive
Deprived, sanctioned and walking the line
As our guest is herded out
And suddenly the animal turns its other side

Now in your stomach I wait
Leaving a silent trail of breadcrumbs
Leading to the foothills of the gates
Who, discovery alluded, hadn’t a face

I am after all a sarcastic utterance
Which after years fade into the gloaming of dawn,
Reveals itself a mutterance undone

A muse, a choice, a song
A faro stow-away,
A shy allurement enclosed in a darker response
Building expeditiously my patient getaway car
Holding stead readily around the block

and clocks fall off their "ATTENTION!"
to the approaching sound of
 someone else's Hum-drumm

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As Sunset Dusks the Sky

There's a place I go in fields nearby
Where I like to simply stand and watch the sky.

I see the trees in every season
That change throughout the year,
But I know that if I go away
They will still be there.

The streams will still flow
The leaves will still fall,
The sun will dusk the sky each night,
The birds still sound their call.

For now I'll walk this well loved path,
Let twilight gentle my mind,
And wonder as I go from this place
Of other paths my restless feet may find.

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Vulpes vulpes

In many colours I come and many places inhabit
when in South America crabs are my favourite
I chase them with great glee and delicately 
Their flesh pick out of their shells and pincers

Come to Africa, when I reside here I have bat ears
that swivel around as I listen for my prey
a tasty rabbit, a guinea fowl even just a mouse
I hide any excess and return to dine in leisure

When living in Russia I am silver in colour 
a thick pelt and bushy tail which I display
with such great pride to attract the vixens
then in a matter of weeks new cubs join me

England not quite so cool here the hunt
dogs baying for my blood as I am chased
uphill and down dale, cunningly I head downstream
then hide up in some trees, yes I can climb them

Arctic is where I the Alopex live with my tiny ears
to help me not to lose too much heat in the snowy Tundras
here I eat whatever I can even a fish when it's salmon run
with my vixen we share the raising of four to eleven cubs

Known world wide as cunning and sly, I am a survivor 
overcoming different adversities as they arise
Reynard is the name most men know and curse me by
especially if I have raided their chicken coops

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Where I come from
Women are morale formed
Symbol of sanity
In a world of insanity
Mother Nature in personified
Mother to old and young alike
Better half of a man 
A man ages above her
To be better, she is submissive
Submission, made possible by respect
Through the ages gaps the respect becomes natural

To love a man ages younger is unnatural
Therefore unwomanly, though women are blameless
Blinded by the illusion of sexual expressionism
And freedom which is not needed
With the presumed weakness, comes the strength
The strength that is fast eluding us

You don’t have to be men women
Because we men are jealous of women
For they always stoop to conquer
Who ever said age is just a number lied
Age substitutes wisdom and experience
Nature made it so and nature is woman

Offor Ujunwa
on the contest- Cougar Effect

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Dear Friends , Last year end , while reading about the Red Indian Tribes of America , I got 
inspired to write this simple poem about the 
Dream Catcher ! Hope you like it .

The continent of North America during those
ancient times ,
Were inhabited by various Red Indian tribes .
The Delawares , the Mohawks , the Choctaws ,
The Dacotahs , the Omahas , the Blackeet ,
The Camanches , the Ojibways and the Apaches !
They inhabited the forest , the prairies , the marsh
lands ,
The great lakes , the mountains and the fen-lands !
They lived close to nature and honored their Gods ,
With the spirit of Nature all thing were fraught !
If we recall the story of MacKenna’s Gold ,
The ‘Shaking Rock’ and ‘Canyon del Oro’ ;
Of human greed - breeding death and sorrow !
Which in celluloid has often been told , 
None could take away that Apache gold !

                        ( II )
Today I narrate a legend of the Chippawa tribe ,
Of their ‘magical net’ for a peaceful night !
An old medicine man of this tribe ,
Wove a magical net with gossamer strings ,
To catch the dreams as they float by !
He hung this net above the bed up high , -
To catch the dreams as they float by !
This wondrous net trapped all bad dreams ,
Letting the good ones pass through its netted
seams ! 
And as the bad dreams got entangled in the net ,
The good ones descended upon the sleeping bed !
So should you come across this magical net ,
Never argue about its price , -
Just buy the one of your bed size !
Then hang the net high above your bed ,
For there is nothing to be afraid !
Since dreams shall never ever cease ,
Have sweet dreams always , with a good 
night’s sleep !
                                         -Raj Nandy
                                          New Delhi

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The Buck

The light is fading, evening breaks
Between the oaken woods and lake,
It's time to finish with the row
And homeward bound, the trail to take.

With rake in hand I turn to go
To find my pick axe and the hoe,
When from the trail there ran a buck
And right behind him came two doe.

At first I thought, what rotten luck!
I'm here, my rifle's in the truck,
Then, as he stopped to look my way
He gave his tail a flip and tuck.

And then he spun and bounced away
The doe behind him sleek and grey,
Crashing through the brush and vine
Into the woods and welcomed shade.

He must have sported twenty tine
I thought as Shadow starts to whine,
Asking, should he give him chase?
I pat his head in soft decline.

The sun is gone upon my face
To lose the buck is no disgrace,
Although today I've been undone
There'll be another time and place.

Today the buck has rightly won
The hunters gone, the season done,
Perhaps we'll meet again next year
Before the season's had it's run.

The buck was ancient, and I fear
He may not see another year,
But then, another year is seldom clear
For man, or dog, or antlered deer.

                     Timothy I. Brumley

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my companions

My only companions are my dreams my only friends Who call out for me their voices a melody for me to fallow save me my friends from this Dark World Wolfs teach me to be loyal and to fight the dark and when make love to the dark embracing it becoming dark myself yet not to succumb to its control Fae teach me to kill with words And when to use them to save Of the meanings of speech and its clever twists To speak a truth one does not want to hear And still make them hear tote truth Twin sprits teach me to know the sprits Those elusive things some call souls Not knowing how to talk with them, we converse Not knowing how to feel their presence, I touch them I feel the hands brush against my skin As dragons, teach of fire, rage, and bloodlust ,when to use it and how to use it well like a well made WAR HAMMER ,and from the masters I learn lore and flight for though I have no wings still I fly with them Trees teach of patience And the earth’s presence and how to care her Of the minds herbs and streams to feed my roots As my branches wither Their Skills With The Wood Are Rival To None Succubus and Incubus you teach of the heart, it’s betrayals, loves, comforts how to guard the heart, and still feel for they know best, its mysterious ways Whilst my heart, mind and body scream Scream for release from this reality To dreams and the worlds found through their doorways Call out to me my friends save me from those who ridicule me who constrain me in chains of iron as they sear my flesh Holding me fast to things, I must not do or have cages of words, deeds, people, and their judgments I Hate Them, And Their Ways are both evil and cruel I know not how long I have left For my blood screams for vengeance To bathe in its fires ,to soar free in the skies where none but you can reach me SAVE ME, MY FRIENDS I BEG YOU!!! I long for your embrace your fiery breath the sweet scent of wet moss you warm sprit upon mine the pack running singing the songs that change me to your likeness the sleep where my heart lies in your hands as you feed your lustful hungers upon my troubles leaving me to sleep untroubled free of my cares and worries giving me my heart backed still with its worries and cares but unburdened you cleaver teachers I lust for your wisdom and the peace you bring me please come open the doorway to the forests and the fire moors save me my friends
this is also a personification

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With storms my passions dance and play
As winter swirls above our heads
Sleep's embraces grab you tight
Hawaiian visions crowd our bed

Deep in frosty winds of night
While you are dreaming balmy skies
I trace the beauty of your back
And lick the whiteness of your thighs

Sometimes you smile, 
sometimes you groan
But it’s my delight 
to hear your moan.

I snatch you from that ivory shore
And wake you begging me for more

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The Stillness

The Stillness.

The roaring brook did shine upon the wet
rocks, as does the sun and the moon on the
new fallen snow.

I walk alone, alone having only one thought
in mind. Some God must have made all this
Listen, listen, to the sounds.

The brook, the car, the bird, the airplane,
the wind, all have their own sound breaking
into the stillness. But still not fazing it.

If the sun and the moon can say it any better,
let them. I heard their cry in a snow flakes,
eye. The same stillness. Only more.

If I were Lord over all that came, all that is past
and all that is to come, I would say Amen
again and again with only stillness in my glee.

There seems to be a well of stillness, ever
flowing into the sea of life, from whence there
is no escape. I am a part, you are a part.

There is a heaven or hell into which we have
all died. A blessed stillness, a barrier  that
divides God from man. A stillness, with Love   
and reverence for it. For before it, is God.

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Dragonfly-the miracle insect

Dragonfly-the miracle insect

Oh… Dragonfly, the miracle insect
You are the symbol of change and self realization 
Source of mental and emotional maturity, 
Your scurrying flight across water 
represents an act of going beyond the surface
glance at deeper implications and aspects of life. 
Your agile flight and its ability to move in all six directions
Exclude a sense of power and poise
this can be seen only with age and maturity.
Your speed at amazing 45 miles an hour
Hover like a helicopter and fly backward like a hummingbird,
Fly straight up, down and on either side
Your wing strokes elegance and grace just like a veteran ballet dancer
You are wonderful and exhibits Iridescence both on your wings as well as body
It is kaleidoscopic 

Your eyes are wonderful  
most amazing and awe inspiring sights
You can see in all 360 degrees around 
That symbolizes the uninhibited vision of the mind
And ability to see beyond the limitations of the human self

You are innocent and harmless, not bite 
To Japanese you are a symbol of summer and autumn
And admired and respected all
Samurai use you as a symbol of power and best of all victory
For Chinese you are a symbol of prosperity, harmony and as a good luck charm 
To Native Americans you are a sign of happiness, speed and purity
because you eats from the wind itself
Those may be the hidden facts that you have inhabited our planet for almost 300
Million years!  

Jayaratne Weerakkody

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I stumble upon a river
the way it flows and feels
I take my shoes off and run threw it
laughing looking up towards the sun
I wake up and it was all just a dream
my sister runs up the stairs
she slams her door
i asked her what was wrong
she looked at me 
She says "mom told me you were adopted"
at first i laughed as i thought it was a joke
I run downstairs to see my mom and dad sitting on the couch
"mom?" i say
she replies "its true we adopted you!" 
she got up and walked into the kitchen
"after all this time i thought i was yours" i say
My father gets up and walks out the door
My mom lays her hand on her forhead
Just dont worry about it  everything will be okay
"No it wont i say"
i felt fake like i wasnt who i was suppose to be
i just sat on my bed thinking about the whole thing
my whole life and who i should have been
I packed my bags that light and i ran away
leaving the less important things behind
i set out on a journey to find my real parents
I had my sister get there info. from my dads office
I took a bus to indiana and looked up there address
As soon as i found it i knocked on the door
A man opened the door
he said "who are you?"
i say "apparently i am your son?!"
"you put me up for adoption?" i repeat

He yells "ANNA!?, Some kid is here for you!"
i repeat the story to her as she denied it
She looked bruised and beaten up
I wanted to help her but the man hut the door on my face

I had no where to go now
So i started on a journey back home
But i never made it there 
I found that old river i use to go too
i stayed there for a few weeks until
i remembered the way back.
I found myself that day
I realized that i was fake but now im not because i know that i am just me not any of them

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A Cabin I'll Build

Into the forest I go
To cut myself some wood;
A cabin I’ll build, 
A shelter from the cold.

I’ll build a firm foundation
Burrowed deep within the land, 
I’ll place upon its surface
The rock I hewed by hand.
I’ll carve each log smooth,
I’ll notch them till they fit; 
I’ll build the walls around me,
Firm and strong they’ll sit. 

Each window will open to the sunlight,
And close each night with prayer, 
Songs from birds will echo through the rafters, 
Then settle gently through the air.

Nail by nail I’ll attach the planks 
Upon the rafters they will go, 
Enough to stem the tide of winter,
And springs tempestuous squall. 

My hopes are vast,
And I dream them still, 
But for now can you 
My help fulfill? 
Trapped beneath a tree, 
I here lay 
Awaiting someone
To roll it away.


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Scarlet Creature

This is the kind of creature that goes out into the night to steal bricks to build its' niche.
It more than crosses a courtesy line. Happens more in  the winter;other seasons just fly by.
Swift as the bitter wind the creatures must move as the gypsies do. They must borrow as the thieves pulling out every trick up each sleeve. 
Maddened by the stars, they follow them like arrows of direction. Cheaters!
Must be nice having nature direct their worst behavior. 
The Harlot Scarlet of the night is so beautiful any family would give away their hard earned bread, their last. Clearly getting robbed impeccably as
it goes without notice. But what is seen is never told in eyes of gold. 
Another win for creatures of night.

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Rescue Operation

Mother used her third arm
for most everything,
her all-around solution
for problem solving.
Once, she used it to save
the life of a common toad.

The snake was guilty 
of nothing more than a move
to assuage his hunger. He soon 
fell victim to Mother's expertise
in wielding a hoe. As he slithered
along the cotton row, she chopped
him in two pieces just beyond
the bulge in his frame.

She then used her hoe
to push the frog out
toward light and freedom.

Mr. Toad sat for a time,
blinking in the sun,
then hopped back into his world.

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Valley and Mountain

Valley and Mountain

The valley in our lives is so often our own
hates, jealousies, and faults. 

The mountain standing majestic and tall 
is Love in all forms.

It beckons you, it says come here and find
what is in yourself.

Some think you need to be on top to have it all
others know this is not it at all.

The base of any mountain of Love is where the
top is found.

It bounds and bounds all around knowing the
steps to be take by all.

It is one at time as we come and go but best
of all this is not all.

It is more than standing majestic being tall or
trying to beat all.

It’s being there, for all.


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Truth doesn’t lie
Even lie would deny
Still lie itself can’t lie
The truth of lie
Still a truth that doesn’t lie
It is still a lie!

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Saying vs Doing

So carefree into the nature I pass,
So carefree I roll onto the soft grass.
So said my reverened Guru.

As I got older, I  carried those words only in my head.

I saw a nice house beside mine 
A palacial one, patterns so fine
I thought if I had been the owner
In place, I felt, I became 'ower'.

I saw one of my friends 
Holding a pair of beautiful hands;
I felt red with spleen
With envy, I got green.

I saw a man driving a Ferrari,
I couldn't be at all marry;
And I had a heartburn,
Into my heart, that really did turn. 

Now I am aged and torn
And see a child as it is born;
I feel jealous as I have creased skin
I feel like to replace the babe, as beautiful as a bean.

...At long last, I realize

I did not pass the nature into me
Yet affected, I'm there, where lies she;
I bore the words only in my head,
And terribly did I neglect.

What's the use of keeping the words in head
If in practise those do not reflect?

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The Song Of David

Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"

At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf  
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what  is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"

"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.  

"If the blind could see you, 
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"

"Life I live is simple indeed, 
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king? 
What flies would harm the young flocks?"

The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood 
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.

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Awakening Dawn

                Slowly stretching , pushing gently 
                Soft covers , dark against her golden hues
                Night .
                Reaching with still hungry hands, saying " no , stay "
                She arches , smiling
                Eager for the day but torn between her two lovers
                Daylight and Dark
                Daylight finds her, motioning to her, 
                with his golden stroking fingers , open heart and warmth
                Casting out the Darkness .
                Sending the shadows and creatures back to the night
                The golden god wins again.
                Daylight has come. 
                Dawn smiles, her glorious passion alights

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My Journal

My Journal ~ September 04 / September 06 ~ 2010

A Trip To Belize 


I travel the winding roads of euphony upon the hummingbird highway 
the ancient forests stand proud pulling every dream from with in my mind
a voyage of serendipity as each wondrous epiphany followed another
flowers entangle the mighty scape spilling delightful rainbows across the hill top 
Orchids, Poinsettias, and fragrant yellow Oleanders brought a dreamy sense of 

3:16 P.M. Friday


as I wandered a magnificent  trek
I found myself in the Central Lowlands
a certain energy became present with in my being,
it consumed me in a spiritual inkling of a majestic past......
"El Cara col" the ancient Mayan site
What a divine wonder!!
a flourishing menagerie of a distant civilization so mysterious and pure
I Marveled at the simplistic yet intricate architecture   
A piece of my heart longed to entwine with the spirits of souls past...
If I ever in this life felt complete, I was at that very second......

12:30 P.M. Saturday


On the third day I traveled to the Platinum Coast line  
It was breath taking......
a crystal clear royal blue utopia  
The coastline dotted with gentle palms swaying so slight......
a Caribbean tropical oasis with white sands and a comforting warm breeze  
in the the distant one of the seven wonders of the world "The Great Barrier Reef"
O' how I longed to submerge myself in the purity of this vast nature bath......
a cleansing rebirth......
just to sit and brood in silence was all I needed.......

11:08 A.M. Sunday

A wonderful experience......a life changing moment in time......


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Peaceful Moments

To find peaceful moments I’ve always yearned for That flow inside of me And keep growing more I must always remember With me is where to begin As I prefer to turn away From a violent situation If I find myself caught In the midst of dismay I always use kindness To gracefully step away Hecticness floats around Through all walks of life If I keep peace with me It lessens painful strife The moments of peace Are filled with tranquility A calmness deep within That revives new energy We never really know When our life will end So we should sure enjoy This life we are given The life that is filled With God’s creation all around Where many peaceful moments Can always be found Peaceful moments are like A gentle blowing of the wind A beautiful setting sun Or a star twinkling on end Petting your favorite pet The flutter of leaves on a tree The crackling of a campfire Or the glistening of the sea Watching a child sleep Holding hands of a loved one Or being tightly embraced By that special someone There are far many more Too many to count, I’d say But moments pass quickly So don’t let them slip away Time must be taken To take the moments in For it is within your self You feel the peaceful feelings Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Walking next to nature

different shades
of grasses
and trees
along paths
to and from
in valleys
the rain forests
all creatures
to natural
all that is 
to nature

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Iris of Poetry

Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about "What A Poetry Actually Is", the
obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly
see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different
this time...

Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.

A mere idea of our mystical lives,
Expressed in a way from deep inside
A way which only the heart can see,
A place where the eyes get cold-feet

The earnest truth and the sweetest lies,
It's all the irony that makes poetry so alive.

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What's That

                        What’s That

I swoop, I dive, I flutter in the rafters.

My eyes can’t see, I grace the night sky, I am wise.

Wild, willing, wings, dark as black coal.

To look at me with wings unfolded, an awful sight.

But at night I soar with gods and angels and things.

In life game I am at bat, I am a Bat.

John H. Hardison..

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a purple planet

One night and one
one place in a crowd
too many flowers
no room for a frown
places are higher
the World and the news
people and places
a distance for spaces
a planet with wastelands
a future with grape lands
cloudy with rooms
more flowers and brooms
jewels and the bunnies
bracelets for no money
a panther and the day light
a creature and the new sights
blue wars that go around the moon
makes prettier roses
and more waters bloom

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All About Her

I dont know much about her
but I heard she wasnt that talkative
She didnt like being alive
She was numb to all the pain she had to go through

I heard she didnt like anything that was green
She ate roman noodles everynight for supper
She always wore flannels and bellbottoms
Sometimes i seen her wear dresses and fancy tops
But lately shes been wearing band shirts

She wears converse shoes and uses an army bag for school
I know that she dosent like to communicate through talking... only through her peoms
or sometimes even her songs.

I see her drawing and painting all the time
She draws famous people
She would like to be famous and not so unknown
When she tries to speak to anyone they always walk away and leave her alone

When she gets home she goes upstairs to play her bass guitar
She hates chocolate cake but loves chocolate
Her family left her behind because she cant forget her past

Sometimes when shes alone she contemplates the meaning behind her life
Her favorite color is gray because her life is black and white
Everything she says is false according to the world

She is not so innocent
I understand that she dreams about the perfect life
When she opens her eyes they are pitch black

She is someone that is fake
She acts nothing like she should
She is very grungy and unclean

She knows of no safety
and of no time
Her life is smashed into pieces by the giant sun

She will always be a ghost
She knows of no god
She crawls around in the world of death
She remains forgotten

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Stunning Armadillos

Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at every spot
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?

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lovely nature by almighty

Thank you god for the best showers!! 
The rains… the divine showers.!
In the rains,
I find new ways,
In the beautiful terrains,
I find times to sway.
The showers of rain,
washes all the anger and pains,
each drop of dew,
That touches our heart’s view,
Each adroit breeze,
Makes all the anger freeze,
Truly this is rains,
The divine showers.

In the rain,
Flowers flow in the cool drizzle,
The butterfly frizzle,
The cute frog,
Jumps and hops,
The sweet leaf,
Has a real belief,
In the water’s beam.
Truly this is rains,
The divine showers.

The rainfall helps,
The cascade to flow,
The damp soil,
Makes all the insects toil.
The downpour of the sky,
Makes the earth look shy,
The pretty atmosphere,
All is here,
Truly this is rains,
The divine showers.. 

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Wyoming Fall

It happens every year around this time. 
The winds starts to pick-up and change from a warm westerly direction, to the chill of the 
Canadian north breezes that ice over windows on the inside. 
It seems, that these old bones can tell, as well as these old eyes, when the trees start whistling a-bit 
to the chilly Wyoming skies. 
But the last great photo of natures camera, before the howling of winter is at our steps. 
Is the Wyoming colors of fall, that nature delivers to us. 
Now it's nearly impossible to describe, what nature has spent eons learning to do right. 
Blazing the colors from green to orange in the aspen groves of a mountain morn. 
The cottonwoods shimmer their hints of tarnished bronze and copper leaves, 
it seems damn near ridiculous, to try and describe these. 
One can't even come close to drawing a picture with words, to the chaotic beauty of a Currant bush, 
wrapped in buffalo berries that seem to defy gravity, hanging there all by themselves. 
Not to mention the golden coat of a milkweed plant, overflowing seeds that glisten rainbow colors in the light. 
It just wouldn't be describable, it couldn't be imagined in words, 
The colors of fall, my eyes have heard. 

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Foes and Lifelines

Foes and Lifelines
a day, a year, a century how long will the darkness last? blood drips from hands and blades, claws and fangs blood burns my eyes aflame foes that never cease hunting i live day by day hour by hour Rukan, Kiyamae, Setsuna, Asumae, Darren and Elvina these are my friends, lifelines, companions ,guardians and family the are the only ones who keep me living pushing me to stay alive and it is they who keep my soul and mind alive

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The Old Oak Tree

The tangible sunrays cast their lights to haze,
withering the moments in a day,
but the moon foreshadows its hue of white
across the darkness of the night.
In the wooden trails under the moonlit hour,
that old oak tree stood as a tower,
bowing its head filled leaves to the ground,
as though praying or royalty to be found.
And the bark is elder, no longer a rich thick brown,
but grayness is its coat who always frowns.
The brittle roots and twigs overlap each other, 
The trunk was sturdy as a man but more care giving like mother.
And the nature breath's chills the wood,
from a solemn warmth to goosebumps who intrudes.

The old Oak tree whimpers and woos from the leaves
rustling a whisper to the boy who weaves
his arms, and swings himself amongst the highest point.
He sits to watch the beautiful join
between the passage of the moon and the sun.
The sky is stolen from the moon; the night be done.
And the Old Oak tree, once again, overviews the day
of the tangible tangerine sunrays cast their lights out of haze.
And the little boy still sits until the sprinkle of rain and drizzles roam.
He climbed down the gray old trunk and heads back home.

And the old oak tree smiles, never so gleefully before.
And wishes for the little boy to appreciate him once more.


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I Remember When

What happened to all the honey bees
That used to swarm all around and abound
And would cover the fruit and holly trees
Now, you rarely see them buzzing around?

Where have the huge flocks of blackbirds gone
That I recall who would blacken the sky
And bruise your ears with the shrill of their song
In the spring and fall as they flew by?

What happened to all those water frogs
That I recall whose deep rhythmic bellows
Would echo back down through the hollow bogs
All summer until the leaves turned yellow?

What happened to the little horned toads
That I would catch for a pet as a boy
That crawled all over the fields and dirt roads
And made a neat little pet to enjoy?

Why doesn't the wolf still split the night
And chill my heart with his long lonesome cry
As he howls away at the full moon's light
Adoring the illuminated sky?

Where are all the calls of the bob white
And the lonely calls of the whippoorwill
That used to pine away all through the night
And could be heard in almost every field?

Where are the spine chilling panther screams
That mimicked some poor damsel in peril 
And would often conjure up awful dreams
Of gruesome creatures wicked and feral?

Are they on a premature path into yore
Has adequate time been duly assigned
For us to say, "There are no more...."
Or could it be, I've just outlived my time?

                                Timothy I. Brumley

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The Countryside

Born beneath the misty hills
In a world that silently heals
Where lush greenery blooms in abundance
Adorning the apple trees with magical essence.
As the rising sun lights up the eastern sky,
Children run towards the apple trees with dreamy eyes.
Their rosy cheeks resemble ripe apples
And they run around the countryside sprinkling seeds of love.
The golden rays of the sun settle upon the tranquil hills
And illuminate the hearts of a flock of sheep.
As they bathe in the holy sunlight
Purity rises up from their hearts and mingles with mist like a playful dove.
As the evening sets in and the western sky turns orange,
Peacocks start dancing to the tune of dew
And innocent squirrels hug the moist bluebells and daffodils gracefully
Glorifying the colourful  countryside with sheer genuineness.
When the night grows in a sincere way,
The moons and stars gather above the countryside.
Endowed by their enchanting light,
Angels come down to the countryside sailing on blissful winds.
Angels visit a celebrating waterfall
Which murmurs its own heartfelt rhythm.
They open the doors of their soul
And transform the heartfelt rhythm into lullaby.
Angels fly around and sing the lullaby in their divine voices,
Blessing the countryside to a peaceful sleep.
The angels knit the countryside with an aura of tenderness
And pay homage to her worth.

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I was walking down at Green-bank park
Rather frightened as it was dark
There I fell into this ditch
And came across the most gruesome witch
At first she scared me half to death
As she sat there to my left
Her nose more pointed than I had seen
Face covered with moles and eyes so green
Her jacket was torn her hair was a mess
And holes were ladders to the hem of her dress
Before I could catch my breath with time
She began to sing some words of rhyme

Rickety .. Rackety I am a friendly witch
Be my friend and I shall grant you a wish
Just don’t you listen to all they say
Look here us witches are happy and gay
Look here us witches are happy and gay.

Then she told me a story of a witches life
Condemned bad and gone was her right
Burnt at the stake long in the past
But no evil spell did she ever cast
Just helped the people of the wood
For it was not them that misunderstood
It be the greedy ones of her time
Then took the medicine and called it mine
Then took the medicine and called it mine

So the tale they tell of Halloween
Is far from the truth, from what I had seen
Just look little girl as you will see
I may be ugly but evil not me
The cats we kept took care of the mice
And the hats we wore kept our ears from ice
We cleaned our homes with shrub broom
As rosemary and lavender fragrance our room
As rosemary and lavender fragrance our room

Do tell do tell of our nurses today
Witches the same in their own kind of way
Potions and tonics from the herbs of old
Combine the mixture of modern parocetemol 
These wise and gentle ladies of our past
Only took upon one the doctors task
So little ‘O’ bright girl, now do tell me your view
Of withes and nurses do tell who’s who
Of witches and nurses do tell who’s who

Oh sweet lady for judging it is I whom feel the fool
But your memory is of evilness of that you were so cruel
In a sense, innocent I now know you to be
So I shall not run, I shall not turn and flee
The wish of that I ask, to be that of your friend
Now I truly understand this message that you send
No more shall I be afraid or listen to their say
Of all you witches now I know to be so happy and gay
Of all you witches now I know to be so happy and gay

Rickety….Rackety I’m just a friendly so said witch
I possess no magic to grant you a wish
I only cared and took the sick in hand
Using the remedies produced by our land
Using the remedies produced by our                                                                      

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Purgatory Chasm

The autumn leaves crinkle beneath my feet
Their radiant colors dulled
I see the reds and yellows as vibrant as they were
The last time we came here together.

I hold you in my hands,
The way you held me when I was a child.
Your urn jostles softly as I scale the cliff
To our favorite spot.

I open it up, and look at you one last time.
Bits of bone sprinkled in the ash,
Like the time we came here after the first snow fall,
The defiant leaves of abundant autumn
Refusing to be masked by light dusting.

Off the tip of the rock,
I turn the urn,
You flow out over our favorite hike,
As you would have wanted.
We pass through this trail
One last time.

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Mother's Angry

August, it's late in the month,it's been many years
but a quiver is felt in the earth, in southern Colorado.
Some folks slept right through it, others felt it and 
realized what was happening, An Earthquake. Was this
meant to be?    
                         Maybe....Mother's Angry

The very next day, in the part of our Country, where
our Country began. Mid morning and again the earth
began to quiver, then shake. Buildings were evacuated,
The Capital... Evacuated, bricks loosened and felled, Why ?

                         Maybe... Mother's Angry

The following week, calm was interrupted by darkness,
hail, lightening, tidal surges, flooding, devastation and death.
New York as well as New England as a whole felt the wrath
of a storm named Irene, 43 dead...Why?

                        Maybe...Mother's Angry

The day after Irene, was the anniversary of yet another storm,
where the sky grew dark, hail, floods and people died, Her name was
Katrina. The Northern Gulf States felt her wrath. Why?

                        Maybe... Mother was Angry

Throughout the history of Mankind, we have done with this Planet as we will.
We dug and drilled into her womb for her resources, we have deforested, not only
for lumber for space but mostly for necessity, which turned to GREED. As any other 
living thing, it takes and takes and takes being abused for just so long, and then
It Gets Angry! Guess What !

                                       Mother's Angry !

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The Grand Escape

the ride of our lives was,
on our way to an amusment park,

out in the wooded area, we saw exotic birds pass the vehicle,
multi-colored flowers sprouting on the curb, insects in their imago,

just pure excitement. As my fingers goes down the window,
visualizing each creature on my fingertips,

taking its sweet little time,  it climbs up and down before these creatures
begin to fly, in search of a new land to go to,

like us, we may never come back again,
seeing this first hand, remembering all that pass,

 through my eyes, is enough realization to sink inwards to my brain,
that this landscape, is the place to release your mind,

The Grand Escape.

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The River

A simple God made paradice. 
So precious to behold. 
Once clear blue and full of life 
now dismal, gray and cold.
Sweeping through an empty forest 
flows the lonely river. 
Its banks a depot of trash deposits 
sends my spine a quiver.
Still peaceful in the deathbed sence 
I sit and watch astounded. 
Peering through a chainlink fence 
my memories recounted.
There were no signs that said "No Swimming" 
or "Do Not Eat The Fish". 
No soda cans or old yard trimmings. 
It was full of kids.
Ducks would gather once a year 
as they made their journeys south. 
Squirrels foraged with no fear. 
The water overflowed with Trout.
Though flayed of all its dignity 
I still find much pleasure. 
For in my minds imagery, 
it will always be a treasure.

                     The Applethoughtrotten

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Limitless Lust

Introduction: Limit itself has a limit of its own…

A walk, mile after mile
In quest for my lost soul,
I had forgotten how to smile
Everything felt out of control,
I fought too hard to be worthwhile
By that I got lost in my life’s hole

The regrets for mistakes I’ve made
It took me off the edge, way too far away;
Yet I tried again so hard to get off from that shade
But got caught up in my brutal fray,
The same song keeps playing with such a vicious rage,
I find myself down to my knees, nowhere to go - So I pray

A prayer to leave the worst and move onto more,
Come off this fantasy and onto reality, to be -
Closer to something I’ve been fighting for
The touch of the light cutting through the night, it rains down upon me
As I overcome the grief and believe, recovery lies ashore,
Only three steps remain, to be fixed and free.

A lesson of value I earned from my faults -
Never push yourself off the edge,
You’ll lose the only key to the vault
A life you never had to live – It too could forever be lost,
So stay confined within the limits of the limit
As it seems - Your control over lust, only can make you complete.

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We walk about bristly in the heat of the day,not knowing when it will happen.
Some watch mere predictions on picture screens before setting out to complete routine tasks;
but who is to say what will happen for the unknown dwells with us.

I see a beautiful  lady frisking her hair, wiping prespire from her mascaraed face whilst 
pushing a stroller along the busy sidewalk.
A dog sits in the shadow of a street sign; its mouth gaped in a state of exasperation.

Without warning it happens...........the first wave of attack.
An obscure lone drop comes down and taps you on your shoulders.
You look around feverously ...but see no one in view.
An audious rumbling is heard above your head sending everyone in motion.

The downpour occurs and  the smell of dampened earth cuts the once humid air;
The ground is filled with  myriads  of liquid  puddles collected in different  places.
Those who are armed hold up their array of colorful shields to fend off the heavy invasion , 
whilst those who are not,scamper about in astonished utter despair.

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thank you god for a lovely nature

Thank you god!

The sweet breeze,
Makes all the moments freeze,
The cute air,
Makes my heart more fair,
The cloying nature,
Fills life in every creature,
The luscious due,
Makes all the world look new,
The mellow, the calm,
Al look in my palm.
Thank you god,
Thanks for this world!

The dulcet bird,
Allows all to curl,
The euphonious sound,
Fills all wounds,
The love and the melody,
All fills the colony,
Thank you god,
Thank you for this world!

The warm wood,
Fills cheer in the livelihood,
The warmth of the mother earth,
Imparts love in the world,
The ardent  and the affable world,
Is just like a earth so in the sun,
Thank you god,
Thank you for this world!

“love the world…it is a gift!”

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Florida Nature

Upon the horizon, a vivid orange
yet the darkness envelopes me like a cloak,
I can hear the life return to this swamp
though the air is so thick,I think I may choke

This is South Florida, mid August
the sweat from my body never ends,
if there is a breeze here, I cannot feel it
here in the swamp, I feel alive

Movement to my right catches my eye
moving slow, methodical,hunting,
the Panther, prowling, silent
doing what it does best,survive

As I move within the glade, water everywhere
this is the rainy season,when alligators thrive,
when I come across a new menace,not native
a Python, bulging, digesting it's prey

I come upon a clearing,Pink Flamingos wade
themselves on the hunt,silver fish,abundant,
their beauty takes my breath away,
what little breath left me from this heat

A dock,old and worn by time and violent storms
leads to a ancient shack, abandoned long ago,
the daytime sounds of wildlife surround me
as I take refuge within, a place to dwell 

I am one, a part of this swamp, wild as the life around me,
I am home......

Wild Symphony......

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Untitled #307 / It's mid-October

It’s mid-October, and the cool morning air
refreshes and replenishes the players as they march
across a muddy lacrosse field, the low sun
that manages to peek through the gray clouds
glistening off the beady surface of grass blades.
The stage is set for glory.

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Three truant scholars spending our sabbaticals
in crisp Colorado, we all re-read Walden,
dared to drink from streams so icy clear
the fish seemed suspended in mid-air.
Our flimsy nylon shelters shielded us
from what weather there was to worry on,
as summer slipped to autumn
and autumn waned winterward.

We walked well-wooded hillsides
of mixed conifers and broadleaf;
in deep drafts we breathed the earthy air,
interpreting the dent and trace of tracks.
Four full years past we trekked those trails
through stands of timber frequented by fox,
by birds, by deer -- and by growling grizzlies.

Now, when my son hugs his honey bear,
red-jacketed, black-button eyed,
I see the hellish maw, the blooded claw,
of the brownish-yellow raging beast
that tore off my arm and maimed two sages,
amid the yellow quaking aspen
where, yet, that gory grizzly ages.

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Written: December 24, 1978
Spun: Jun 16, 2012

THE ART OF LIFE Oh thank Thee for this beauty Which so graciously surrounds me With the colors of this earth That were here before my birth All man kind seem to neglect The art within this world The everlasting gift of creation Which to us all unfurled From the step that is with time Does your life with you unwind And when hue-less is the west, so pure And who can paint like nature With the shades of natural beauty We were born with a birthstone Therefore when a particle of matter Begins to exist, it is THE ART OF CREATION Florence McMillian (Flo)

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The Storm


I stand here in the semi darkness.  Power went out about an hour ago.  No surprise given the angry wind that grips and shakes the house.  The only sound, the torrential rain. The incessant rain that assaults all that it encounters. Walls of water, beating down as if there was no sky.

I gaze out, watching the trees, bowing to their master.  Hoping they won't break under it's will.  Small branches litter the landscape, scurrying about in hapless pursuit of unknown destinations.  

Soon will come the floods, small rivers flowing where there were none before.  Aggressively seeking the paths of least resistance, challenging all in their wake.  Their strength and volume will crescendo, wreaking havoc as they pursue new conquests, and, like thieves, seizing everything that they can carry.

In the distance, the angry surf claws at the shoreline, clutching desperately to the rocky wall.  Retreating but for a minute, only to return and try to climb it once again.  Soon, the oceans cycle will reach high tide, adding power to it's frothy arsenal.  Bolstering it's quest to gain the high ground, intent on conquering my home.

A kerosene lamp in the kitchen emits a smoky glow.  Shadows retreat to the corners, as if intent on hiding from the storm.  The weather radio crackles on the counter, describing what I already know, adding only to my sense of isolation.

When it's over, I'll check on the neighbors.  We all know that help lives right next door.  We'll get together and fix what needs fixin, and support each other through heart and hand.

 I grab the pot from atop the wood stove and pore myself a cup of strong black coffee, while Mother nature reminds me who's in charge. It could be days before we're back to normal.  In the meantime, we'll make due with what we have. No need fretting over what I can't change.  Just part of life up here in the woods.

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The murky rolling waves subject
to the whims of the February's wind, 
far above the secluded lighthouse;
the roaming aircrafts vanish through thick clouds,
leaving behind a trail of hazardous vapors...
but the geese and seagulls can't continue their existence!  

And still the sea offers them its promise,
a distant shore untouched by man...
by his greedy ways and incompassion,
causing the extinction of many species;
my reflection is based on fact :
we can't survive without them!

The stylish wild birds engage,
as if striken by a sudden rage,
in their frantic, daily dance over the marina,
as I listen the melancholic lyrics of  " Nessun Dorma "...  
the exquisite area of Puccini,
which comes alive through the extraordinary voice of Bocelli!
 At four the fog thickens and shrouds the shoreline,
the brass lampposts light up with reluctance...
to shy away the presence of any ghost; 
I, in transitive joy, hide my treasure beneath the tides,
hoping someone will find it  and remember my work... 
long after my thoughts will be no longer alive! 

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Story of Alates

Alates, winged, flying termites 
or flying ants, harmless to others, 
leave the safety 
of their underground colonies 
after a prolonged rainy-day
in the tropical terrains.

Sensing appropriate conditions 
in surrounding environment of
warm temperatures, low winds
in an exodus, suddenly, synchronized, 
out of so many holes in the earth 
to settle in newer ones.

Alates shed their wings and crawl
as wingless bodies 
after a frantic swarm
get attracted by bright lights
to utilize the heat of lights
to dry themselves from the moisture 

Some females, potential future queens
majority males, disperse for a nuptial flight, 
often over the course of only a single day 
the males dying in abundance to reach females 
and the mated females disperse 
in attempts to establish a new colony each.

While alates are busy doing their acts
the blue jays, the crows, the pigeons, the sparrows
the lizards, the squirrels are all in glee
busy gorging on the hapless alates
lucky to be mightier and stronger.

A sight that reminds me of 
another act of  sacrifice, among many 
scripted by nature 
so that another can live now
and a progeny can be born again! 

Date write:22.7.2014

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The once mighty tree

There once was a tree that was tall and beautiful. It was the talk of the forest. Its 
branches were sturdy, its leaves full, its trunk straight. Kids came from all around to climb 
its height and swing from its branches. On hot days it gave them shade from the 
scorching sun, and when it rained it bore the heaviest drops without thought. One day a 
kid broke off a branch and used it to scratch his back. The tree trembled a little. The next 
day another kid sawed off four strong limbs. He needed to make a chair. The tree shook. 
The third day another kid came and stripped the tree bare, he needed to patch his leaking 
roof. The tree stood naked and alone. No one came around anymore. It had given 
pleasure when they needed it, it had given a seat in its lofty heights, it had been a shelter 
in the storms, and now it had nothing left to give. One day a stranger walked by. He 
looked up at this skeleton of a tree. He didn’t say anything just looked for a long time, 
then took out a piece of paper and sketched something. Then the stranger dug a moat 
around the trunk and filled it with water. He did this day after day. And he would lean 
against the trunk, now scarred and talk about how it was the most beautiful tree in 
forest. And the tree couldn’t help but wonder if he was blind. At first nothing happened. 
But as time passed small buds sprang forth. They flowered and bloomed. Leaves popped 
out the very trunk seemed to straighten itself as if the moon was within its grasp. The 
stranger looked at the tree, there were tears in his eyes as he pulled out a crumpled 
drawing from his pocket and held it up, it looked exactly like the tree looked now. But the 
tree now could see over the tops of the other trees. It saw a house with a small branch 
propping open a door. It saw a wooden chair sitting in the yard, neglected, with one leg 
broken clean off. It saw where the roof had been patched. The tree shivered and shook. 
Leaves cascaded from its newly formed branches raining down on the stranger, who 
looked up bewildered. But all the tree saw were four wooden legs, it saw a patched roof, it 
remembered. The branches started to sag, the bark peeled off like dead skin and in a loud 
sickening crash the tree started to fall. The man turned to brace the tree with all his 
strength. But he was not a whole man for one of his legs was made of wood, it splintered 
and cracked under the strain. And in the house not far away a man looked up in time to 
glimpse a mighty tree crumble to the ground.

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Empire Of The Ants

           Empire Of The Ants
The ant is a very powerful insect as it 
can move ten times it's own bodyweight
and has the ability to create huge 
underground cities and colonies.
Most ants, have their own special ability
and are ruled by the Queen ant, similar 
to bees, they all have ranks and they
also have their own special duties, the 
worker ants will excavate and build little 
catacombs forming them into little grottos
The ants live and store food in their large 
cities of earth connected by a network of
large tunnels created by the workers. 
The soldier ants are there to guard the 
Queen along with the other ants from 
predators, The Queen's protection remains 
paramount and the other ants are her 
loyal subjects of the large empire she 
has built. 
In the lower tunnel a large obstruction is
blocking the path of a storage warehouse 
being built.  a large group of reinforcements 
are called in to move the large stone, they 
all pull at the blocked section, with their 
powerful mandible claws they finally remove
their obstruction.
The Ant, is so much like mankind, as they build 
cities and are the only other species that wage 
war on each other, and are capable of warring 
with other ant colonies, there is a strong 
connection between  the two species, but all 
this does not stop these amazing creatures to 
evolve into the future.
Who knows one day these ants may even become
a more powerful force than man himself, no one
can predict the future of the human race as the 
ants evolve into higher life forms, it may well end
up becoming the empire of the ants.

Author: John Ginesi    
Written 25th December 2013

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I've Listened To Wind

As it passes over under and through;

Once quiet trees now speaking their loudest.

They've whispered talked and even howled at me,

While their unseen sibling tears them limb from limb.

I've heard its voice far off in a distant night,

Then it is suddenly screaming at me as walls shudder.

Rattling windows so clearly accepting its strong breath,

Outside I see a giant pine tree forced to wave to me.

To see its power through its many victims is frightening,

Wondering if that next exhalation may possibly find me.

Such a gentle cool friend it had been and now a monster,

There's no place to run because it is truly everywhere. 

It can make calm waters drown a little seaside town,

Then retreat and pretend it was never really there.

Still, naked branches seem to leave fallen impressions,

Of decorations taken down long before their time.

Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved

"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."

© 2014 Robert William Gruhn

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Frozen in time,
captivated by this enormous being,
the size of a small car.

his every move.
The way he used his hands;
so child-like.
With all the consciousness of the world, 
and graceless coordination.

of the visitors,
as they briefly called out for his attention.
Only for a moment,
then they were gone.

in an orderly sham. 
He sat there,
in his dark cave.
As if he was waiting for the light to find him.

on a boulder, 
squatting, and primitive.
Drawing in the dirt with one hand. 
Swatting a fly with the other.

His nature,
as he rushed to consume his food.
The females hovered behind him,
watching intently, 
like me.
His movement mechanic.
His presence powerful.
He was the king of his domain.

his magnificence, I watched.
How smart was he?
Could he feel my presence? 
Engulfed in the very essence of all that was him, 
I watched. 

how he felt, I watched.
Did he think he was still in the womb of Mother Nature?
Or, did he know the iron bars which embrace him now?

it happened;
our eyes met.
He noticed my presence.
His gaze intimidated me, 
But I did not look away.
He approached me.
I felt his eyes inspecting my soul.
A chill ran down my back,
I turned behind me,
only to find no other presence there.
When I turned back, 
we were face to face.
Separated by the sham,
And a two inch piece of glass.
Just me and him,
the two of us,
and the females hovering behind him.

His old eyes spoke to me,
They said 
“I am like you. 
I love, I feel, I hurt.
I am, like you.”

I put my hand on the glass
and with all the 
consciousness of the world,
he did the same.
With tears in my eyes,
I smiled.

Then, he pooped in his other hand
and wiped it on the glass.
This was a sign of endearment.
I laughed out loud.
And I swear,
He smiled back.

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...this is so intimate of time, as a first kiss of time close of soul, so near, so dear of heart beat, so precious a rhyme that flows so intimately,
deep of time, down by the Crystal Seas...
...this is so intimate of dreams,
dreaming reality,
as the Crystal Sea so reveals of destinies galore,
destined as the night light of the moon-glows of starry eyes,
upon the waters,
...seeing tranquility upon the waves...
watching to the depth of a dream,
and a sun-rise
being so true...
for underneath and within this a moon-lit poem of starry night eyes, down by the Crystal Seas, a vessel sets sail upon the deep...into a kiss of dawn...
Sea to shinning Sea.

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Winter Solstice

Peering from my window
Through a thin veil of frost,
It seems that an unseen force
Had resolved to obscure my vision,
As if it were saying, 
“There’s nothing out there but darkness
And frightful frigid discomfort
That is best left to creatures
Who are suited for such environs.”

Hastily I wipe the frosted pane
For a glimpse of something rare,
When the Earth 
Seemingly bickers with the Sun,
Demanding a moment more of its
Radiant solar comfort
Only to be abruptly silenced by:
Old Man winter,
Who masterfully placates this
Sibling wrangle and
With authority unquestioned;
Darkness falls
With Winter’s command.

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The Widows Hour

A black widow hides
the hour’s count, in a painted
red glass, on the underside 
of her belly.

Unlike a snow white kitten,
the hard shiny black widow
receives not one loving caress.

In the pale moonlight the black widow spins a silver web.
It created a growing and binding spell-like enchantment.

A man and a woman
are dancing through time.
A man and a woman and a black widow
are dancing through time.

I do not know which I prefer,
Us making love by a sizzling fire
Or us making love on the cold wet sand,
the black widow scurrying across the beach
Or the moment we met.

A web repaired a broken window
with finely spun silk.
The shadow of the black widow
remains hidden from view.
The silence
hanging in the web
spoke a thousand words.

Descendants of Adam,
Why do you fear this little spider so?
Do you not see how the black widow
splashes and plays in her bath
as naturally as the child within you?

I know that I know nothing
and I remember everything all at once;
I know, as well,
that the black widow does not worry
about what I know.

Dark spaces harbor the black widow.
Shake out your shoes,
shirts, and jackets after they’ve been on the floor.

The black widow’s shadow
encloses the stars like an eclipse,
even I cannot overlook a
cosmic event as rare as this.

She walked across the Nile
in crystal slippers.
Escaping, she never looked back
over her ivory shoulder,
the black widow’s shrill song flies
through the wind and echoes on the water.

Grains of sand are filling the glass slowly.
The black widow must be endlessly dreaming.

The sun beat down while it rained.
I was not moving
and I was not going to move.
In the peak of the thirteenth hour
the black widow traced circles,
after kissing me lightly on the 
back of my hand.

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Balance Within

Introduction: Even if you're tied to barely holding on, your control over will power shall pull you up towards the truth and success. But only if you believe up to all, that it's stronger than what you could be - that's when you balance the fall...

You may get old
Your memories may drown,
But your soul won't get cold
And beliefs won't breakdown.

Just don't you let go
As you never know,
Things you seek for all your years
They could be in your back yard.

Find the truth within the lies,
Fight your pride to end this cry,
Trust your soul; open the door
Balance yourself and roll the stones.

The one's you heart will always stay
So don't throw life out your doorway,
Life's too short and it's too real
Sometimes it's hard to see and feel

That's how you live a life,
The risk that breaks you down to bits
Saves and brings you back alive,
That's what we call the gift of life.

No matter how rough things might get
We get rewards for the risks we take,
No matter how hard or sad
Learn and value what you have.

Though, too much pride will leave you dried
Don't let 'hopeless', be your life's stride,
None of this will you take to grave,
Your deeds will lay, only your pave.

As you breathe in and do breathe out,
Make each one profound
And stand your ground,
As lies are just the fantasy,
The truth - is your ecstasy
And this will forever be plain to see... 

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Untitled #340 / Colored pencils

Colored pencils in an artist’s even hand
sketch rolling fields of wavy grass
sprouting from the barren plain
of barren pages.
Now she reaches for Burnt Sienna.

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Early winter sun

Early winter sun; low in the sky

Warm light burnishing the yellow leaves that stubbornly cling to the birches
Silver trunks contrast with their own dark shadows
Russet browns of the larches beyond add a touch of fire
And the lattice of twigs and branches from the oaks and ashes
In harmonious concert, complete the sylvan scene

Texture is added by the gritstone crags here and there
And by the heather and grasses of the moorland foreground
A babbling brook tumbles over rocks and falls
Separating the open bleakness of the moor
From the closed impenetrability of the woodland beyond

The trees cloak the hillside, giving rise
To an amazing palette of colour
As layer upon layer of species and pattern
Weave an intricate canvas painted in unbelievable hues
Of ochre, burnt sienna, and umber

An ancient stone path
Worn deep by two centuries of feet and their untold histories
Winds its way down to the packhorse bridge
And into the woods, airy now in winter, but dense in summer
A dipper walks impossibly under the water before hopping out onto a rock

The pungent smell of mushrooms, making me hungry
Affords the excuse to dally a little longer
I rest against a dry stone wall with my lunch and flask
And bask in the human solitude
As I commune with the abundance of life that surrounds me

Shortly I will have to leave this place
For I have a few miles yet to go
The days are short now and the light will fade fast
But, although I will have to leave this place
This place will never leave me

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Sunrise, Sunset

Today seemed so long,
Now a day is almost gone,
But its about to get so much better yet
As I whatch the beautiful sun set.

Sunrise, Sunset,
How much better can it get?
Up and down all day long,
Now it's here, now it's gone

I love the darling sunrise,
Into it birds fly.
I love it's colour's, purple, pink,
It makes it much easier to think

The sunrise marks a brand new day,
How much more can I say?
All those things that I haven't done,
I can do at the rise of a sun.

Sun burning in the sky, just a ball of gas.
Just a burnng, spluttering, churning, great, big mass.
Somehow it makes one feel calm,
Like a very meaningful Psalm.

I do like sunset,
I whatched as the sun and horizon met.
Then slowly,slowly still,
They'll leave for now untill,
The next day that will come yet!

I do like sunrise although,
I like sunset also!
I cannot decide which is better,
A sunriser or a sunsetter!

I just cannot see,
What the difference can be!

I will say, I like them both,
This I swear, this I oath.
There really is nothing better,
Than a sunriser and a sunsetter

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Summer Sunshine

Windows thrown open on a sunny June morning  
Refreshing and uplighting like a sun flower's first captured vision
Breathe deep and absorb the sallowed air
A woodpecker knocks and signals that summer has sprouted at last

The window causes the wood pigeon to scare and swoop away to the south 
It flies leaving my elder berry tree. Oh those lovely teas of the elder berry 
I must check the size of the raspberries on those endless spreading tendrills
And tie up the old conference pear to the bending summer wind 

New cut grass divine in smell from yesterday's motored cut 
The stinging nettles make no effort to grow beside the swings
Small crimson and green rhubarb shoots sprout out and lack a feed
And the wind blown fish meal has moved on beyond the base of the plum tree

The wood pigeon returns and lands and hides like so many years before
Mr swallow swans and loops for insects upon the wing
So many frog sprawn clumps at top the septic tank some born some wriggle
And once before a pine marten appeared and lifted the lid of my old dust bin.

A garden so rich and vibrant so productive and open
I welcome all comers to grow to feed to view to read
It oxygenates the mind and calms the soul
Brings happiness and reason gives purpose and marks the season  


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Success Parables

The goods thing about “hardship” is the thirst for “Success”

Success is an unending process it begins even at the peak of another persons success

Be like the blue sky: where greatness and Success has no limit.

The things you say about the success of others is the judgment you get from others or what you perceive as success

Life and hope are corresponding Issues to the nature of success

Wisdom is maturity  and maturity makes the mind, be wise to become successful

Hardship in life, is the Beginning of a Successful Journey in History

You Succeed when you have acquired,  and you have acquired when you have succeeded.

Do not subterfuge to succeed but be submissive to succeed.

Roseline olajide

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Karen, I spoke to Penny Poodle about you,
She barked and said, "what ever you do-
Be sure you tell her we are praying too,
And, I'll get my friends at the zoo to pray  for her, too."

So you see, Karen, not just people are praying for you-
But all of the animals of God's kingdom are, too-
And God, Who created us all in six days
Will hear all of our voices, and He'll be truly amazed!

So Karen, don't you be sad or blue!
For God is taking good care of you-
For all of the animals are praying So hard
Those tumor cells better be on their guard.

Soon the tumor will all melt away,
Even the cells that may have strayed,
And you can think about all of your animal friends,
You can call them all over and pat their front ends.
Karen, God is listening, and He can heal you. 

I never heard what happened to Karen,  but she had lots of friends praying for her 
so I hope she was healed.     Enjoy!

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MATTHEW SIX TEN STUMP I picked up a new stump today ‘Twas cut from a giant pine tree Matthew Six Ten is his name His circles say he is about 93 Cut from the mid-section Standing almost 16 inches tall With the width of circumference Being about 17 inches wide in all The definition of Matthew six ten Is written in the Bible As a glimpse of heaven When I stand on my stump I stretch up towards the sky Visioning my heavenly treasures Our hearts are where our treasures lie The vision of my eyes carries my soul My body soaks up and shines the light The stump seems to shine the righteous path way That feels like a glimpse of heaven within my sight My Matthew Six Ten stump Reminds me that God already knows Of all of my needs while on this earth and To be thankful for the time of now that grows Florence McMillian (Flo)

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Cold winds blow

The cold winds bitterly start to blow.
Frost glistens as my breath shows.
The cold seeps all the way to my bones.
My feet start to drag like a couple of stones.

I walk for a while to escape this freeze.
My joints ache I can’t outrun this breeze.
The sun rises I feel warmth with its light.
It combats the wind with which I fight.

The air is so cold it freezes my thoughts.
My stomach is turning and twisting in knots.
As the sun warms my head thaws out.
I slip to a dream, winter is about.

The day gets better but soon it is done.
I watch colors explode with the setting sun.
As it ducks down behind the hills,
I feel the return of winter chills.

On the way home I feel like a lost sheep,
I get home to find I’m too tired to sleep.
I close my eyes my thought still seep,
I think that perhaps I got in too deep.

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Nothing is more delightful
and simply remembered by a sweet word...
than a walk through a green forest,
to find a remote spot on a low hill
and put those daily worries to rest;
the anxious eyes long for that vision
of a last, unforgotten season: 
the gentlest rain which brings
a familiar fragrance from other lands...
when spring hides its flowers!

Whenever the lonely poet dreams,
his unerring hand is quicker that  the flowing streams:
the distant vison of his flourishing thoughts
is carried to unseen places; 
and all he wishes is to feel  a sublime peace...
when spring hides its flowers!

The wishful child ,led by his mom ,searches 
 the leaf-covered paths with a sorrowful glance,
even the robins and blue-birds can't confort him,
 or give him some kind of hope for his unleashed whim;
and will he relish the joyful promise of each year,
as a gentle hand caresses his blonde hair...
when springs hides its flowers from his zealous eyes,
and one of those adolescent dreams unexpectedly dies?

I, once, was like him:  curious,cheerful and so restless:
seeking surprises in unexpected places...
finding myself in front of simple wonders
that couldn't  be perceived by the adult mind,
as if they were another mystery, not the creation of God...
when spring didn't hide its flowers!

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Hurt and You Could Have it All

upstairs in my room
i put my ear to the floor
only to hear my parents screaming
the argument is about me
my mom yells "look at what your son has become!"
Heartless, unintelligent, fake...
my father replies back
"hes your son, hes your own pile of dirt!"
whenever my family is out together
we act happy like these fights never happen
but every night they do and i cant tell anyone
i have to act like someone else in order not to get introuble
What have i become?...hurt..dishonest..will this feeling dissapear?
I will drag you down and i will make you hurt..
I lift my head from the floor
still hearing the angry voices of my parents
i found an old needle, and i dug it into my skin
the next morning i go downstairs
with a cut off shirt on, and baseball shorts
My father grabs my arm
"what is this boy?"
i yank my hand away from him and i sit down on a chair
"its nothing sir"
my father repeats "are you cutting yourself?, why?"
i grab my bookbag and i disapear out the door
My father runs outside pulling me to the ground
"are you cutting yourself boy?!" he screams
i say "no sir i just scrapped my arm on my dresser"
My father grabs my face
"you better not cut yourself again" he replies
He hits my face, as i lay on the ground.
I didnt wake up until i felt something wet drip on my face
it was raining and dark outside
i run into the house and into the bathroom
looking into the mirror i see the bruise that was left on my face
My father wasnt home and my mother went to bed
"everything goes away in the end right, if i let him have it all, my moms pile of dirt?"
I sit upon my liars chair full of broken memories i cannot repair 
I become someone else, but the old me is still right there
if i could start again a million miles away i would keep myself
i will find my way

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For hours
her whole world was 
hunting for rocks at the
banks of the shallow
narrow river that runs 
through the canyon behind
the house.

On her knees,
wrist deep in the
icy current, she
sifts through piles of 
polished stones, 
searching for the 
perfect little pebble.

She slips the pebble 
safely in that pointed place
in the pocket of her jeans.

Down the path, 
she's conscious of the
precious cargo, 
digging her hand down
now and then.

At home,
she reaches in
with her fingers, to
pluck the pebble
from her pocket
and she places it
on a shelf
with the others.

That evening,
stretched under the covers,
tucked and tight, and drifting,
she dreams of 
skipping stones.

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The Boy and The Sand - Part One

Here's another little story
Told around my land;
This one's of a little boy who
Loved to play with sand.

You could find him on the beach on
Semi-humid days;
"Moisture in the air," he said, "will
Help me set the grains."

He'd construct these works of art that
Seem like they're too real;
Statues, castles, planets, ships,
Nothing's too surreal.

Fortunate was I too see his
Very last attempt;
"Now I'll try to carve out something
Free of world's contempt."

"Beauty is the source for this one.
Love, the motive right.
She'll be great! I know she will have
Beauty multiplied."

Starting with a mound of sand, he
Chucked the first bit off;
Then, as if he knew to fly, he
Whizzed around stuff.

What I saw before me was a
Tribute to success;
Sand that had no form at all was
Turning to noblesse.

Finally, he settled down and
Looked at what he made;
Standing there was but a goddess
Lying in the shade.

Beauty was the inspiration,
No doubt in my mind;
His creation was the best in
All of humankind.

"Something's just not right," he said while
Reaching for his pail;
"Can't just leave it like it is, so
Meek, so hard and pale."

After some reflective time, he 
Ran to the lagoon;
Then he started humming out a
Soft and gentle tune.

When the water heard his song so
Lofty in the wind,
It responded with a light that
Spawned from its within.

Beaming out into the air, the
Light began to rise,
Like a worm that's coming up for
Water from the skies.

The worm of light began to make
Its way across the beach;
And when it came next to the art
It came to sudden breach.

The light began to swirl around
The woman made of sand.
It started at her chest and spread
Throughout her feet and hands.

And what my eyes beheld me next
Was nothing short of awe;
The woman made of sand began
To breathe and move her jaw.

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Up but Down-Part3

Up but down…part-3

In my errand for a fill of
Hilly air, I can’t forget its 
Kicking present, its woes and ills
Carrying that down-to- earth ache

To sooth which I run up and down
While the days worryless and dour
Don’t dither in their flow. And I
Turn to musing on these hills

Long after my bus had belted
Down its narrow, winding slopes
Tearing away its dry and shy
But superbly high-flying air

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When I was young, I had these dolls, in various guise and shapes,
The first was been the simplest; in it no single garment
or any ornament embedded, but only made of clay and heights four inches,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed and clothed the doll in scarlet dress.
The second doll was only made of scarves of woolen rags in many color set and 
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed again, and dangled some trinkets on its neck.
My third doll was more ornate and made of wood, which was slightly rough,
But its face and clothes were not alike from me; but of Japanese in a kimono
with a sash of obi around its tiny waist and wooden sandals on its feet,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and furnished it with gesso.
Then my fourth doll was made of ivory, and clothed in simple bulk skin,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and adorned its clothes with lace.
And my last doll was made of bisque from Germany:
fair-haired and fair skinned, until I noticed, some hairpiece fell as I untangled,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed, and put a bonnet on its head.

And then I grew and see much of the world; more than my dolls, more than 
Like a woman I met, who’s very fond of costly suits and polish gems
only to make cover of her unwanted aspects,
“Pity!” I said, “she hides her imperfection!”
Then this bachelor who’s tired and aged, but still aspires for lofty aims,
“Alas!” I said “he’s blinded much of his imperfection!”
And to this lady I knew, who’s young and fair but lost a man she dear,
and grieves to him excessively, with no more time to stare and glad to other 
“Alas!” I said” she mourns too much her imperfection!”
And for poor man I knew, complaining day and night to his misfortune,
“Alas!” I said, “he hasn’t done a thing to his imperfection!”
And to this dying man of severe illness, reproachful to his fate,
“Poor man”, I said, “he ought to know that death is not an imperfection.”
And lastly, when I meet someone who grief or find no peace and happiness,
“Alas!” I’ll say, “you ought to see that life is made of many imperfections!”

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The Sea Blue Eyes I

Once in a while I meet a person whose eyes tell their story
The story is like the sky reflection on the seas of glory
The eyes are all the wonder of the world
It sees the future, past, and present
The eyes give us knowledge of the world and reflection
The reflection of sadness and weakness of each creature
The wonder of each individual being has a present
To the world who has lots of false images
To arise the moment of that one glance
To follow the heart in romance
Just the reflection that gather in your eyes of blue
What a man and a woman should view
Life is such a pain without stopping to see each eyes
Its like roses you have to enjoy each passion in side
When that moment collides with mind and heart
Nothing in your soul can keep your love apart
Join in the fun look in every eyes of a person beside
With passion and romance I bet you, you would cry
The luster of all the things to come
A bounty of life long needs to be given by just the wonders of the eyes
The blue seas reflects the different depths of our feelings
And it should become revealing
Come to your senses with ravaging hormones of lust
The sea can take you and even the reflection in the eyes of the person
The beauty is not held by one it is held by everyone
Such looks with fear for no relief
Is almost a dreadful part in our human nature
Beware of what can happen when emotions are held
Held to the core of an individual
No such thing is kindness when you find yourself in the Sea Blue Eyes
Calling in your soul by just looking
With ignorance you play around with such futile emotion
Gush away the fear and do not go insane with life so dear
The grasp of the titans comes to reveal
The evil within your heart is so obscenely noticed
You want the sea and you want those eyes to look at you with wishes
The rage in the heart are waves that cannot stop 
It pushes and pushes with no regret
The heart falters and there is only one thing in your mind
The idea of one soul to be with is the ocean 
The rifts that is trying to break to end the wants of desire
Cannot be trusted in a human lier
The beauty of man is destruction 
The beauty of women are commands
The eyes of each does not matter in the sea
Because all emotion and desire is given to those who are true
Command of a person is just one thing 
The desire to destroy is another
The Sea Blue Eyes will see no bother cause it bares it all
Even the utmost desire
To be continue.

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The Whirlwind

Hewn in verse and ancient lore, 
It descends through an open door 
To place its fingers on mortal souls,
On meager pleas on lifeless shoals. 
Far below where creatures dwell,
Its surging scorn is born as rising embers swell.
Small shadows merge where thoughts collect, 
And pierce the fog of day, 
Murmured sounds rise to settle on unsympathetic play.
Cast aside each whimper lost within a chastening howl;
Hidden in burrows, mortals scurry
And feel the weight of worry. 
Dark whispers mingle ravenous desires 
From misty lofts in chambers forlorn, 
From anvil thrones their cries adorn the morn.
From a heavenly palace, they scatter stones of malice;
Sparks of thunder pierce the night,
Then fade from sight. 
Their cold embrace excites our race; 
Unleashed hordes reap our toil,
And plunder our grace. 

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A trip to the sea

The sun rises over the edge of the sea,
The sky is blue for as far as you see.
Orange and red melt into green,
As waves crash in I slip to a dream.

The waves crash reducing rocks to sand,
Then they retreat revealing the land.
The cycle continues they come back in,
They return back to where they begin.

Birds fly over catching the wind,
Sailing up to the sky they are pinned.
Soaring back down to land on the beach,
Just beyond where the waves reach.

I stand at the edge, the sand shifts.
The tides progression seems so swift.
The beach disappears with each wave,
Depositing shells the ocean just gave.

I listen to the rhythm of the sea,
It seems the wind, whispers to me.
I turn to leave and say goodbye.
I listen to hear the seagulls cry.

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Sonnetina Sequence-THE RIPE ORCHARDS

September has come
and the ripe orchards
abundantly display their delicious fruits:
peaches of delicate rose,
and cherries of deep red!
Teens, with their empty baskets, 
anxiously run to pull them 
off the drooping branches;
and one of them yells,
" I have gotten the first one! " 

What a gleeful celebration for youngsters 
about to return to loved-and-hated school
with their band-new and heavy backpacks;
and they will write about these harvest's moments,
and wait with exciting eyes how their writings
will be scored by their teacher, and if someone 
should cheat, points will be taken kids,
squash your curiosity and kindly behave!
All of them did their best in writing poems without rhyme,   
poems of a harvest with an aroma so fine!

The hot afternoon reddens the faces
of all the experienced fruit-pickers,
and these struggling young ones
can't speed up to their pace!
" Hurry, Jack...let Susan help
you with your over-loaded basket...
everyone has finished picking and gone! "
What a humorous remark that
even makes the sullen and tired sun 
smile...when his duty is coming to a sudden end!

Happily they trot out of the orchards, singing nursery' rhymes,
sustaining the heaviest load they have ever felt ,
not to let their baskets drop and give the watchful squirrels 
a chance to snatch some of the tempting fruits away!
And as they look up, dusk makes its appearance to scare them away!
And as if they were chased by unleashed dogs,
some fall, some run for their useless drama started by fancy!
Much fun they had, but unhappy about the bruises on their knees,
at least, they had one consolation: all the peaches and cherries they could eat!
And they laughed at each other, no one could ever forget about their fright!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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They dug a pit in the clay
To mark the Millienium day,
Creating five large biomes
To house earth's plants in global homes
A new Eden,living in glass domes.

Tribute to the unique Eden Project,Cornwall,England

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Up but Down- Part 5

Up but Down…part-5

“Poor place”, the spectral humming of the winds
Seems to tell, “the hills too would have to lose
Their birthright just like everyone of us.
On the way upward, somebody points

To a pitiful mile or so and tells
‘These are virgin forests left as they are’
But whereas on one side, rubber trees ooze 
Sap through cuts where thick forests once were which 

Bore not wounds but fruits and blooms in the past.
It’s only a question of time before
The virgins would bare themselves in sheer
Helplessness at man’s inhumanity.

The power station is off. More often than not.
With no power for itself to run
The power of water. Not a drop of it.
How imperceptibly we turn powerless

In our greed. To extract, to snatch, to steal.
From my place can I see a reservoir
Built by a far-sighted king of the past.
Yes, a grand pool of water it once was

Here can you now see miles and miles of sand
Dotted with puddles amidst bald hillocks.
A nuclear powe r station is being built
A little farther away. They have laid

Pipes to clear off even these puddles
To the project site. The signs of death and decay
Amidst the languishing signs of life
Is getting the stamp of authority.

And this region can now hope, sordidly
Hopelessly. To go through experiences
Which happen but once in a life time
Which will turn it to a land of thirst

Radioactive waste and wasted limbs.
We returned. Yes, a month ago. Not from
A hill of hope but one foreboding doom
Fast and noticeably. Must be changing 

Fast. So when next time when we come looking out
If I too could gain something in my quest
For wealth, power and pelf, what will be left will
Be some fire-licked hills plus all their ills.

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A city made from nothing,
on a lagoon with shallow waters
to keep the invaders away ;
still today those bell chimes ring out
to remind everyone of her victory
at Lapanto...when the ships
brought back the banners
of the defeated enemy!

Venice's splendor is seen everywhere...
 even in San Marco's Square,
 swarmed with pigeons and visitors, 
 where the Venetians' genius built 
 a splendid Basilica reminiscent of their wealth
and power...making Venice:  the Queen of the Sea!
 Down the Rialto Bridge and the Bridge of Sighs,
gondolas row...carrying visitors and lovers;
the artists seek  inspiration for their works,
while their stunned eyes are delighted by beauty, 
which pulls them out of virtual reality!  

Intrigue and mystic fascinated 
many a devoted soul,
and the entire city echoed
with delirious voices breaking
the silence of midnight;
violins and lutes played in palaces 
and in gondolas on the Grand Canal...
did anyone stare at the brilliant stars?

A masquerade was an invitation to love,
all disguised themselves behind a mask;
many were seduced by passions with haste...
as Venice revelled in their merry-making,
celebrating a glory that knew no ending;
and when it declined, it was deserted by all! 

Venice's splendor seems eternal,
not diminishing through ages;
her fame ever-increasing and each stone
can tell a different story of people
who partook of her greatness,
leaving a legacy we regard as our own...   

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Reporting Live on the Soup - Alaska

"Phew! got here in time to catch The Glacier Discovery Train. This journey is to be seen
to be believed. I am in Anchorage, Alaska. I am so out of breath running to the station.
Right, that's the film crew seated. We have all looked out of a train window anticipating
the journey ahead, lets enjoy"

"We are heading to our first stop called Girdwood. Originally called "Glacier City", it
was founded as a supply camp for placer gold miners. The gold being found in creeks
feeding the Turnagain Arm. Disaster struck the town in 1964 when the Good Friday Quake
struck. Due to subsiding, the town was moved 2.5 miles up the valley"

"OK, back to the journey guys. The next 12 miles takes us towards the port of Whittier.
This wonderful stretch captures what Alaska and Canada is all about. Be sure to look out
for the salmon in the streams as we chug on. Whittier is the stopping point for many
passengers today, where they will become lucky passengers on the day cruisers or even
better going on a fishing charter"

"We are now not far from the Placer Valley. Having left the mainline 12 miles back, we are
now back on track. This area is only accessible by train, which tells you the barrenness
of this wonderful state, country. Before we stop at Spencer Glacier you will see several
spectacular glaciers. The deep ice in these blue gems goes back thousands of years, but
sadly modern man has speeded up their melt. If you were to go camping here, one would
have to be so careful. The wildlife is second to none, with bear, moose, coyotes and
wolves. If you do venture here folks, always remember you are in their domain. So be safe"

"Ah! Spencer Glacier, this place is the future for back country playground themes. Having
formed a partnership with the U.S. Forest Service. Passengers can disembark, go on a
1.5-mile hike with a Forest Service Ranger. The highlight is being taken up close to a
glacier, not many of you watching will ever come close to a glacier. If you do, it's
something else"

"We are now leaving Spencer on the last leg of our journey. You can feel the gravity as we
climb towards Grandview. We will be heading into some short tunnels, and once we are
through them, the beauty is spell-bounding. The Kenai Mountain's with lush meadows is a
sight to see. Waterfalls fed by glacial runoff as snow-melt cascades over ancient cliffs,

"Well viewers, I hope you have enjoyed the journey"

"This is Jacques Pasquinel reporting live for the soup on The Glacier Discovery Train"

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I Realize

who is this spiritual soul I see dancing amongst the thorns and nails of a desolate ending
perhaps a chosen to walk alone in the corruption of the filth laden lies
perhaps an angel passing through to display a true light  , a light of love for each
just perhaps.......

perhaps gives birth to a definite divine................................

I realize...


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The Boy and The Sand - Part Two

Special Note: Please read Part One first.


Her eyes began to slowly wake;
Her fingers tapped the ground;
The boy outstretched his carving hand
To help her come around.

She reached for his so soft embrace;
His skin unlike the sand;
And when she stood up on her own,
She'd not release his hand.

"Don't let me go; I'm scared," she said.
As if a tear began to form.
"A life without someone to care,
To me, just doesn't feel so warm."

"OK, I'll go," the boy replied,
"But just one thing before we leave."
He turned to me and said, "You there.
Tell my parents where I'll be."

The couple nodded me goodbye.
They then began to walk;
They strolled along the shore, engaged
In lovely happy-talk

Just then, the tide began to rise.
This made the couple slow.
Then they walked into the sea,
Away they both did go.

Surely they'll come back again.
I haven't yet forgot:
Love is what they both desired
And love is what they got.

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Godfearing grandpa died over two decades ago,
he had an adventureous spirit bolder than any explorer of long ago;
and in his many voyages: from tumultuous Argentina
to Canada and America...he immensely missed
his faithful and beautiful blue-eyed wife Maria...
and when he dreamed of that face he once caressed,
tears flowed thinking of her with a man's desire,
which too often he bore throughout his dire...
and he could have found a companion, but he resisted that urge
by opening the Bible to remind him of his refuge.

That large barn, which echoed with the peasants' voices and songs,
was the labor of their callous hands storing hazelnuts, chestnuts, grapes 
and grains to be sold in the town's market square...all that was his pride and joy; 
and what made those long furrows with vines so bountful?
Their source was a river flowing through those well-kept farms,
nourishing them with its fresh waters that at times proved to be
very disastrous and fatal when its banks  filled to capacity
when floods occurred making him sad, but seldom he lost hope...
as he glanced far, dreaming of sailing beyond the crimson horizon.
Godfearing grandpa was never stouthearted, he firmly believed in Divine Mercy.

Godfearing grandpa sailed from the Bay of Naples
on a ship cramped with thousands of desperate immigrants, 
to seek fortune outside Italy after Mussolini seized power;
and he didn't curse his native soil for making him leave,
but kept on loving it with same ardor of his youth.
" I will return to my land and my barn as empty as a shell,
dreaming of stacking it with those crops ready to be gathered...
I will smell the ripe apples, the juicy grapes, the yellow pears,
the plump oranges with their strong scent in the crates made of oak!"
He solemny shouted to the reddest sky overlooking his rosy barn.  

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Tallow Tree

One of your relatives sprouted behind my house
Cut it down twice...fat chance
Ended up damaging my half paid for home
I wanted revenge, so I resorted to torture
Dug up and hacked roots; soaked oil and poison
No dice...stripped off all the bark at the base
Well THAT did the trick...dead inside of two months
Fell flat on its ass (I helped a little)
Sucker almost got me on the way down
Guess it was taking one last parting shot...

Then I moved back up to my native state,
out in the woods with no other house in sight
Found you in a perfect spot in the back yard
Basically no trunk...just huge thick branches,
grown out at about forty-five degrees;
perfect for great-grand's to scramble up and sit
("Look paw-paw, look at me!"..."Be careful!" I fume)
In the spring you bloom green-yellow flowers
In summer, assorted butterflies and bees 
It's September're growing shiny berries
which will mature, then the walls will peel away
and there you are... tiny white Tallow seeds
used in Asia to make candles and soap
and oil; nature-made vegetable oil
Your leaves are used as herbal medicine;
topical ointment to treat skin ailments
Your American nickname is "Popcorn Tree"
And I'm not going to lay one finger on you...

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A World Unknown

Roaming through the woods
Looking around the trees

Stopping for one second
I realize I am free

As I begin to walk again
I hear a faint call

Following the voice
That leads me through the forest

The call gets louder and louder
A shadow gets closer and closer

I reach the shadow which is a girl
Come with me and we will explore the world...

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I wandered around for years
in odds and ends
not knowing what to do with myself
unchartered territory just waiting for me
to discover
undecided in which way to go
open road to freedom
impulsive escape driven 
by extremes in nature
erratic in behavior
in the spur of the moment running away
from the mundane routine of existence.

A change of pace from everyday rat race
always in a hurry to get ahead
on the highway of life
searching for a new scenic route
through small towns and quaint little shops
worth exploring along side streets
with windows rolled down
music blasting out loud
enjoying the view of the countryside
a smile on my face feeling free
from the city lights of shades drawn in boredom.

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The Road

The road takes me on
Through meandering mazes
Into mists and hazes
Till the time of dawn

Fiery icicles swarm
As Heaven's haughty torch
Lies on azure porch
With flames to charm

Divine breaths plead
Pink rose-buds to dance
As swallows prance
Little mouths to feed

Drops of divine sorrow
Quench the meadows' thirst
Mighty pillows burst
Doomed to weep and morrow

Locks of green hair
On the hills and dales
Harks to soothing tales
Lion in his lair

Fangs of the Earth rise
While a gaping hole
Devours my soul
As the last ray dies

Water pillars fall
Foaming fast in fury
Ridden by Mercury
As by Devil's call

Lands bereft of lawns
Wind in pain grieves
Rainbow of fallen leaves
Cursing, moaning pawns

Watery fingers hold
Sands' burning breast
Wails a wrathful crest
Secrets to unfold

Ferries drown in a mad witch's frown
Clowns thrust in the Fate's claws
Satan sneers at human flaws
Feathers caught in Persephone's crown

Of the Devils' art
Saw a rotten bow
Broken arrow
Aimed at Heaven's heart

Shrouded trees in a cold clasp
Beaten hard by ferocious hails
Frozen fingers with icy nails
Sting the heart, a cruel asp

A silver crescent, gloomy and dim
The night's coy lantern
And the Hours' urn
Drunk with ashes, filled to brim

Centipede of light
Rusty metal domes
The road still roams
I've run out of might...

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No Clouds In Sight

Today, I was determined to fly a kite;
There was plenty of wind with no clouds in sight.
Strenuously I checked the strength of the twine;	 
I didn’t want any troubles fouling up my line.
The knots that I tied were quite snug;
Each line was checked with a mighty tug.
Then I attached an elongated tail
To the kite’s bamboo frame with a trusty nail.
The kite’s blue silk was speckled with dots, 	 
Like blue cheese with a bunch of white spots. 	
I picked up the kite; I started to run;
As I fed out some line, the kite soared straight for the sun;   
I could only squint as I felt the sun’s rays;
It scorched my inquisitive gaze.
Suddenly, I felt an uncomfortable lurch
As the kite fell from its lofty perch;
I raised the bobbin in the opposite direction,
Quite certain I made the appropriate correction. 
As time marched by, the sun’s glow faded;
Threatening clouds sprang up deeply shaded.
The warm air vanished; the wind began to howl;
The lightning was on the prowl.
The kite began to yaw; the sky to fall;
Like a numbing dread came the squall.			 
Torrents of rain thrashed against my face;  
Nothing dry was left to chase.  
Lightning stretched across the angry sky;
After a pause, there was a thunderous cry. 
I never before lost a kite, nor did I set one adrift into the night. 
If the line is cut would that be right?  
Kneeling in the freezing mud, I rewound the twine;   
Yet, when my fingers numbed; I cut the line.
Suddenly, not ten feet from my right was a bright streak of light;
It plunged into the mud with a great fright.
Bobbin in hand, I dashed for my car; I didn’t get far;
I slipped in the mud wounding my pride with a scar.   
Safely in the warmth my car, I rested; slowly I closed my eyes,
I then realized that my life was the prize.

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The Bird Song

   The Bird Song   

Icy fingers from the lake
tenderly caress the dew.
Foggy digits turn to vapor 
when the sun comes into view.

Sunlight bursts into the meadow.
Birds sing the song of a new day.
A family of deer finishing up breakfast.
I watch as the fawn begin to play.

Staring at the splendor of nature I'm humbled
by the magnificent day the Lord has made.
I'm reminded of a game of hide n seek as I watch
the sun playfully find the hiding shade.

The trees changing colors tell the season.
As the warmth of summer gives in to the fall.
Time rolling on in sweet harmony.
The bird song a testimony to it all.

As a visitor to this glorious moment 
I must give the Lord praise,glory,and fame.
After a fleeting look back at the meadow
I shall go back from whence I came.

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The Sky, The Tree and the House

A man and woman 
Lived side to side
A tree and English house
A pen is found on former’s hand
That knows no fetterings

His tales are based on happiness
A simple life with a tree
While all the while the woman sighs 
The binds of residency

She brings her ladder down to him
Slowly down the tree
To invite him into her bleak
And somehow make him stay

The scarcity of the man’s life it seems
To be her serenity

And sadly so, she is declined
By the man who bears her love
A tear then falls to the saddened house
Accentuating the depression

A drop, five drops and a shower
As the skies sang with her sadness
The sky that longed the woman’s touch
Has decided how he could love her

The hardened tree falls at the man
In solemnity he was crushed 
To which befalls the irony
Her then desire was to be gone

Two bodies felled to the silent ground
The woman and the man’s
An oak that fell at storm’s command
A crime of love it seems

Love lost, unreturned and forever gone
Longings torn from the hearts

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If all the things I have right now were taken away and I had nothing left I would fantasize about nature and how beautiful it is. I would imagine that I was swinging on an old tire swing in front of a river. In the river were little ducks and I would go feed them. In my life right now I don’t think of nature that way. I think if my freedom was taken away I wouldn’t take it for granted the way I do and I would know how much it actually means to me. I would also imagine my family getting together for my family reunion. We would usually have them in September. My aunt would make her fancy white cake topped with chocolate drizzle. My grandma always made her jello cake; I still don’t know exactly how she makes it. The others would bring KFC, at least three boxes full of chicken and fries. All the kids would sit together and play games and laugh as we threw food at one another. We would have a game where the kids lined up from age 1 to age 13 and you would get to pick a prize appropriate for your age. I would always get stuck with bath soap and tooth brushes.I take a lot of ordinary things for granted and I think a lot of people do but they won’t admit it. Sometimes I even take life and my freedom for granted. I think that if maybe we wouldn’t take things for granted like the trees or our freedom that maybe our lives would be a lot better and things wouldn’t happen the way they do. I have lived long enough to know that it won’t happen, nothing happens the way you want it to. Just a few months ago I lost my grandma and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I took all of the things she did for granted and now that she’s gone I miss her. She used to make this tuna casserole, it was just amazing but I never told her just how much she meant to me. I think if I would have told her that more then I wouldn’t feel so guilty or depressed that she is gone. I never told her what I needed to. If people could use the words of John Lennon “Imagine Peace” and actually think about it then maybe the world wouldn’t have to end because there wouldn’t be any enemies, murders, drugs, none of the bad things would have happened. If we could have just accepted everyone around us for who they are and known that one day we all have to die, we could have stepped back from it all and said I had a good life and I don’t regret any of it. I think it’s no good to step back from something and tell yourself that you could have done something to prevent it.

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The day we walked to Glastonbury

That day we followed the ancient byway                          
that wound round the old farm house,
past the new and on sun drenched
towards the river Brue.

You and I wandered slow,                                                  
whilst summer's promise
swooped down low                            
over green level pastures
in which new lambs bleated.

Passing incidental hedgerow trees 
full of bird song, growing free  
along the drove,  
we lingered at the grassy edge
where orange tipped  
peacock eyed butterflies danced.
Occasionally we glanced              
towards the sacred tor to mark our way.

Meandering talk and country lanes
led to Arthur’s court yard,  
in the Vale of Avalon.
Where, to the sound of the Buddhist's Om
I walked the healing pool,
held by a gentle hand.

You waited beneath a budding tree
opposite the lion’s mouth
kept company by a brambling.
I had one too in branches high above,
whilst my bare feet
were rubbed, with love and
unscented oil.

I returned to sit beside you
and with easy talk you told
me of your brambling.

That was the day of the apple blossom drop.
As we sat together side by side
on that bench in the garden of the chalice well
with warming eyes you turned to me
as clouds of apple blossom fell
smiled, and said “I organised that just for you”.

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The lush hill towered over the quite town mostly built with big rock;
it had three tall church towers
with different distinguished styles: Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque...
wondrous was every sunrise!

Oh, their loud bronze bells could be heard ringing
through the vast, sun-washed and peaceful valley
sorrounded by mountains that reached a sky so dazzling...
then the clock-tower stroke each hour so precisely!

The summer's aroma was kind of strong and irritated the eyes,
and it almost got me drunken as aged wine does;
and I ran to the lush hill thinking of finding a treasure
in a cave that the invading Normans might have hidden in there!

But to my surprise, only frescos of martyrs were discovered;
all the while, that treasure was in front of me:
Nature opening up with its magnificent beauty!
It took observation and reflection for the rare gifts it rendered.

Whenever I ran to the lush hill, either morning or afternoon,
I was astonished by the humble faces of saints showing no demise 
for their persecution and carnage by beast such as ferocious lions... 
as those pious faces looked to Christ for comfort in their doom!

Their image made me much stronger and believer in the Shepherd
whose sheep never was lost among grunting wolves waiting aside; 
and every mystery revealed, it grew to teach me not to be afraid...
when profound silence arrived bringing delights to an innocent child. 

Oh, lush hill...keep my image of young boy intact even after I die;
let it come alive when sheer curiousity arises and tantalizes...
to make me climb that lush hill again for the heart to fantasize,
and 'though my health may not be as vibrant as then, I must try!

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basic earthly elements

Basic elements are five in number
All world’s matter, awake or in slumber,
Are made up of them. They are Earth,Water
Fire, Air and the fifth and final Ether
So say ancient texts times without number
The theory looks easy and simple
When physicists are in such a scramble
That God particle, to find
Most fundamental to bind
Those questions about which they fumble

Contest; Leighann Anderson's " Earthly elements"

By:  S.Jagathsimhan Nair

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No Matter What Happens

As I travel through this torn valley
I look around then I drop to my knees
Graping the blade that guides my me
I will always fight knowing that I can be happy
Cutting through the sorrow and torment
Until this moment I have wasted the time spent
Focusing on my future
Thinking of my past
As long as there is something worth fighting for
My bad memories leave me fast
I will never give up nor will I back away
Not at night, not at day
I will always have a purpose
No matter what happens...

Details | Narrative | |

Up but Down -Part1

Up,but Down…Part-1

This bus old as this rutted road
Panting to haul its sweaty load
Moves along the steep gradient
Of these hills stoutly determined

Raising to heights which although small
Are far like aeons  beyond recall
To the place men and maps from yore
Call by a name now part of lore

It stops and ejects a lone man
Bearded, forlorn, bag and baggage
A petty  forest  official
Perhaps on punishment transfer

To these hills, unfeeling and cold
Where his ticket has taken him
Which could take him no further, no less
Away far away from sweet home

To where it’s for predators home.
It turns left, heaves off a U-turn
Climbs on to a conglomeration
Of tenements of refugees

From a strife-torn island, whose hopes
Are holding breath in another land
Uprooted  amidst the rooted
All at sea amidst hardy rocks.

And returns to the highway where
The forest man still stands rooted
Aghast where he was offloaded
Like one of those gaunt and old trees

Failing to find his way to those
Who came before, missing the link
With the before and with the now.

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My Journey today

I rise from my bed with a smile on my face.
My heart has returned to a very safe place.
All of the bad has vanished without a trace.
I look to the sky and dream of this vast space.

I go for a walk the sun shines in my eyes.
All that I can see is the bluest of skies.
It seems so quiet I could hear a pin drop.
As I continue my journey to reach the top.

Sometimes I wonder will I ever get there,
Other times it seems like I really don’t care.
Things will just happen I wish to be part,
This contentment does grow inside my heart.

The birds are singing as they fly overhead.
I look at the trees they appear to be dead.
I know that are sleeping, taking a winter nap
Soon they will make syrup from the trees sap.

I walk by the pond the light glitters on the top.
It is much like a mirror I see my face as I stop.
The reflection shows all the beauty, that surrounds,
A wind gently blows some leaves across the ground.

Though I’ve been here before today seems so new,
Everything I see as well as everything that I do.
It almost as if I’m seeing for the very first time,
I find some new rungs on this ladder I climb.

I take in all the sights and then it’s time to go.
The sun high in the sky my shadow does show.
The more that I see the less that I seem to know,
The peace in my heart shall continue to grow.

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Living on the Edge

“Wow, life”! 

Always in the proper order organized and determined to stay intact.
Step by step rules with regulations and all judged with such strict order.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What a revelation in front of me a definite soul searching moment indeed.
Walking the plank I can see death before my eyes and visions with just way too many lacks.
I step further in to grasp this concept presented so directly in front of me.
Ha! A life with nothing but clearly lots of undistinguished metaphors!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it encourages the will in me to succeed!


Ruled by the throne of ethical, morals, and values,
Condensed all into one challenging the best of my integrity!
Step by step an opinion is drawn or the matter disregarded at hand, 
And all of this challenged by me!
My, My! What visions are in front of me a time to expect the unexpected my constant need! 
Playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun, firm and adamant I maintain all of my dignity.
Pushing further for results to stimulate an aura I capture a much higher demand!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it examines these laws that strive so hard to be!

“Wow, life”! 

Expectations meant for perfection encourage the best of me over and over again.
Step by step blueprints are calculated, analyzed and specified by the finest details.
And all of this is what’s focused on me?
My, My! What examples are set before me a moment to test my own integrity!
Sink or swim? A desperate moment I recognize and exemplify as purely sublime.
Getting closer and closer to the seed itself the core is mine to unravel and reveal!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but it’s argumentative from all that I can see.


A yes or a no, but never a maybe and all before my time so it seems!
Step by step a path has been laid before me all engraved in gold or stone.
Most definitely a challenge for my authenticity!
My, my what a grip on me, a chance to acknowledge what it is that I believe?
Suffocated by these laws that be, I’m caught in the rapture of my finest dreams.
I step further in to grasp the concept presented so proudly before me,
A challenge I care to defy on the Royal Throne!
My, my living on the edge, 
Risky it may be but I know what I believe and I truly believe in what’s in the best of me,
And that my friend is strictly my authenticity!

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Final Fantasy

Follow me and I will follow you only to sacrifice and pledge my soul.
Now known only as one!
Soaring in the winds with rapid inspirations exploding one by one,
It is your final fantasy to live again!
Victim of suicide revealed by fate and conquered by the depths of love,
Life of life has just begun!
The warmest touch begs respect for the quality found deep within.
It is your final fantasy to finally begin!
Encouraged by beliefs to uphold the strength of one’s destiny,
Yet, embraced with one final and endless thought!
A kiss of pleasure obscures the kiss goodbye,
Accompanied with its warmth to pleasure your need!
It is your final fantasy to bow down for these borrows and trade.
Subtle with perfection you are as pure as a white dove.
Your desire is to never ever get lost with what you’ve caught.
Insensitive delights begin to dwell from deep within,
You burn and ache for a place to finalize where it is that you belong.
It is your final fantasy to conquer these steps in which you alone have made.
Sacrifice those objectives captured and held in your time!
Acknowledge your very own self with the quality known only by the depths inside of you!
Fly away with me, but only for a moment.
Embrace only that which enlightens the moment seized!
It is your final fantasy to touch and feel everything that you never knew.
Life is our mystery, yet we uphold its true value with our righteous dignity.
Harvest your life moment by moment,
Make it your very own prey for the little ones who never knew.
Gather the sensations and absorb life as you breathe in your every breath of air.
It is your final fantasy to indulge with the intrigued and explore all of these parts inside of 
Release yourself from the depths of love and find what it is that you truly seek.
Life of life has finally just begun!
Looking up and looking down but never looking all of the way around,
The loss of control is the loss that you will gain!
It is your final fantasy to whisper in the dark and to cry in plain sight.
Open minds with open hearts capture the true essence, for they completely belong!
Spirits fly and soar through life with so much energy powered with intensity’s strength.
They find the treasures you’ve always sought but have never found.
Your final fantasy is to escape your darkness and to find yourself inside of this beaming ray of 

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" Keep Talking " by Pink Floyd

For millions of years mankind lived just like the animals.
Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination.
We learned to talk.

These are the words spoken by Stephen Hawking on Pink Floyd's track  Keep Talking
from the Album - Division Bell from 1994.

Is it not a sad indictment on us humans, that we were graced with the cleverist of 
yet we can hardly use it.

I wrote a poem today called Gorillini, and this is the last two lines:-

We are barely their servants
The real King of the primates

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A Rainy day

...Another day has come

with a strange noise

I rushed out the balcony

but I didn't recognize the voice. 

I felt a wet drop of water

looked to the sky. 

" Are the clouds crying?" 

The voice would make a lullaby.

I looked down to our garden

noticed the cries watered it... 

"I know this water."

But I couldn't remember a bit. 

"It's rain!" my sister shouted out loud

she made a really big crowd. 

It's just a rainy day, it's my best day.

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Monsoon (A Show For Paula)

waiting and watching
the mighty monsoon of july , distant
a slight breeze brings a notion of anticipation
for now a calm sparse cloud cover exposes a radiant beam of light
soon the dramatic ballet
a dance of destruction


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Poetry is

A bouquet of inner beauty,
unclothed, waits patiently
at the hem of wilderness:
it offers exuberant kiwis,
merciful bananas with an
ounce of disquiet: the sly ginger
root – this is me yielding to the
poetry of Mother Nature.

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Mother to Son

You live in another world
spiritual realm your heaven
a powerful entity in itself.

The watching of your loved ones
from the angels sky
sprinkling your wishes
of joy to them all.

Never missing anything
from the highest plane
where you can move on
to another journey.

The past, present and future
are all multi-dimensional
in the hall of records
where past judgments lie.

Spread your angel wings
fly down to me upon the earth
so I can feel you once more.

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In June everything was festive and green,
a patch of deep blue couldn't  be seen...
the struggling sun was kept off, with dire,
by a dense foilage of emerald;
and the robins competed with the blue-jays
to harmonize a new song with notes
that even a great composer couldn't write...
Oh, how I loved that sweet sound!

Auburn trees in Fall showed a dull color
andulated by the softest wind,
which wasn't as perfumed as that of spring,
and its sadness was compensated by a beauty,
which inspired a poet and a composer
to write it with a tender melancholy;
and I jotted down the impressive images
of a peaceful Nature that revealed its loveliness!

The freight trains scurred through the defoliating forest,
I found a massive rock and laid my body to rest;
and finally those struggling sun-rays
broke through to warm my forehead quickly:
so glad to have seen, with awe and curiousity, 
the forest's beautiful and swift creatures
storing away food for those gloomy winter's days!...
Oh, how happy I felt to have been the wanderer of the forest! 

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simple suggestion

It’s a simple gesture that one can say
Hello how do you do how was your day
It’s a simple suggestion
Like my hand in yours
So tender on the touch every single pore
What is his hand? 
And where can I find 
It keeps my mind in motion the simple unknown
Un devoted
Just done
Life can be a single turn 
A single term
Its rhythm is firm 
From the grey seas 
To the green trees
And another late fee
Just a divided hand
That might suggest that we chose the wrong path
That maybe our world is colliding with a wall
And that hand might not be there to save us all 
For the meantime the wren keeps it afloat
With his peaceful remedy and his tranquil notes
One can see the irony 
Of this simple pass by 
The one time you see our flutters fly 
Is all past that 
The Chat 
For it is my hand that does the work 
The simple wave 
And the smile on the other end 
Maybe the one to constrict my hand later
Or make it even bigger
Or it’s the one that litters
And keeps me undeclared
Or uncaring
When we take to the wind
We foreshadow our sin
And here I stand still 
With our glares and our posture 
Carefully making sure his hand might find us one day

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There I sit on my chair just looking outside, wondering what I can do with my life. I can
just sit there just doing nothing or get up and do something with my life. I noticed I
wanted to get up and start walking out side. I walk a long time looking at god creatures
and the beautiful land he made just thinking. I can be anything I put my mind to. I go and
walk some more, to find myself somewhere different. Where am I? Did I get myself lost I
walk so far from home, do I go left or go right. OH no what so I do.  I tell myself it’s
going to be fine. I just love walking here in this nature and listing to all the birds. I
know that I can walk my way home if I just listen and look, I can feel the right way home
with all my help with gods beautiful creatures.

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When I was young, I had these dolls, in various guise and shapes,
The first was been the simplest; in it no single garment
or any ornament embedded, but only made of clay and heights four inches,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed and clothed the doll in scarlet dress.
The second doll was only made of scarves of woolen rags in many color set and 
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed again, and dangled some trinkets on its neck.
My third doll was more ornate and made of wood, which was slightly rough,
But its face and clothes were not alike from me; but of Japanese in a kimono
with a sash of obi around its tiny waist and wooden sandals on its feet,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and furnished it with gesso.
Then my fourth doll was made of ivory, and clothed in simple bulk skin,
“Imperfect doll!” I said, and adorned its clothes with lace.
And my last doll was made of bisque from Germany:
fair-haired and fair skinned, until I noticed, some hairpiece fell as I untangled,
“Imperfect doll!” I exclaimed, and put a bonnet on its head.

And then I grew and see much of the world; more than my dolls, more than 
Like a woman I met, who’s very fond of costly suits and polish gems
only to make cover of her unwanted aspects,
“Pity!” I said, “she hides her imperfection!”
Then this bachelor who’s tired and aged, but still aspires for lofty aims,
“Alas!” I said “he’s blinded much of his imperfection!”
And to this lady I knew, who’s young and fair but lost a man she dear,
and grieves to him excessively, with no more time to stare and glad to other 
“Alas!” I said” she mourns too much her imperfection!”
And for poor man I knew, complaining day and night to his misfortune,
“Alas!” I said, “he hasn’t done a thing to his imperfection!”
And to this dying man of severe illness, reproachful to his fate,
“Poor man”, I said, “he ought to know that death is not an imperfection.”
And lastly, when I meet someone who grief or find no peace and happiness,
“Alas!” I’ll say, “you ought to see that life is made of many imperfections!”

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Rockfield Road

 Rockfield Road
A blend of northern grasses fields 
a forest of homestead trees; the saplings, 
long overcome by maturity, bear witness
to the prayer of Native sons; to give back 
what you take from Mother Earth.

In the midst of this green-crowned bark, 
a sacrificial altar of oak remains; 
its once tall spine gives strength
to the walls that house my children. 
a beauty lost to hearth from need.

One over-populated crab apple, 
draws deer at dusk and dawn. 
Thank God for a pre-set Mr Coffee, 
and a strangulated teapot 
for morning routines, 
worked in first light,cease, 
as the four-legged creatures near. 
I smile, as the collective intake 
of breath is held and released
without accompanying speech.

Breaking the moment to be on time
for artificial satisfaction, 
is not the legacy I choose 
to leave my children. 


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When the lights grow dim

The potato plant's roots keep yielding her precious fruits,
As the youth of the Spring's breeze blows through the trees,
To provide the shadows of life on its green leaves,
A bastard child is born without the presence of a father,
Drugs and prostitution have destroyed her young mother,
There are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

Generations full of lust, lost in shame,
Silly ladies shake their pretty round hips in mischief,
The Summer's heat has came,
There are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

The great struggle of the poor man is a steady fight with all his might,
While the rich man gets richer off those huge city centers,
That help light up the night,
As the leaves from all the trees have fallen to the ground,
Diseases, poverty and sickness is all around,
There are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

The chill of the Winters's frost freezes the Earth's vegetation bear,
So, the people look to their governments for shelter and security,
But, it is so dam freezing cold,
And nobody knows if anyone even cares,
There are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

Centuries pass and life spans flows and goes,
Where the wind comes and goes nobody knows,
The Son provides the world with power and illumination,
Until the day of judgement,
Only the "Blood of the Lamb" will provide true salvation,
There are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

The Earth will exist until the end of times,
When God has defeated all the evildoers,
As it is spoken by his voice of thunder,
With the Saints of mankind,
For, there are dreams being shattered and nothing really matters,
When the lights grow dim...

If life's motions and actions would pause for an instant.
To realize it is never too late for change and redirection,
Until, those great old trees crumble and fall,
As its trunk gives way to decay,
And the axe as the Lumberjack calls,
Or, when all men's souls leaves their bodies,
To be judged by the "Almightly",
When the lights grow dim...

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Winter Nocturne Dream

                                                           On this winter's night
                                                         beneath sallow skylight
                                                       amidst prismic snow mist
                               wading snow banks that sank like shallow quicksand
                                                     beneath it deadened land
                                Falling snow gleaning grows taller than my height
                    stretching into snowfields,glowing bright as summer daylight

                                           Yearning winter days photographed
                                              when snow painted cedars cast
                                       black shadows against incandescent snow
                Timidly crossing glassen iced paths over frozen flowered meadows
                                       snowflakes falling like flower tree pedals
                                        windblown snow crystals pelt and prickle
                                                    Apparition whirlwinds whisper 
                                            glowing snow dust stirs and glisters
                                                   shattering ice crystals melting
                                                     glimmering streams pelting 
                                            celebrative seasonal window scenes
                                                reflect and filter pearl moonbeams
                                          through this winter's placid past is seen
                                                        winter nocturne dream

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Many roads I travel end on one
Walking at night I can't stand the sun
The sound of shaking leaves
The crying of old trees
I enjoy the woods, it's my place of peace
I hear something different
So I stand still and freeze
Listening closely the noise is a cry
The power of the forest tells me to fly
Getting closer I begin to fall
I don't know whats ahead, but I risk it all
As I land all that I can see
Is a girl wanting to be with me
I pick her up and wipe her tears
Using my powers I destroy her fears
I kiss her lips as she kisses mine
I tell her things will be just fine
Stay with me forever and ever
We will be happy living together...

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The Poets Dance

Paint pots and magic at the stroke of a brush, it’s the power of a picture for the lovers in lust. The splashing of water and addition of choice, it’s a musician’s beat, and the poets to rejoice. Hungary caterpillars and the ladybugs dance, it’s nature’s festival and the Devil’s mischance. The warmth of summer’s night amongst a starry sky, it’s the sparkle of lanterns drifting up to Shanghai. The poets and the dreamers smear ink to the page, it’s lyrical fluidity entwining a white witch’s sage. The smells and the colours are a carnival of love, it’s the power of family, drawing joyous tears up above. Live in these moments and build memories to keep, it’s time for our picture before we lose it to sleep. So take my hand as we enter the tent to the light, it’s an entrance to happiness and it’s just to your right.

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The Sabbretooth grinds ice with its teeth
Not for dull enjoyment but sharp urgence.
Its eyes glitter as the teeth is sharpened
While the sun fades away in numb sense.

The smell of blood orchids haunt the air
And the dry trunks and bushes whisper.
The Sabbretooth approaches near herd
That is grazing branches without guard.

The merciless hunter grabs a wild stag
And pierces it with its two sharp teeth.
At once the swift stag is in deathly rag
But its eyes depict cruelty underneath.

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I love big Oak trees with strong trunks,
I watched them at night from my upper bunk,
Tall Elm trees with leaves so green-
It was comforting, at night, just to sit and dream.

I loved those trees that grew in our yard-
I would play in and around them until I grew tired-
Sometimes I would sit under one and let the wind blow-
It would tickle my neck and cool my hot toes.

I was just a kid then, no worries or cares-
Just being natural- sometimes taking a dare-
Or I'd go out in the pasture looking for bears,
But all I found were two old mares.

Those trees still stood as I grew up-
The Maple tree would seem to
 offer me a cup
Of her delicious, Maple syrup
To put in coffee or tea while we watched the Cougars
               on TV.

Now I am old, but the trees are still there,
Now I have to sit under them in a rocking chair-
No more climbing or running around,
I just listen to the wind making whistling sounds.

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Up but Down - Part 2

Up, but down…Part-2

We take no notice, for it means
Regression. He will find his way
And be a guide in his own right
In these heights where heights are mere plains

Kids play on and where movement is
Mere child’s play for the accustomed
We move on. Burnt rubber smelling
Of undue strain and delay. The lone

Human being sighted on wayside
Stops, his crinkled face turned, and looks
From fathomless eyes hungering
After the sight of mankind. Gazing

At each one of us. Till we move
Into distances where eyesight
Is not worth so much of strain and
Any sight is fleeting  and fruitless.

My eyes take in the greenery
Around the caverns, dales and brooks
Till I perceive those ill-defined
Purlieus in the distance from where

Emerge venerable mountains
Cheap earthly growth of money-wise
Valued trees like moss on boulders
Clinging and raising tenaciously

Upto a point and then
Leaving the pensive, poker-faced 
Giants free, to singlemindedly
Raise to their nearest heavens.

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Apollo, I Am


Apollo God of light, I Am
        a prophetic deity of the Delphic oracle of all men
        the power of healing flows from my hand 

The love of the sun I shall shower across the land
I shall destroy the rats and locust that plague our crops grand    
I reign as dominion over all colonists of simple man 
I shall guard your flocks and herds from the valleys to the desert sand 

Upon this sphere of man, my powers flow................  

Apollo God of Music, I Am
        I shall flood music across the Realm of a new seed
        a psalm of truth to scatter abound 

My attributes shown proud as I travel the crowds
a tripod of vision showing all my prophetic power proud
a bow, an arrow sweeping away drenching clouds
I am all power, I scream to the heavens aloud

Apollo God Of Knowledge, I Am                           
       The truth of all known, in me will be found
       The scrolls of wisdom, I Am

Upon this sphere of man, my powers flow................



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Tall, naked trees
are slowly getting dressed
Tiny green polka dots adorning each appendage.
Strong winds force them into an unsynchronized dance
as the song turns to static in the switch of a dial.
The larger green polka dots weigh heavily on the arthritic arms
so delicate yet so strong.
A row of pine trees takes center stage
at the top of the mound carpetted in a net of brown, lifeless array.
Fragrant needles moving smoothly
like a ballerina twirlng in a child's jewelry box.
Ornamental grasses are peeking up out of the moist soil
like a newborn taking its first breath of air.
Thick, lush tufts of new follicles
abundantly sprout on the scalp of the Earth.
Unshampooed from last years dry leaves
and the split ends of each fallen branch.
Lying helpless, like an overprocessed hairdo.
The big, yellow balloon
with no string attached
looking down below
flashing a bright, warm smile
with the passing of each cloud

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Billy Bo Bob

Billy Bo Bob, woodsman his job
Was a hunter of faded flannel flair
He whittled wood with two left feet
And used Quaker State in his hair
He picked his teeth with a straw of hay
And slept between the bales 
But never missed a sunrise sing
Because his wall was driven by nails
Born in the backwoods, a man’s frontier
Where the only trails were fear
Billy trapped bears as he wrestled gators
And swiped jerky from passing deer  
With his snakeskin boots striking roots
He could outrun the whirl of whistling trees
Until one day he fell from sight
As a rogue breeze knocked him to his knees
Billy shielded his eyes and squinted at the sky
Thinking God had unleashed his wrath
When low and behold, armed with a bow 
Something cute and fuzzy stood in his path 
Now Billy wasn’t dumb, just a special type of conundrum
For he could neither read nor write
But he'd be damned if a furry little fox, no bigger than a box
Would leave him in an unfettered fright
Before Billy could breathe…beg, plea, or somehow flee
That cute and fuzzy fox shot him in the most fleshy of spots
With an arrow forged from the crow of a unemployed cock
Billy shouted in wretched pain, as he came up lame
Wondering how in the hell this could be the end
When speaking for men, quoting his favorite hen
The fox hungrily quipped, “Who needs civilized friends?”

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The Man, With A Pen

The man, with a pen in the pocket of his 
suit of yesterday and today, that has chosen a place 
in a rocky shoreline, sits contently, waiting 
for the orb to settle down a smile from which words 
of mystic sea whirl, enjoying the summer wind.

The man, with a pen in the pocket of his 
suit of yesterday and today, feels rejuvenated 
from the touch 
of those lips, etched in a photograph. Ah, memories
good or bad, are always permanent!

The mountains and the seas tilt nigher 
to the orb, who has selflessly warmed him with 
eyes blinking from heaven to earth 
and has felt the gentle ripples of tares and the whir 
of transient birds gliding, in jovial mood, in the air. 

The orb declaims a lovely poem, while endless sky 
guesses if it should please his aged mind and a pen adhering 
to a note pad. A man, with a pen in the pocket of his suit 
of yesterday and today, that will  
boredom less enjoy the evening graces whilst she’s away.


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Wings Of Destiny

Her wings were heavy
they weighed her down
still flying and observing
she fell to the ground.

Her body weary
too weak to move
her inner strength
kept her fueled.

Through stormy weather
she searched for shelter
for sanctuary hidden beneath
nature's embrace.

She healed eternities
all those she touched
saved and delivered
in their nests of love.

Flying through universe's
and altered states
the messenger and sender
from the pearly gates

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Untitled #203 / Logan

Logan’s such a beast
he mowed over me at least half a dozen times
when we played tackle football by the tracks today
“If you’re such a beast, run over there and stop that train!”

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Up but Down- Part 4

Up but Down…part-4

It is a month. Since we went to that hill
Not so high  or big to boast  about.
But still something for us to elevate
Eliminate or despoil as we please.

I  have no quarrel whatever with it,
Its name, its need or the somber logic
Of its existence. Only sympathy.
None of which it needs for its own sake.

Apart from the not-so-old power stations
And undulating woods and plantations
It has streams too to woo its  rare guest
But mine is the job to relive in full

Its timeless past and its complex present,
A  past that seems vanished for good, but
Thrusting an enigmatic hand at our hearts,
Time past is a thrust into the living

A  sudden punch that leaves us but shell- shocked
Treading a thorny trail, climbing down steps
We cautiously step down boulders until
We stand amidst huge and rotund rocks whose 

Polished round shapes tell of millennia
Of floods, of flow, of hard and soft movements
And we stand in an apology of 
A stream, tepid and knee deep, where we went

Hoping to dip our hot bodies in the 
Hilly chill. Dismayed we walk back sweating
Exhausting ourselves to no avail and
Thinking of how we should brag about it

All back home, vacuously and insincerely.
Rain clouds were just gathering over there
But plains saw torrential rains last fortnight
People sadly tell, “Not much in the hills”

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Mistaken Identity

As the line’s listless structure leapt into attentive control;
It’s purpose for existence instantly acknowledged.

The double-tapered weight-forward shooting line’s condensation,
Informed of its instant transformation,
Leaps to the water’s corresponding constitution,
Each droplet acting as spherical asteroids of deception on the current’s rippling surface.

Instantly, a silent connection has arisen.
One derived out of technology,
Entombed in the cosmology of the seasons,
Originating before explorations in genetics.

Taking solice in a meal of two moons,
How could one resist this temptuos delight?
Emerging with swarms of life; Analgous in size, shape, and color,
Cleaverly disguised in the guile of organic structure.

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The Fantastic Voyage

Living on the edge was a suicide way before my time!
A soul spread wide open with a spirit that truly believes.
Walking on water and backwards with life that glares over the sunshine!
The fantastic voyage rides the high and almighty waves of the greatest seas.
A voyage to never-never land right where I know I will always want to be.
True uninhibited expression is my addiction all within myself.
A soul climaxing in the exhibition of capturing all of the free empty space!
Walking the planks with the thrill of excitement from what’s consumed as it’s felt,
The fantastic voyage is aimed straight for that perfect little happy place.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to stay.
Unpredictable with such balance is my mystery out there all on its own.
My soul opens and wills me to explore the depths of all that is real or such.
Walking the tight rope and looking down with my talent so proudly shown.
The fantastic voyage is never enough but is always over by too much.
My voyage to never-never land is where I know I will always want to feel what I touch.
Deep within the depths of all the deepness is where my connection is found.
A vibrant soul with brilliance magnified by a common need that has just got to give!
Walking narrow ledges with confidence and truly the one that has got to be proud!
The fantastic voyage gained my moments in time that I can say were actually lived.
My voyage to never-never land is where I will surrender standing on top of my deadly ground!

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I Think So

I grew up on a farm and  we never had an alarm clock
we had an old rooster and every morning he would wake my dad
three hundred  sixty five days a year
He never said  I think  I will sleep in today and not do my job
 I don't think so
He was just doing the job that God gave him to do and  never complained

And the little hen does she know  that when she lays her eggs
 and hatches her chicks that she is feeding our family
I don't think so  
she is just doing the job that God gave her to do and doing it well
she sings all day and never complains

When the little birds  pick up grass and string to build a nest in the corner of the 
house do they know  they clog up the drain so the water won't run off
I don't think so
They are just doing the job that God gave them to do to feed their  family
and when they began to sing  in the morning no choir on earth is more beautiful
and they never complain

I wonder why God didn't give us a bird brain  then we could get up in the morning 
and instead of complaining we could go to work  and lift up our voice to our 
heavenly Father and thank him for giving us our job
Are we not greater than the rooster  the  hen and the birds
I think so 

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Flora in a portrait style
In his unique botanic file
A tribute to von Linne,
Robert's liftime stint-
This monument in print

Tribute to Temple of Flora by Robert Thorton (1768-1837)

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A Butterfly Fluttering

A Butterfly Fluttering 
          *     *     *
A butterfly and all things in nature, living and non-living are abundantly AMAZING!
Borne to niches; survival, dependent-independent, necessarily disguised by BEAUTY
Undeniably, dazzling, each scene, creature, and phase since the beginning, UPLIFTS
Together, the mortal task, survival amid the “Food Chain” taunts and TANTALIZES!
Through trials in life, man learns spiritual wisdom, and receives inner TRANQUILITY
Triumphantly God’s splendor decorates each new day; He watches EVERLASTINGLY
Flowers adorn life with fruit and honey; and a microbe working the soil FLOURISHES! 
Luster, in nature embraces life-stretching dreams across all boundaries with LOVE
Yesterday, marvelous newness enlivened the soul, in springtime; all of nature YEARNS.
Fulfillment comes shadowing butterflies fluttering and thanking God FOREVER
Luxury tempts the mind, but souls thrive reverently upon God’s words: wise LIVING,
Understanding and replenishing our natural world, begins as purpose is UNITED.
Together, we must respect nature, conserve, and care; spread the word by TEACHING!
Tomorrows can be made” brighter and more wonderful by: replenishing, TENDING! 
Earth can, again, become healthy and self-sufficient; safeguard its ENVIRONMENTS
Remember, respect Earth's resources, regardless of profits; life must be REGARDED
Irresponsibility must end; replenishment is the responsibility of all, INDIVIDUALLY.
No longer can we sit back and watch while greed destroys; earth needs NURTURING.
Greet the future with honor, strength; walk the path to heal; and work, GRATEFULLY.

Dedicated to my dear friend and neighbor, Joan, who has a special love for butterflies.

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 17, 2010
Poetic form: Narrative, End Line Word and Acrostic

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Beautiful Feelings

Plenty of flowers to the sight 
Green grass to rest aside 
One butterfly hovering in pride 
Which flower will be right? 
The flowers in a stooping posture like 
All up to the butterfly’s choice 
Well, the flowers are in a plight    

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Streaming down an untouched mountain side
an innocent river tumbles to freedom in a picturesque paradise
graceful green pines brush the climbing mountain side,
standing proud in Gods grace as they sway in a blissful August breeze
I slip down a beautiful ravine into a moss covered fortress
an opening in the dense foliage reveals a bald eagle searching the basin for life
a realization engulfs my spirit soul , a special love , a beauty 
a song of grandeur echoes free.........

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The midnight plant-watering ritual

Long after the neighborhood sprinklers
had shushed the night into silence
the closing of a door interrupted
and a dark figure glided across
the lawn, behind a wall
and disappeared.

A moment later it reappeared
and the face of a man could be seen
flickering like a candle in the streetlights

Suddenly the man stopped
and the world
like a
beneath his feet.

It became unbearable to stand
and he sat on a porch step beside a stray cat

Sharp shadows crossed 
the man’s face and
an orange glint of
light was reflected
in his spectacles.

His cat purred as
he stroked it but
he looked straight forward
and did not smile.

His attention was focused
on a pinprick of light
in the vast dark canopy
called night.
He pondered his place
in the universe as 
tufts of hair fell
from his hand
and were

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They were named the Dolomites,
the Pale Mountains of Belluno,
for their limestone, jagged peaks 
and shaped splintered spires;
and they're more breathtaking even without snow!
In this region, spring is so colorful and lovely
with its lilium parvum and misurina wildflowers
waving in those grassy meadows
so frequented by busy butterflies.
In the winter season, skiers, 
bundle up in their warm sport's attire,
challenging their strength and curiosity;
while below, in wooden brown huts,
coffee is sipped in hot cups,
and steaming polenta is eaten with delight.
Alaska has bears and penguins;
in this region of Belluno,
the paradise of the Alps,
only cows are seen grazing,
and unbridled horses galloping 
through grasslands looked above
by sleek Churches' steeples.
Climbers and trekkers follow their trials
and indulge in peace and solitude,
hoping to reach their highest peak and contemplate altitude;
that's plenty of endurance and patience to see their ego glow!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Where the leaves go

I look out and wonder where the leaves go
Not those that are raked, the ones the wind blows.
Into the forest to die in dark decay
Providing the soil for the new leaves in May.

I watch as they fall from out of the tree.
For one brief moment they float down free.
The wind picks up and I hear a rustling sound,
Suddenly there are no leaves to be found.

Haunting shadows from lifeless trees,
The coming of winter and its cold freeze.
Soon they will sparkle when covered in snow.
Living but sleeping as the howling wind blows.

As autumn is ending I dream of spring,
The return to life and the green leaves it brings.
So much beauty that the birds have to sing,
Where the leaves go is like a renewal thing…

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Intoxicating Eclipse

Let me know all your smells
I want to taste of them well.
Let me hold all your funk
and sweat with you.

An eclipse 
blending fire
melting ice
filling limbs heavy
with weight untold.
Hot flames flicker
flesh most ready
heaving writhing 
they meet
in a dark void.

And then,
as ashes smolder
they rest 
in awe
in sweat
in the intoxication
of an eclipse.

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The Power of Love

The power of love holds the battleground. 
Nuclear blasts from sea to sea. 
Wait and you will see!
Begging, kicking, and screaming:
Pleading, “Give it to me”!
Standing on God’s ground, defended by the armor and shield melting.

The power of love holds the mystery.
Things are never as they seem.
Do the means meet the extremes?
Where, how, when was I?
Wondering if it was only a dream? 
Standing on God’s ground, defeated by the lock that obtains that key.

The power of love carries the only prayer.
Time to come and be done.
Soon you will be the one.
Dead, black, despair:
Hoping, will someone hear?
Standing on God’s ground, lost in the dream in which you begun.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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I'm Just What Your Looking For

since the year of 1952 the city of st paul Minnesota holds
their annual treasure hunt the king and queen of snows
goes out to a city park and hides a medallion worth
10,000 dollars if you are the winner and your carnaville
button is register with the st paul pioneer press
which gives out 12 cryptic clues and this little medallion
could be wrapped in just about anything from diapers to cookies 
and the frigid weather here just may make you want to just
stay by the fireplace and sip on hot coco with family and friends
even lucky finder gets to ride along with the king and queen of snow
in the closing ceremony of it's torchlight parade
also watch out for the vulcans krewe for they like to dethrone the king
and leave you with a black smudges across your sweet cheeks

Tribute To The Winter Carnaville

Carnaville runs
Jan 21-31 

Also Entry For
Carolyn Devonshire's
Christmas In Your Town Contest

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Vein of Life

Vein of Life

Full river flowing into the open bay. 
Standing on a stone bridge. 
On a morning day. 

Levy’s are built to hold water in. 
To stop the cycle of, 
Embankment water erosion. 

A main flowing, vein of life. 
Keeps our world fresh,  and all things alive.. 

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On a dusty and narrow path dwarfed by the enormous
redwood trees, which have conquered all of the soft-blue sky;
I walk and I'm astonished by the tallest of them all! 
Winter has left and the snows begin to melt away, to invite a lovely butterfly
to perch on wildflowers like aspens and mountain daisies swaying at the foothill;
and right beyond them, granite cliffs gloriously shine like those
northern mountains' peaks dabbed with spring snow;
oh, yesterday they were invisible to the blinking eye!

I stroll underneath groves of sequoia and white fir, and see myself really small;
and these giant trees encircling me, will lament how they shiver when they're cold,
and sad when battered by the storm; how they'll strive for lack of space and sunlight,
but wildfires may cause destruction and leave this forest barren and arid! I fix my glance
upward, and I start spinning and whirling in the stylish manner of an experienced dancer,
and they spin along with me, in a soft crescendo, never falling down with an awkward thud!  
I continue walking and admiring the majestic view of a creation, too inspiring and sublime,
which was hidden from these very make their discovery more exciting and fun!

Who hasn't seen the redwood trees in my forest? Come along and satisfy your curiousity;
these trees have more stories to tell more than a victorious warrior galloping his horse away;
and for decades, they have seen greedy hands cut them down without regard or mercy...
depleting nature of its internal richness, and when it rains, floods corrode its terrain!
Imagine what the earth will become without any of these, adorning it with a variety of colors;
look closer, some of them are covered with thick lichen, others show a cinnamon, 
hard bark, so protect Nature with your best ability and be rewarded with amazing results!
A forest, which displays its wild and natural beauty, is a treasure like my redwood trees!    

Entered in Constance La France's contest, "A walk to remember" 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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The Hurricane

The hurricane, so viscous, so violent!
Yes, it must rain.
This force is behind, 
This force beyond!
Yet, finally it came.
The winds, clever and dangerously rough,
Please measure this poll.
Dark clouds consume the heavenly skies, capturing ones soul.
With a love so hard, yet, a love much too cold!
Our world now spins, hopeless and out of control!
You are you and I am me,
Together, our climates capture and debate this Sea.
These winds are too strong, our sky so dark and dim.
Stricken with fear, too afraid to release what is deep within.
The storm is here, so grab onto your soul! 
Yet, beware! This one is fearless and this one we share.
Scream its name and it shall cry its love,
For it be you, far beyond the heavens above!
Hold your strength with a grip so tight,
That storm will surely break, so where’s your fight?
This hurricane can surely hold its own.
Our little world can and will be shown.
Our damage is as our damage does,
Surely this tiny world isn’t our just and only cause!
You hold that thought and forever we shall be,
True love bound and forbidden to set itself free,
Held within you and deep within me,
This love was meant forever, 
One day this you shall see!
This hurricane loves, yet, 
It wills to hate,
The forbidden fruit conquered by its very own fate.
Give your seeds, but stand your ground. 
Forever in this world!
For once we shall not be lost, but found.            

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997                                           

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Not far from my bustling town of Baiano, which welcomed anyone, 
there was a camp set up for gypsies,
not with dangerous tramps and thieves,
it looked like a concentration camp:
a territory restricted and feared
by the locals when they burned logs themselves to keep warm;
and despite alienation and distrust, out of it came inner beauty.
Mandisa and I became friends,
and we chatted after I finished school;
many wonderful stories of Egypt she told me:
from every Pharaoh who ever lived to the last tribe of gypsies.
While everybody was suspicious and kept the distance,
prejudice didn't keep me away from her...we shared the same feelings
of two young people, but mine were somewhat more real,
hers were not too realistic considering the condition she lived in:
a camp that resembled a ghetto without any help from the Government.
At dusk, the males played the Ouds and Riqs
that surely brightened up a cloudy sky over their squalid tents...
residents listened, but thought their music was dedicated to their Goddess Iris:
what a misconception they had about theses gypsies who never hurt anyone!
With arms hugged across my chest, feeling the crispness of the evening breeze,
I listened to every song they sang with a nostalgia an outsider couldn't describe,
then I grabbed Mandisa's hand and started to dance!
They cheered and played that music louder..everyone came out of their homes
thinking that a concert was in progress, but they were taken by shock:
their bitter looks changed to human tenderness seeing two kids dance,
one of their own country: beautiful Italy and the other from 
mysterious Egypt which they knew little about.
We looked at them and smiled and invited them to join us to form a ring
where all held each other hand: two races coming together 
in friendship and harmony that before seemed a mere impossibility!

Copyright 2012 by Andrew Crisci

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Desert Rain

Beyond horizon canyons
the sun cloaked in an amber haze
casting colored shadows 
across steaming sandcrete 
baron since an ancient age
when oceans filled its expanse

Cloud evaporation cooled sweat cleansed skin
burning like hot blood
mixed  with dirtand sand,fail to form mud

Mirage shade stretch and fade invisable
yearning these is trivial

An ancient tale offers solace
its wisdom warped like an evesdropped story
infused with myth, its promise
"The heavens shall rain oceans shall fill desert plains"

An ancient burial grave
the desert's captives tortured desperate
thirsting yearn raining skies blue as ancient times
growing gray as storms from miles beyond horizon canyons
shadowed by skies dark as night

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In Coventry Cathedral

In the Cathedral ruins

The ghosts seem friendly

Pigeons homely, air sweet

Clouds white with a hint of rain

The drops fall on the roofless relic

Like the ancient bombs

Failings of us all

Trying not to be religious

Humanity should think of itself

A bee gathers honeysuckle

People can love

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Untitled #80 / Long marches home

Long marches home
through the rain,
through the rain,
through the rain

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Yellow Butterflies

In the corner of my eye,
Ah, ‘tis just a yellow butterfly!
A swarm of bees on its tail,
And whipping in the wind with a trail!
Gallantly afloat and drifting in the air,
A cardinal bird it did meet and then a bear.
Flying through the leaves of a tree,
And circling across the roaring sea!
The yellow butterfly zips on by,
Flying low and then flying high!
Through the winds it did sail,
Gallantly afloat a great big whale!
A swarm of yellow butterflies came to share,
The journey of flying from here to there!
Yellow butterflies were everywhere for my eyes to see,
And I was dancing in the winds when yellow butterflies started chasing me.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2006

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Somewhere in Mexico

Stranded,wandering drunk tired
miles from the nearest ghost town ,'67 mustang ,yesterday's hotwire
Tijuana bound,spilled its fuel then broke down
you search finding nothing for miles around

Worn by desert air
wandering lost somewhere
in the desert,its season's always summer
blue skies grew dark beyond the horizon...distant thunder

Deathly tired and coursed without water 
an expired beer and tequila quench your thirst an order
once cooled by melted crushed ice and chilled lime twist
it's the last remains of last night's tavern visit
skin sunstained dark several shades until it pained
tequila tamed your voice hushed gentle,almost sane

Slow tormenting day 
in the distance canyon shade
near the Pacific border miles of landless space ,but its filled with salted water

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She stepped into the blue ocean of morning, 
and looked up towards the sky
& as her gaze moved up and up,
something odd, atop a willow caught her eye

There, in the tall thin branches, 
swaying in the wind,
a still & silent tabby was 
curled amongst its limbs

She shouted to it, clapped her hands, 
her dogs enhanced the sound
but the cat just lay there, never moving –
its silence was profound

Knowledge that the cat was dead
slid slowly down her face
in bitter tears that came unbidden
with grief’s wet, salty taste

She struggled back into her house
through mourning’s heavy waves
& tried to ponder what to do,
and who to call to save

At least the body of this once fine cat,
to bring it back to ground -
She imagined how it sought its safety
then could not climb back down,

& how it sat there, starving, thirsty,
forever trapped in that green embrace –
She couldn’t stand it, went back outside,
but when she looked, saw only space

The cat was gone! Had played great possum,
just pretended to be dead!
And what she’d believed to be total truth
was just a story in her head

Then laughter hit her, exploded from her,
joy blazed throughout her soul
as the crystal blue promise of the ocean of morning
was restored, renewed, and made whole

© March 2006
RG Hudson

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Forrest Dump (2005)

I took everything for granted like taking a dump
I tried so hard to push but not even a lump
Its not natural I said but I knew this way it was
Scared that someone might see and I heard a buzz
A bee is all I need 
My life style is not of need
I got used my luxuries my every day taken for granted
I kicked up a fuss in the forest and raved and ranted. 

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Goodbye Summer

Too many thoughts swimming inside my head
As the sun hits the horizon the color is red
I just need to get up from out of my bed
I reflect upon all the words that were said.

I drop to my knees and start to pray
Maybe it all shall be different today
So many consequences to decisions I made
I see what I have and the price that I paid.

I shake off the cob webs and hit the street
The pavement is cold under my feet
My heart starts to race and skips a beat
I just need a moment so I take a seat.

I watch the animals scurry around
Looking for food but there’s none to be found
The birds join in with a singing sound
Soon the leaves shall fall to the ground.

Summer is gone I feel sort of sad
As I remember all the good times I had
I wish for more time more memories to add
But soon the leaves change and for this I am glad.

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Why song birds sing

I sit and wonder why the song birds sing?
Do they even know of the joy they bring?
Are they calling out to join with everyone?
Come fly with me and with the sky be one.

Still they sing, at the beginning of the night.
Take these broken wings join with me in flight.
Open these sunken eyes and learn to see.
Fly into the night and set your spirit free.

They continue to sing, although the light is gone.
Searching for another to send an answer to their song.
The song carries through the darkness of the night.
The moon rises up, the stars are shining bright.

They fly into the tree top where there is a nest.
It seems the perfect spot for a bird to rest.
Deep within the branches I still hear the song.
Soon they will be sleeping, the singing will be gone.

It’s amazing such a sound comes from a tiny bird.
The song rings through the valley, everywhere it’s heard.
I listen to the song then wonder what it meant?
Then I view another to which the song was sent.

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All around our slippery ground
Rain dropping pellets
a quiet kind of sound
Darkened sky continues her cry
August is trying hard not to say goodbye
The passing of a season
Drenched as we forget
Hot summer to lay back
Even as we still become wet
There has been fair kind of weather
Downpours that make shiver
a lost flight of feather

Are we getting too old to remember the sun?
Deluge,God's Tears
made sure it was done
Quivering commuters,waiting on the platform
Waiting to be safe at home from her Storm
Laughing children of the elementary size
Dancing to celebrate in the dampness of the skies
Communion in Fall
Status not clear
As we continue to hope
that a Rainbow is near
Drawing to a light breeze
The sky begins to dissipate
Clouds are rolling on
A full moon above
September's rain is a memory in Song

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The Cold

   I stand alone from everyone.
In the dark morning shadow, cast down by a tree.
   It's long branches lingering above,
reaching out to touch me.
   I wait for a ride, with my hands down by my side.
The breeze comes, singing in the tree.
   Sweeping its way towards me.
Its cold.
   Yes very infuriatingly cold.
It crawls up my skin and sends...
   little prickles.
My flesh freezing to the slightest touch.
   Unable to move much.
I feel bitter, for I hate the cold.
   It makes me feel old.
For I am forced to remember, the old life I once lived.
   The things I had to give. 
The words left unsaid.
   The long ago snowy starry nights, full of porch and street lights.
Yes I remember very clearly, those dreadful long and lonely nights.
   I had my sister to keep me company, but no father.
For he would always be mad.
   Mad at me, mad at to whom or what I might turn out to be.
I hated him and with him, I hated the cold.
   The cold, that now sinks deep within my flesh and into my soal.

Dedicated to my Bastered father

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Shadow Pines

Beyond the house…

Pass the back yard…

Through the trees, and into 
the forest…

That is where you will see 
the pines…

Shadows befall the branches
 that are covered with needles, 
as the scent of pine floats and
 floods the heavy air…

By Sandra Lea Hoban

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It's so mild in the quite suburbs
with rain falling in October,
and unable to sleep, I face 
insomnia for certain;
rain, keep on falling and let me hear
that steady, pelting sound on
the closed windows....a melody for
the saddest song should be written.

I must choose the right mood,
a minor scale to match this melancholy,
and a slow tempo growing into a crescendo,
and I could even throw in a scherzo;
and transport it with a C Major to smooth
some sadness out of the melody,
which tomorrow somebody
will hum, or whistle by learning the easy tune.

Hoping this song will be a hit,
thanks to the falling rain 
in October for the sudden inspiration...
when I couldn't think of anything else!
Wishing the rain would stop at six,
so I could see the rising sun across
the eastern sky and listen to the lark
that built his nest under my windowsill.

It's past sunrise, and the shimmering clouds hesitate to leave,
and with nothing to look forward to... I must believe
that the rain falling in October, 
can teach me the game of solitaire;
and pinned against my warm pillow,
I don't have anything to share but sorrow!
Flap your wide wings, friendly lark and repeat my song,
note by note; and without a lead sheet, I can't play it for very long...

Copyright by Andrew Crisci

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I walk and walk the many miles for you.
I give and give until I have nothing more.
I go on and on until I drop or fall,
But I’m searching deep because I search for it all.
Everyday I die more inside. 
Eaten alive by myself inside of my core,
Because I’m left alive with life that only I can sort through!
I just want to see the Sun rising up so full and so high.
I want to see the Sun set so huge with shadowing bits that glow.
So I’ll just believe in this strength that comes through you to me.
I search for you but why should I be the one who has to be one that believes?
Everyday I’m alone and it’s nowhere that I go,
Even when it’s my thoughts that I clearly identify!
I just want to see the Moon so round and so high beaming me into the glow of light.
I want to see the Moon peering through the lighter of my brightest day.
I keep seeing all of these cushioned visions of just you and me.
Searching for you gives me the sight of all that I am to see.
Everyday I beg and beg until I hurt that you will stay.
But I’m left alone with reality in sight.
I just want so much for you and me.
I even want the same air that you breathe.
I keep holding onto this strength that I am I feel I believe.
Searching for you I’m with all that I can ever be!
Everyday I’m straightened by what my eyes can see,
But now I’m alone with what’s left alive and what didn’t flee.
So I’ll just keep searching for you while I search for what will be the all of me.

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I Flee from the Storm

I could wish to see down but I choose to see up.
I step to the well to take a drink from life’s cup.
All I leave behind become the pieces I discard,
Life becomes easier where once it was hard.

The sun filters through some gray clouds in the sky.
Snowflakes drift downward from a place way up high.
They blanket the ground making it fresh and new,
I see only my tracks as I start to walk through.

I gaze upon a bird looking for food on the ground,
I stand and watch quietly, without making a sound.
It takes it's beak and brushes the snow aside,
Below the surface is where the food does hide.

At first the bird finds nothing but simply doesn’t give in.
The snow is like a haystack the bidd looking for a pin.
As the bird keeps digging it finally starts to sing,
The clock on the bell tower begins to ring.

It is almost like the bell says it’s time to eat.
the bird doesn't give up and knows not of defeat.
As I watch this process I think there is this I learn
To get what you need, you seek out what you yearn.

Suddenly a squirrel comes and joins in at the feast.
The bird looks at him funny like some sort of beast.
There seems some commotion and the bird flies away.
It seems that the squirrel sent the bird on its way.

It seems rather simple yet there is a lesson inside.
There still remains food uinder the surface it hides.
It took a little work but it was always buried below,
Dig past the surface and the treasure will show.

I start to feel cold so I turn back for home.
I follow my tracks the same way I shall roam.
I get back inside where it is cozy and warm,
I find some shelter and flee from the storm.

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A Flickering Flame

Ah, a flickering flame with shadows on the wall,
With glimmering lights rolling all around!
I will remember them all!
A flame so high,
But a flame so low,
A burn out in time!
A linger much too slow,
A flickering flame,
A moment that I claim!

Ah, a flickering flame where light covers dark and dark covers light.
With glimmering lights bouncing all over the walls!
A vision of true sight!
A flame so unpredictable,
But a flame so respectable!
A flame hard to know,
And one that can’t be controlled!
A flickering flame,
A moment that I gain!

Ah, a flickering flame showing dim light within its own domain.
With shimmering lights reflecting a glare of golden visions burning too bright!
How very well maintained!
A flame so harmless,
But a flame much too careless!
A flame too passive,
And one that’s way too captive!
Ah, a flickering flame,
A moment that I’m holding with no shame!

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One Fall Evening

Rhapsodic melodies from shadows depth
Are the sounds in the darkness before me,
As the owl, loon and crickets sing:
“Come out into the night we implore thee.”

A harvest moon bathes me in a luster
That stirs my melancholy soul,
As I wander about the autumn landscape
On a leisurely evening stroll.

Cool moist air permeates all things
That surrounds me in this rural scene,
And the smell and sound of rustling leaves  
Makes it all so very euphorically serene.

And so realizing the importance of 
Divinely regulated conditions,
I am once again reminded of the reason,
For cycles such as these
Are quite necessary you see:
That is why they are called “Seasons.” 

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this is a fine day

                                     this is a fine day 
               it has dawned for us all
          potent future
                serenading in resonance
the essence of life

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Watching the Moon Grow

Night after night I sit to see the Moon shining over me.
Watching its shield unveil a bright night I can just sit to be.
For each night gone by a star shines so bright,
The more and more I sit here this night.
Deeper and deeper I think tonight, 
“What if” I had no sight?
Watching its gleam covering more than a lot,
I just sit to see it shine its big light.
For each hour gone by the moments are sought.
So more and more I sit here deeper in my thought.
My mind farther than my further with what this glow has brought,
“What if” the man in the Moon was never sought?
Watching its shadows lurk in the glow,
I sit to see if he will finally be caught.
For each moment gone by clear nights I’ll now know.
So more and more I sit here watching the Moon grow.
There’s just so much to see because it covers over me.
I sit here night after night because it’s just such a true sight.
I give it quite a bit of thought because “what if” all of this was not?
For the more that it comes to glow the more and more I can watch it grow.
There’s just so much to know because it covers me with its tremendous glow.
I sit her with thought after thought because I have more than your lot.
I sit here night after night because “what if” there was no true sight?
For the more I can just come to see the more and more I can just sit to be.

®Registered: 1998   Ann Rich

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sinking to the bottom

right here, now, as i type,
characters are getting 
that sinking feeling of 
their own digital oblivion

i am typing in my "working" file,
the one where i always start out with 
a few words or lines i might forget
if i don't net them right away

and they always start out on top
in the fresh digital aire of light
flashing their shiny tails and i's
and are captured for all posterity

should posterity ever be in need
of some flagrant synapses output
that fired through my skull
at some 100 metres per second

the thoughts from yesterday or,
tragically, a few moments ago
are pushed lower in the techno-lit
ocean of all possible lines

sinking slowly from sight
with their little character-eyes
looking up toward the light of
my screen receding in the now

there must be 53,696 characters
(statistics being numbered in many ways)
sinking now, like so many plankton
or diatoms in the digital oceans

to feed the dark "word fish"
and other creatures, maybe something
glow-in-the-dark with ghastly teeth
like in my fourth grade biology book

yet if those 53k of diatomic letters
are really four-letter-words 
that have been puzzlingly rearranged
like blinking cursor literary DNA

just think of all the swearing
that might be bubbling out
of that digital Davy Jones at
the bottom of this oceanic chest

© Goode Guy 2011-10-07


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PJAMAS based on a not so true story

The Story about Pjamas
Starts all in the warm BAhamas
 See there sits a willow tree
Whom holds the wondrous key.

Pj was a chikened cat
Eatin steak made him fatt
yET one day he went to the farm
with not the slightest alarm''

soon there came a big hound dawg
who was bestfriends with a man-eatin hog
he whispered in Pj's ear
"Dear dear do not fear"

and so they went into the town
where there sat a sad sad clown
"Mr Mr clowny frown, cme bback to us a crown"
With a grin and a pen, he directed them to sit..
In a pretty piggy's pit..
They sat and sat nd watched the pretty piggy design

and soon enought a crown did c0me
little quiker then the sun
they picked it up and heaved it upon
the chikened catt and was awfully fatt

the crown did weigh a elephants load
and so it sowed upon the catti cats fat
the catt named pj did shed
and so it must have to dread
but the weeks passed
and the shedding did last
but finaallly July appeared
and the shedded fat formed onto the pretty piggys pink long legs
and her color did fade on top of the fat
and soon enough there wAS a pair of pink warm fuzzi pants
with buttons fell from the tree's acorns and tied upon with 
the ribbons of summer

soon came along a little girl
who lacked proper sleepin wear
she found the geuine pants so petite and tried them on with a peak
she looked at herself in the mirror of the willow tree
and then found herself happy with glee

thanking the silly fat chikened catt, she
dedicated her new found outfit
fitted for night with its buttons so grand and the pinkness so pink
to that fatti cat cat who had to shed his poor fat  for a months time

and so today, through machines and silk buggies, we have our pjamas as they 
are called...warming us all through the night
and not letting the bed bugs bite..
surely it helps all to sleep tight

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5th September

It has been raining
All the day.
But now silence.
Where just before
The drops a  rhythmic downwards breeze
And gave us quiet melody to our thoughts,
Are suddenly no more.

The trees, stilted now,
Waving hesitant.
This new, patternless breeze
And our lives are a little more boring
As the clouds sweep past
And leave us alone.

No accompaniment seems to last.

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My  garden in Ireland was at first merely   
A windy exposed  open field sloping down right  
To the sea, a half-mile away nearly :
My pots of musky-smelling marigolds blew away in the night. 

Yellow petals were ripped off my freshly-opened tulips;
My  roses  and her  berries  got bad doses of windburn -
Black along the edge of her shining red hips:
The wind I couldn’t stop;  but I tried a little to turn. 

I turned it up-and-over the plant beds,
Put in three windbreaks across the main  flow  -
Large hawthorn  trees with a Russian vine’s  tentacle  threads
Were front-line defence against the airy foe.

Behind  this, an escallonia hedge, thick and tough with shining leaves,  
And behind that  a lower viburnum  hedge 
With scented winter flowers  creeping up the walls to the eaves
Speading tiny white  flowers on the window ledge.

My  marigold  beds and tender shrubs  hid, 
Spread in the sun behind  these tough guys;
And then,  in turn,  my cat and kid
Behind the  flowers and shrubs under blue skies.

In the sun  everyone  was  ready
Waiting for the barbecue.
When it was lit,  the match flame was steady:
No breeze ever got through.

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Ocean's Death

The ocean’s waves beating
Beating against a huge rock
Ocean’s waves washing away the sand
The seagulls gulling
The salty smell of the sea
So overpowering
So calming
So relaxing
Then running towards death
I jump in the black, cold water
Feeling dead, as cold as death
The waves push me under
Their weight crushing my body
Feeling, groping, in the dark
Dying, fleeing, being…
I look death in the eye
It screams…I die…

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The Sun on the Horizon

Honeydew on the grass sparkles with life as the Sun comes up shining.
Way up yonder the Horizon’s preparing for its glorious arising.
Purple, blue and gray radiantly come together and all stand out alone,
Way up under this great big earthly dome.
Bird’s shadows fly at distances, yet each distinct by their flocks belted,
And each disappears away in colorful misty skies where all of them roam!
Beauty in foresight is clearly seen on this perfect unthought-of day, 
Even to my own likings of a surprising.
Too compelling just knowing that all days are counted by,
Each exact group already individualized by being numbered!
Foliage secretes from its many branches of trees per several hundreds.
All with there own story to make known to the unknown.
Consistently re-budding as season’s change to each one that is now arising.
All seeming to prepare for that God-awful battle called Armageddon.
Years pass on and still the Sun comes onto the horizon.
Life’s at a standstill, yet, steadily ticking with the hands of time to carry on.
Nothing can be done to stop the cycle of our Earth’s creation.
For every beginning there is and ending as it is to see 
Dawning is “The Sun on the Horizon”!
Be thankful that you have this very day,
For the Sun is rising upon the horizon,
What a wonderful liaison!

®Registered: Ann Rich  2001

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Replenish the Earth

Replenish the Earth

Every atom, element, molecule, non-living and living were created by-----GOD 
All things, from intra-atomic “dry” parts to creatures, and man, God----- COMMANDS 
These, He planned, created, ordered, organized, and blessed to benefit---MAN, 
Even before His work was made fully form, God said, --------------------“REPLENISH
Earth and man now know: limited resources, extinct creature, and…------THE 
Needs: conserve resources, and protect wildlife; we, must replenish------ EARTH…”

© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
February 3, 2010

Poetic form: End Line Word  (Try one.  It’s as much fun as word puzzle!)

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Summer Tale

Daytime,sunshine...crystal clear
burning through clear blue atmosphere
Tanning laserays of light
Ignite solar candled lantern aisles by night

Silent meadows and sheep grazed pastures bare
Summer's yield matching colors grown in pairs
Travelers' eyes steal glimpses of the ancient surreal
Clever celestial timing ,ensures summer's perfect weather

Past summers remembered
My skin sunburned tender
Its old age hastened ,its healing's slow,yet I've patience
Horizon gaze ,wading shallow shore waves
cold and curing,my sunburn tamed
Sand impressions proof of my presence
Vanishes as saltwater tides retreat
Forming rythmic swells, cleansing sand,fine as snow,each grain unique 
Potential their essence
Each memory ,an impassionate impression
Resolves imaginitive questions
Sacred memories remain life's essence

An unresisted inclination to explore
its endless trails is ignored
by wiser travelers who retire near crossroad trails
each day's passage,treasured memory for nostalgic tales

Blond sunlight through graying skies pale 
Dark as dusk,sunlight's cloaked in an expanding veil
As distant thunder grew near,cooling air held an odor of ionized rain
As electrical glimmers lit skies dark as eve which shadowed verdant plains

Camera eyes skygazing dusk to morn
Canvas skylight's color transformed
Night darkness followed ,silence filled this vast woods hollow
Heaven's light shone pale through eve's black veil
Pearl moonbeams and crystal starlight invite
Passage through dark meadow trails
An ancient summer tale ,
Eyes photographed evenings past

As morning passed
Harsh molten light shone through thinning cloud mass
Burning fine white sand ,each glass

Verdant flowerfields ,summer's pretty yield 
Camera eyes steal as autumn's shades are revealed

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Gods Genesis Creation

“1-2First this: God created the Heavens and Earth—all you see, all you don't see. Earth was a soup of nothingness, a bottomless emptiness, an inky blackness. God's Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss.” Genesis 1:1-2 The Message In the beginning was God; God created the heavens and earth. The earth was formless and empty; To light he gave birth. He then separated the light From the darkness of the night; Evening and morning; The first day of creation’s delight. God separated water from water And called the expanse sky. On the third day he created the ground; The sea’s boundaries to comply. God saw that it was good; So vegetation he created next. This was the third day Of the Genesis creation text. God created two great lights Called the sun and moon. They governed the day and the night, And stars for man to swoon. On the fifth day God created birds, To take flight in the air. Then the creatures of the sea, With such precision and care. On the sixth day God created living creatures, To accompany the expanse of the land. Wild animals and livestock Appeared by his great hand. Then God created man, To rule over the creatures. He created man in his own image; Replicating many of his features. God blessed all he created And told them to multiply. The seventh day he made holy; Man’s day of rest to supply. The Lord God formed man From the dust of the ground; Placed him in the Garden of Eden, Where the Tree of Life was found. All of God’s Creation had a plan; A background mastermind. Even the secular scientists, This fact do now find. Darwin doubted his own theory, But not ‘learned men’. They adopted man’s wisdom; Denied God’s Genesis Creation. Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue

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Summer's Day

Slow summer's day
rythmic ocean waves
soften beach shores
into tender clay as morningbyrds tour
crystal clear skies
over gentle lukewarm tides
somewhere miles from home

Crystal air and intide foam cools painful sand 
hot and smooth against my hands

Rising intides hiding sand castles and tidal litter
palmfuls of hot sand sparkle like glitter
burning my tender hands like sunburn blisters

Worn from the sand's rising heat
found cool shade beneath 
veradant leaves and dreamt until eve

Walking barefoot homeward bound
savored the ocean's last hushed sounds
lost in verdant camoflouge
thirsting fresh water , summer's mirage
passing orchard fields
tasting summer's yield
its litter...sweet , ripe and bitter
its temptation's like dodging sunlight
Amidst eve's paradise slept through night until first light

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Butterflies, with their superb colors,
are the most amazing 
in the insects's kingdom:
our recompense for boredom!
One can ever wonder
how they vitalize
the ungleaming air,
and without them 
spring or summer
wouldn't be that thrilling!

Bees are the other laborious kind, 
not quite beautiful and docile...
and they don't divagate a single mile, 
bringing whatever food they can find
to their deep-dug hive by a shady oak,
not too distant from the hyssop!
They enter and exit
with incomparabe ability:  protecting
their hard-earned harvest...
from others with an insidious intent!

Watching them swirling over
the dandelions' and clover's filelds,
which they befriend with their finesse;
while the sparrows seem clement,
letting them have a minimal share,
but the solicitious ravens
attack them and exile them
from that unwelcomed territory...
so unsympathetically 
and unpardonably!
Be an observer of the laborious insects:
they don't work for wages or worry about money,
but they gather seeds to feed the unborn ones
and pollen to make sweet honey;
their existence is brief and full of usefulness!
Being small is not a deterrent to achieving less,
even the glowing fireflies have a purpose
in exuding bravado and mystery...
trasforming a darkenig sky above flowers and trees,
as light flees from  the shadowy orchards!

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roadway runway

Just ahead down the road a way
Queen Anne rides her florid carriage 
tossing lacy garments out the window 
frilly-white landing by the roadside

The carriage of course is pulled by mares
clicking their hooves like they were some 
courtesan's castanets and kicking their legs high, 
like line-dancers kicking a French can-can

Apparently Anne and her consorts 
wear quite a bit of lace to toss copiously
out of the gilded carriage window 
laughing gayly as they peel off another

White-laced garter ringing down green ways
judging from the profusion 
of sensuous roadside attractions 
swaying my pleasures from side to side

I'm hoping to catch glimpses of the entourage 
if I proceed before the runway without delay 
toward the teased creamy-white notion of 
a thrill frilled afternoon ride still flowering

© Goode Guy 2012-06-14

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Ripples in the Sea

When I see this Moon and gaze deep into the stars,
My mind wanders as I search for where you are.
Looking up, looking down, this enormous Sea is where I can now be found.
Standing alone at the Ocean’s edge and hearing its roar,
My heart pounds and aches for so much more.
Gazing deeper and deeper out into this vast blue Sea,
I can gather myself with this soul that was given to me.
Ripples in the Sea are all that my eyes can see.
One by one they collide with force to touch what was given to me.
Infinity with the depths of this Sea, 
This is what the Moonlit Ocean conveys to the truth inside of me.
Standing alone and afar from the depths of this Sea,
Ripple by ripple captures the every breath that I have inside of me.
Oh how they carry every single thought away from the insides of me!
Reflections of our Moon spread across this glimmering Sea.
Endless and endless ripples!
This vision I know I will forever see!
I hold my breath and carry a true smile, 
Searching for that last ripple to reach its hundredth mile.
Alone I stand at the edge of this Sea, 
The depth of this Ocean covers over me.
I wonder and wonder can I truly hold what was given to me?
So if ever in search for that which you know you believe,
Please remember that I left me standing with the ripples in the Sea.
One by one they collide crashing directly into me.
I stand with a force that was given just for this person that lives inside of me.
Come to me! Please touch what is on the inside of me!
Feel what has been given just for the love of me!
So if ever in doubt for that which you truly know you believe,
Look deeper and deeper out into this incredible huge Sea.
The ripples one by one know you will believe.
They touch, they feel, they hear what is left standing out by the Sea,
And that my friend is the life that God had already chosen for the soul that lives inside of me.

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The Dust of God's Feet (Part I)

	The  eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to 
show himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect towards him.
	He descends in a cloud and walks in the circuit of heaven with thick 
clouds as his covering.  He rides upon a swift cloud like a chariot.  He flies upon 
the wings of the wind and whirls in the heights of the Heaven.  Those who look 
up to number his displays see clouds rise up out of the sea from every end of 
the earth, poised and  balanced in the skies, prepared to pour down rain and 
abundant showers on them.  God drops in His cloud to blot out wrongs, in the 
thick cloud to blot out transgressions; then, His voice thunders out of the 
cloud announcing the coming storm, and He gathers the wind in his fists 
causing it to blow toward the south and turn about to the north.  It’s sound is 
heard as it whirls continually, but who can tell from where it is coming or going?  
As we ponder His mysteries, He fills His hand with lightenings, the light of His 
cloud, which lights the world with His countenance of life, and scatters them 
abroad like shot arrows commanded to hit their marks through those clouds; His 
garment is rent under us, and the water jars of heaven are tipped.

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The Dust of God's Feet (Part II)

               The waters flow.  The land drinks.  The pools are filled with the small 
rain and the great rain of His strength upon the just and unjust.  The earth brings 
forth herbs meet for those who dressed it; receiving blessings from God with 
fruitful seasons, our hearts are filled with food and gladness.  This is His 
witness.  As He cuts a channel for the torrents and a path for the thunderstorm, 
His doctrine drops as rain upon mown grass and upon the mountains that grass 
may grow.  His speech distils as dew into streams with goodness from the 
morning cloud, and he even covers the bottom of the sea until the thick cloud is 
wearied.  The bright cloud is scattered, wherein the lord ascends.  Fair weather 
comes out of the north in golden splendor, as the tender grass springs out of the 
earth by the bright shining after rain; on the good and evil His sun does shine.  
So shall God come in awesome majesty with power and great glory will be 
appear.  His strength is in the clouds.  Heaven is His throne and earth is his 
Footstool.  He will walk upon the wings of the wind in his faithfulness that 
reaches as high as the clouds, and his favor is as a cloud of the latter rain to 
provide food abundantly, the corn of Heaven, as did the former.  And as many of 
us who have partook of His bread shall be gathered into the harvest receiving a 
blessing from God, being caught up in the clouds evermore to be with Him to 
see Him as He is.

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lessons learned

Tis Autumn and the tired trees
Drop off dead leaves as sap lays rooting 
The long Spring war with gypsy worms 
Has caused a few to come to terms
The humming birds are still around
But not for long we fear
The color change is way too soon
For such a lazy year
To fatten up and hibernate
In warm and cosy den
And venture out a time or two
To see the snow and then
Patiently enjoy inaction
In contemplative satisfaction
Fireside sipping wrapped up warm
Bearly educated

autumnal feelings (Chilton or cheddah with the whine?)

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Was It An Act of God?

Catastrophes,natural disasters and torrential rains
what causes these thing to happen, on whom do you place the blame?
mankind has misused and abused this planet on which we live
Mother Nature must make adjustments, the forces of nature then give
we have built too many buildings, taken over too much land
an earthquake may be a realignment to the acts and plans of man

aerosol cans, rain forest diminishing, the erosion of the soil and ground
when the rain eventually falls the lack of trees causes the mud to slide down
God gave us some power, many have called it free-will
mankind can use it for good or he can use it for ill-will
yet when many lives are lost and so many souls depart
why does anyone think to ask, was it an act of God?

air pollution, water pollution, the whole industrial age
has ravaged our planet and brought about Mother Nature's rage
we act before we think, we destroyed things that can't be replaced
maybe Mother Nature is trying to tell us to do an about face
tsunamis, monsoons and all types of major tidal waves
may be a wake-up call to how we have behaved

we need to come together and start making some major plans
stop raping our natural resources and start preserving God's land
so if anyone ever asks you, was it an act of God the Lord Christ?
just ask them for this planet, what has mankind sacrificed?
we are selfish in our deeds, self-absorbed in our needs
eventually we must bear the blame and we all will pay the price
just don't be so quick to place the burden of guilt on God the Lord Christ

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Simple Dream

I dream of such simple things
Such as birds and their wings
With the curves of each feather
And how they become weathered

I see the birds flying with wings a flapping
I understand how wings operate with no gapping
With push of a second the bird is in the air
This is how birds fly in the air with no care   

The birds in the air with freedom in their wings to fly out of trouble
Is how the bird feel with the wind pushing them up with force doubled
I get a happy when I see a bird fly
And I wish to be by their side so I give a sigh

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The River

Cracks of corral emerged between the Earth’s proud crown of evergreen
Gleaming down on grateful Father whose arms in bloom embraced his Daughter
Moon upon Moon in prayer he spent that God would grant his heart’s content
Now all his dreams no longer dreams but infant in his arms serene
They traveled on til trails converged and River’s roar ahead was heard 
Then there upon the shore was laid, a bless’ed barge of birchbark made.

From the River’s roots they rowed, embarking on a fate unknown
Wide-eyed Child soothed by Father’s song amidst echoes of the Wild’s call
Sweetly metered by sweeping oar he told her tales of life before
The great divide of Earth and Sky, of Land and Sea, of Day and Night 
How God by grace named each creature each fish and fowl each fir and fur
Then in His hands mixed clay and sand, the gift of life breathed into Man.

Between each bend dear Daughter grew and saw the world from worn canoe
Floating onward until the day she traded hums and howls to say
Father, Father, I understand! With lamb and wolf we share this land!
How scattered seed grew into tree and tree we carved for pole to feed
Father you’ve grown and given me your faith and love so I might be
Someday just like you a Giver on the road of life, the River! 

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The Graveyard

The wind seemed colder that December day,
as I walked among the graves marked with
marble so gray.
Some had a story carved for all to see,
while others were just marked, Rest In 
Pictures of the deceased, were on a few,
as I looked a little closer,
to see how many I knew.
Then in the distance, 
I saw a crowd,
another loved one to be buried,
then my head I bowed.
Old graves stood out,
their markers so tall,
darker than most,
like shadows at nightfall.
Sad to think, some had to die so young,
but way back then, not much could be done.
Strange it may seem,
to visit the dead,
but facinating to me,
on the life they led.

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A Beautiful Waltz

The night was coming,
as the day closed its eyes,
revealing a sunset,
a sight to hypnotize.

Across the water,
the waves danced in tune,
designing a beautiful waltz,
between the sun, and moon.

The gentle spray,
from the oceans breath,
bring tropical comfort,
and a peaceful rest.

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Silent as night's presence with ancient peace I'm blessed
summertime,burning heat magnified stress
my brained tamed by '60s narcotic dreams
the key to time capsule memories

Spiritual void,trading city noise for quiet flowering plains and blue grass 
meadows lost in floral pedal 
camoflouge I detour and dodge its poison ivy
climbing lively
rolling hills where time kept still

Deaf silence night's present...nature's dharmic lessons

Concealed knee deep in verdant poppy fields 
and narcotic flowers...many kinds
where ripe orchards soured into wine
patient curiosity filled passing time

Slow night,poppies bloomed in pearl china moonlight
Pale stars cast broke through black overcast 
New visions...brief surreal psycotic doom
Spent day watching narcotic flowers bloom
gathering flowers for keeps
my hunger cured by an orchard's reap
until twilight stars littered summer's night far from home
tomorrow's journey...unknown


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The Visions Blend

Sitting all alone in deep thought, I am a world away.
No Sun, no Stars, and no wind!
My mouth can not speak the words there are to say.
The visions blend carries me to where it never ends.
My God I am here and I demand to stay!
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
Nights and days have come and gone and are now decades away.
No life, no air, and no death!
My God I am alive and dead on this very day.
I am gone, but here with my journey’s quest.
The gift of life is mine as I catch my last breath.
My heart can not hold the words there are to say.
Looking deep into this world where I have come to stay,
No love, no hate, and no sin!
The visions blend carries me to where it all ends.
I am here, but gone to where I begin.
My eyes can see the words there are to say.
My God I am gone and I demand to stay.
Time and time my thoughts have traveled my days,
No time, no light, and no pretend!
The gift of life is mine all over once again.
My God I am dead but alive on this very day.
My ears can not hear the words there are to say.
I am gone, but here absorbing the visions blend.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1997

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Global disaster

Edwin Hubbel wrote in 1925 "....the principal of the uniformity of nature thus 
seems to rule undisturbed in this region of space......"

          But , I take exception to that statement , because of mankinds un-natural 
tendencies to disregard the natural order which in kind ( or un-kind ! ) nature 
play's along rudely to our cruel misconduct , since it took millions of years to 
establish a non-toxic atmosphere ( to land mammals ) that we have taken for 
granted and have inconvenietly disrupted in a manner of just hundrends of years .
           Just the double negative effect alone should be a warning to how we 
should approach our future , these being , excess carbon emissions and 
deforestation . The positive and negative relationship is two-fold here in a short 
explanation , our tree's absorb carbon and emit oxygen , less trees , more 
carbon , and we accelerate a negative process . If you take for example , our own 
biological systems as humans , we need oxygen to breathe to live , the positive , 
but the negative is that oxygen attributes to decomposition , which could 
accelerate the ageing process of the body , which is why proper nutrition is 
important , especially foods rich or drinks rich in anti-oxidants .
            In short , I believe it becomes very important to be aware of the natural 
order of our relationship to our overall system without our exploitive behaviors 
which only encourage a consumerism attitude .

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Charging Around

A giggle and screech filled pond
on the crushed gravel path 
a sheen of sweat forming 
on my medditeranian nut browned skin;
waylayed was I by a hitch-hiker. 

The gnat maintained a steady oribit
about the circumferance of my head,
wether held there by some unknown power
or the monumental magnetic magnitude of my brain;
none will ever know.

Arms swinging at a frantic pace
it seems impossible to believe my pinwheeling form
was unable to dislodge this bugger, 
keeping a geosynchronous orbit around my noggin.
Yet, the likelihood of a tag team 
of insectoid astronauts seemed slim.

As the silken breeze went weaving amongst 
the pines and rustling withing the pond weeds
armies of these pin pricks of horror swarm
attending summer clad fishermen, beet red two year olds
and there hippopotomus shaped mothers in the drink.

The doldrums of August have begun in earnest,
as the black flies decend, probing their universe,
persistant and provoking as the humans they oribit.

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The Great White Shield

Held prisoner under His Stars, 
I have fallen under the shadows of THE “Great White Shield”.
At a distance, those shimmering lights covered over me.
Built on THE highest plains, I stand parallel even when His rains come down.
My wall stands tall as my fate is promised and sealed.
I see my passage through time as I hold sturdy to my only God given ground.
I am all that I know I can ever be.
Confined by a little world where all that there is has been lost or found,
My bleeding wall holds my “ ALMIGHTY’S Great Armored White Shield“.
Balanced with time even when His rains are pouring down!
It stands to serve and to protect the best of the living me.
Layer by layer it builds with the strength it has lost or found.
For, I am all that is genuinely real.
Conditioned by my endurance, His Stars my eyes still can see.
Ruling the way that I move, His existence is wrapped tightly and I abound.
Parallel on His plains, a sturdy wall I did gradually help Him build.
My wall protects the only person inside of me.
I secure my only ground as I hold onto His “Great White Shield”.
I am all that I have ever truly found.
When the rains pour down on me, 
I stand atop of all His battled ground.
When I am all with my realest deal,
I am all that can or will be found.
When I am all that I know I can ever be,
I carry a strength that alone I can build.
I am the carrier of my Almighty’s Great White Shield”.

®Registered: 1998  Ann Rich

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the world tree

the tree represents the center of the world,
connecting the heavens to the earth...
the roots of the tree hold the earth,
the branches hold the sky...
heaven and hell are the sea and the sky,
and you are the horizon........

......where the great estuary of eternal life merge , as the holy water's of earth flow
to meet and be greeted by the holy water's of heaven . the world tree serves as a
conduit to all life on earth , as the roots of the tree recieve it's messages from the 
creator using the branches ; as above , so below....the horizon is consciousness,
consciousness is but a thin thread of heaven and hell's seperation .
the trunk of the world tree represents the spinal cord of the living , the branches
 represent the universal mind , the roots represent our relationship to all of 
creation . the allegorical use of the spider web represents the connectivity of all 
life on earth ; " what we do to the web , we do to ourselves ...." 
the philosophy and cosmology of the east and west meet to form unity as one 
world mind ; where we stand now is atop humankinds creation , one immense 
land mine. 
we all have a long , difficult journey ahead of us....may we all be blessed with the 
fortitude to persevere......

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Mansions in the Sky

The Stars lit up the skies and nothing could I see,
Except these huge Mansions that fly in the sky.
Swirling winds picked me up and carried me high.
Making trails in the clouds it was just me.
It was breathtaking just to be,
Afloat the top of mansions that fly.
The Moon was bright and the Sun a bit dry.
They were huge and magnificent to oversea.
 Mansions in the sky that fly above it all.
Mesmerized I went in and found no end.
None were too small.
None occupied, not even by a friend!
Mansions that fly fill a brilliant sky,
All emptied but not by I!
© Copyright: Ann Rich  2006

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The Chase

   Speed, adrenaline, the rush and wind.
Cheeks stinging, hair flying, cold skin.
   Why am I running?
From who or what?
   I can't recall, the rush makes me stop, not my feet, but my mind.
Thoughts that flow out through the passing time.
   Breathing as if no air will ever appear.
The magical surrounding of stars and trees, along with street light rushing by me.
   Reaching out to touch, the never staying stranger.
It gets dark, not just any dark, but as if a black hole.
   It wraps its self around me, engulfing my essence.
Shadows chase after me.
   Not to scare, but to make me aware.
The run becomes an endless abyss.
   What am I running from?
Is it my unforgettable past?
   Maybe its the undetermined future.
Am I being chased?
   I see nothing, but what stands befor me.
Longing to reach my goal.
   Can you see now?
Its not a chase, but a simple desire to run.
   To run for fun.
To enjoy the moon and stars.
   No houses or cars.
A desire like nothing else, to be by myself.
   My head is humming and my heart is thumping.

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Alexandre, the young alpinist from a southern France,
attaches crampons to his tough climber's booths,
to ascend the dangerous ridges of Mount Rose,
and with the same ice axe, he climbed Mount Everett!

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

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Five Glychostones

There’s five glychostones and they’re hid very well.

One is a link to the future of a God given Grace.
One is a key to all of the boxes stuffed with mail.
One is a code to an ancient mystery and is a case.
One is a seed that grows throughout all the lands.
Moreover, the last is a main element for survival!

So we go journeying for the glychostones in the kingdom halls up in hands,

What a redemptive Holy revival!
Hands in hands they shall all go.
Not one, but two knows their way.
Just hope and always, always pray!
And never simply say I don’t know!

Just search for the five glychostones enriched in its purest true value,
Moreover, each has essential life sustaining merits of valor or honor, 
Hands fill up in the sands when the farmer awakens inside all of you!

Just search for five glychostones and seek to explore all you can do,
Each glychostone reaps in merits and honors ordained pure and true.

You will find every single one of them decked out in crystallites’ blue!
You are splendid with many abundant blessing hands upon your lands!

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Eternal Seasons

Snowing winter's night
death silent galaxy
sacred starlight...zodial destiny
shone through black sky darkness

Spring morning light crystal warm and gentle
twilight sun...radiant jewel
verdant orchard veils cool
my skin tanned remains soothed 

Morning sun,eve's stars,twilight moon
daylillies bloom
in summer trilight amidst day's blue amber haze and golden highlights
day's summer glow fades and blendsin night darkness as day ends

Night's shade,rythmic black ocean waves
cool and pleasant , cooled my skin sunstained
from daylight pain

Autumn morning through eve
cooled by shading autumn leaves and gentle breeze
their sacred colors 
blend with twilight skies that smothered
sunlight in an ocher amber haze
autumn's last remains
tuft grass bordered smooth vacant plains
twilight shades tamed
as night followed
I nestled sleep in ashwoods hollow
dreaming of Earth Heaven...until tomorrow

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The Big Fish

The acrylic line pulled taught as he bit down.
The lake was so still as to mimic a black oil slick -
She suddenly breaks away and churns like an overcooked pot -
Ripples glide along the boats surface
As he grabs the rod.

Closure burns hot in his mind as his weathered hands grip the reel.
The tug of the monster that lurks beneath the boat  -
makes his cameo appearance in the murky underbelly - 
Thudding against the bottom of the old boat
As the crickets sing.

His mind randomly jumps back to a memory.
He remembered his father’s old tackle box -
Remembering the pity he had on the writhing worm - 
And the sickening feeling as dad hooked him
And cast his line.

His wife knew he was out here and disapproved.
Even though she didn’t even say a word but turned over -
She avoided saying a word while he pulled the rubber waders
Over his plaid pyjama bottoms 
And quietly closed the door.

This was surely the biggest Bass on this cursed lake.
Confidence oozed from his knarled fingers as the catch came closer -
Finally he’d prove the old bat wrong and defy his lodge buddies -
No more mocking and no more duelling with the woman
He sighs with relief.

The rod bent under the heavy weight of the bass’s fight.
But he was determined to prove his wife wrong -
The lake was alive with excitement as if the trees themselves
Were watching every second leading up to the arrival
When the line broke.

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Thursday Afternoon

The sky was gray, the air was cool
I skipped home Thursday afternoon
Down the hill, below the trees
A broken hose, a sea of leaves
Unbeknownst to me I stood
Watching, waiting, in the wood
When Missus Curiosity
Whispering across the breeze
Somehow got the best of me

Orange clay beside my feet
Autumn gray consuming me
Curious, I took a step (splash)
My shoes became so wet

Suddenly, below the ground
I heard a rushing, rumbling sound
Missus Curiosity then spoke
The septic tank below has broke
You better run, you better hide
‘Cause here comes the crimson tide

I understood, but I could not
Move myself to leave that spot
As the wave crashed down on me
I asked myself 'am I asleep?'
And I woke up.

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Farewell, the time has come
for us to part forever.
The love I thought was there
has vanished like a smoke.

I want to kiss you, girl,
just before you go,
to feel your hand in my hand
and look into your eyes.

Farewell is just a word
I heard people say.
Farewell is just a word,
it's just what they say.

I always dreamed to be with you,
distance is but a thing.
You came out of the blue
only to be gone once again.

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Timber In Autumn

Autumn day’s pale grays hide as daylight crystallized Crimson flowered plains and timber leaves bled crystal-rouge morning rain Saturates plush carpeting where leaves collage Beneath this camouflage Sparse olive grass , black mud , clay tender and slick Conceals impressions of travelers’ past presence Clever color coordination , the eyes’ pleasure and autumn’s sacred essence Plush red shades Graced canvas mirrors , contrast heaven’s gentle grays Stirring air untethers , bright floating pedals, light as cardinal feathers falling ground ward settle Leaves, red as rose pedals Cast into floral meadows Dusk’s gradient rays... citrus-crystal , rust-amber fade Scarlet-tangerine , pepper-red , green ,ocher-rouge , and vermilion-nectarine Covers winding trails which narrowed and vanished where sunlight paled Timber silhouettes , lost definition in eve’s dark veil Autumn timber’s radiant splendor, observant eyes remember Preserved on treasured canvas paintings and mirroring photographs Sacred mementos , windows into autumn’s past.

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Untitled #269 / On the day I saw evil

On the day I saw evil
I rode my bicycle down to the graveyard at the foot of Concord Hills, 
the very one that I had passed every morning going to school,
returning home in the afternoon, sometimes taking note
but never sparing a second thought
and I walked among the dead, even talked to some of them
as the sun fell below the horizon and their spirits rose again to the surface.
“Turn back,” said the older ones, “You’ve still got youth on your side.
Live your life until God calls you home”
But I couldn’t hear them. I only saw the pale and silent 
ghost of a young lady, my age when she died,
her bud of life trampled before it could ever bloom,
alone at the top of a hill under a willow tree
dressed in a moonlight gown pure as pallid skin.
I sprinted up the hill, screaming “Why? 
Why? Tell me why!”
afraid her spirit would quit this plane
as quickly as her life had left the earth.
Her thin lips formed not a word, but her ashen, unblinking eyes
staring straight to the bottom of my soul
told me all I needed to know.
I left the place and never returned,
for there will be time enough for us to get acquainted
when we are all sleeping together.

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Day and Night

First light golden glow
daylight stains shadows 
near shadows staining light
until night
daylight's tanning glare
and crystal golden air
heated shadows paling everywhere

All matter's daylight's contured
creates this nexus 
until day's last light passed
when darkness cools in light's absence
night's conture creates matter's sillohuette
with ease eyes endure darkness
all matter's identity unknown
artificial light shone where shadows once roamed
where the material is invisable and shadows hide
and light never can't reside

Blind, insideout, when eyes are closed during eve's time 
The world's presence invisible, the new day's fate unknown
amidst dreams where the memory of light shone

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My Dearly Departed

In this world, I can see many faces of you and me,
Boundlessly free with our new abilities to breathe!
I am a dime per every one dozen collecting my fee.

You see, it is just you and me rising upon this day.
Together we do be and forever on our merriest way.
It is just another day for you and me to pitch a say.

We are one word away you see my dearly departed,
We can all bail ship or get this whole thing restarted.
Or, we can confirm that which became our imparted.

Love me now and hate me later,
Or, love me later and hate me now.
Either or my dearly departed hater,
I impart onto you my Poof Bam Pow!

® Registered: Ann Rich 2009

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I love my country-I love this land,
Her mountains and deserts, aint' they grand,
Her oceans and prairies-the great skies of blue,
As a child I loved the trains, and oh! what a view.

This country has been good to me, and my family too,
We have never been hungry or had a reason to feel blue,
I have lived in seven states and travelled many more,
Yes, I guess you could say I'm American to the core.

I'll tell you about some of my favorite places,
Many of them have wide open spaces,
Niagra the Falls, the mountains of Colorado, the oceans blue,
When I think of how lucky I am, the tears fall down like dew.

I love the prairies of Texas and Kansas, too,
Wheat fields waving in the breezes make a great view,
Oklahoma is a light in my life--I love that state,
Yes, I'm American through and through, now isn't that GREAT!

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Untitled #75 / No other viper

There’s no other viper in the world like her
and when she bit me she slithered off
now I know I’ll have to let the venom run its course,
for her fangs are the only remedy.

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Beneath the soft snow rests the lifeless grass
that will certainly resist
the cold weather and fight it...
until the dim sun sends its last glow,
and afternoons hurry to pass!

December has been without snow,
and it seemed like spring,indeed;
all the quite streets were suddenly filled
wit jolly and juvenile voices...
The dull athmoshere of the archipelago
waited for gloominess,not for jubilants songs!

Beneath the soft snow
is buried an impatient wait...
resenting the inactive disposition,
which winter approves so distinctively;
but very soon,the sprightly sunlight
will make a dominant appearance to awake
the somnolent,cheerless earth!
Backwoods and mountains below...
will astound and draw much attention:
nascent springs,once dormant,will spurt zealously!

Beneath the soft snow,
spring can be anticipated in awe;
its aroma of dainty flowers savored...
unfailing is the promise of God!

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In These Eyes of Mine

In the glow of the day, rise the shadows of a dark night where I come free.
Walking slow yet running with hot flames drenched by my body soiled, I am here.
My walk, my life, I stand with this seed.
Taking me down, all the way because I am the only one who care’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Sun make glow of my hair!
In the depths of the Oceans may the Mountains peak, I am free.
Stroking slowly, yet rock climbing with the pain of broken rocks, I go there.
My depth and my height I stand with this need.
Rolling me around, all the way because I am the only one who share’s.
In these eyes of mine, let the Mountain make depth of my care.
In the brightness of the Stars lingers a magical gleam, all scattered and free.
Breathing slowly, yet desperate for the air to give my last and final breath, I am there.
My deepest, my highest, I stand with this greed.
Pulling me down to the ground all of the way because I am here!
In these eyes of mine, let the Stars make bright of my fear.
These eyes of mine give to you this planted seed with all of my prayers.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1999

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Horses are stars, coming out of the barn,
Snow white and dancing under the sun,
Out in the pasture-Prancing is FUN!
Whinneying loudly--voices heard on the run.

Black horses shining-with full tails streaming,
Manes braided with red ribbons-dark eyes gleaming,
Grays and reds, all  running through the grasses,
Men looking over the gate with high powered glasses.

Watching  the cars out on the road,
Neighing at children waving so bold,
Horses run up and down, hoping the children would come,
But  children stay in their cars-now aint that dumb?

Afternoon passes as horses grow tired,
Dreaming of corn and feed in the barn,
A mouthful of water as weary heads fall,
Night time comes swiftly as a low voice calls.

        "Sleep my beauties-- rest until dawn."

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The Burning Veil

My eyes were opened to a bright red burning veil.
Sun scorched and Moon dried,
It was fried!
But, I brought it some water in a crystal blue pale.
The more it burned higher went the scale,
God knows that I at least tried.
There was just nowhere to hide.
But, I wasn’t about to fail.
I put the veil in the water and made it wet.
I held it to the Sun and the Moon to air dry.
The veil melted and glowed where it was set.
It was sparkling and made me want to cry.
Perception had been weakened to what it really should be.
At least, that’s what the burning veil conveyed to the truth inside of me!

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Gardener's Hands

There he is in the garden among the radiant blooms,
making time all by himself what he loves most doing.

He whistles and he hums out in the hot summer sun,
under a gently falling rain on a cold, drizzly morning.

He is a peculiar creature to those who know him not
for a little leaf he caresses softly like a woman's body.

To a tiny tree he whispers as if breathing to give it life
and at a newly-opened bud gazes with childlike wonder.

He finds peace and solitude amidst his vast, leafy domain,        
time flies by much too quickly as he bends, sniffs and trims.

How he labors and sweats, nothing by accident comes;
things grow only if nurtured, this the man firmly believes.

Trellis he patiently builds for  pesky vines to climb on,
not letting them to just crawl on wet and soggy ground.

In that lush, bountiful garden, living and dying he witnesses;
he won't have it any other way, it is his sole reason for living.

Each plant dying and withering pushes him to toil even harder,
sow new seeds to take its place so his garden will live on and on.

Ah, the gardener's gentle hands so perfectly loving and life-giving,
a mirror image of the Almighty's, the Gardener who created him.

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Village of Delphi

Serene the sleepy village appears,
houses perched on steep hillsides
overlooking deep, forested gorges
among a sea of silent pines green.

Shops and stores face each other
across its narrow, one-lane street,
where grizzled men sip their ouzo
in some tavern’s outdoor benches.

Oh, just to commune with god Apollo
high above those lofty Grecian peaks
while clouds kiss the mountaintops
and the wind to the trees whispers.

Coming to a little place like Delphi
nestled amidst breathtaking beauty
where time stands so perfectly still
is to touch the face of the Almighty.

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I thought I would stop thinking.
Not until I was gripped in thinking.
Thinking of what I have thought,
i lost counts in memories.
Therein I remembered,
The fear of thoughts is the beginning of thinking.
But, why should I stop thinking?
When thought emerge without thinking,
and thinking springs from thoughts.
To think is human, to stop is death.
When I stop thinking, and then check my body,
Check my pulse, check my heart and thoughts.
Check my life may be checking my soul.
Either flying or in a gathering to commune in heavens
Associating with Angels,
Angels on guard.

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Occurring being fearful the winter
while the mid-night minutes
by anew wake of dawn —
the snow-alike rain been falling
and the Cathedral is hollow-ringer
sudden gave off fifth pealing of belling 
and hour done announce by dawn turn,
over the semi vision bout darkness	
and through my window glass
the winter I listening 
giving a sound in torment whimper —	
and the illusion, the dreamy
and memories apart
occupying sort, my mind
the childhood and romance left moment
the school ever by a placenta winter
ever as passions area
the fountain and inspiration
a meant-up dynamic thy precious
the beauty–the greatly there
moments in life 
and by the end, I wrote
the winter I’d listened
in respond and convert ill temper
over hard fury whimpering sound
in landing in torment . . . 

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Late on Wednesday in the Winter

I carry a burden on my back into the game room
I leave to lay my head down for a brief rest –
and see out of my window a blanket of white
reflecting dully into the dark night
a mantle of a thousand icicle stars
a silent, yawning ocean for the sleeping ashen trees

Woods, will you remember me
When I’m long gone?
Will you mark my name
in your solid oak memory?
Whisper of me in rustles that never cease.
Murmur, let me rest easy. Do not
howl of a wolf in the doleful darkness.

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Docked by Time

Celebrating the glare that glows,
A reflection of you creeps in.
The glory of high rank again!
Somebody you do not know,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time with a name!
Riding the high tides,
A fear of you sets in.
The smile of pride again,
Somebody you hide,
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time playing the game!
Laughter with the fame you claim,
The sound of you drifts in,
The look of confidence seen again,
Somebody you remain.
But a sacrifice all the same!
Docked by time is such a shame!

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998

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Untitled #105 / Washington midnight

On a Washington midnight thirteen bug-eating bats
descend upon the Air Force Memorial spotlights
drawn to swarms of their favorite insect dinners.
What a spectacular sight! Wings of evil crowding ‘round the spires!
But they cannot compare with the other species of bloodsuckers!

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Winter's Shroud

The dirty skeleton of March 
Wears a coat of shredded hope of winter's passing
And drags its feet through wind, rain and blackened snow
In ditches and across fields of stunted grain,
Swirling forgotten leaves of November
Still lying in dead and forgotten flower beds
Blowing away traces and thoughts of a gentle April for now,
But not forever..

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Night eyes

Tonight I look upon the stars so far and wide
As they light and wake 
 In their space and mine
 I am marveled by their mystery 
How far do they roam from the abyss of space?
Shooting glorious flashes across the naked earth
Then dying so mercilessly a death of black 
An astrological movement with speed and appetite 
Soon ,as you can imagine a new star is born
With brilliance, and a flaunting parade of pigments 
Down to me, for my pleasure and well being  
And flickering to the north a dream has staggered into my view
A rainbow of opal fulgurous magic
It is alive and swallowing time
Aurora borealis you’re a vision of breathlessness 
I could spend forever ness rapped in your dance

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A Thistle, a Cedar and a Wild Beast

In Lebanon there was a thistle, 
A cedar, and a wild beast.
The thistle was in full bloom.
With its purple blossoms and prickly green leaves and stalk,
It pierced all who would dare touch it.
Though low to the earth for humility,
One day out of its own pride and glory,
The thistle threatened the cedar, who was standing tall and red
Emitting its pure fragrance in the cool breeze
With its branches lifted high and wide toward Heaven
Full of unwithered green leaves.
"Give your daughter to my son in marriage!"
Shouted the thistle under a looming shadow.
But the cedar held its peace, 
Neither felled it any of its branches.
Then in a moment of terrible humiliation,
A wild beast suddenly pounced upon and ferociously trampled
The crowned and purple thistle and passed on by,
But the cedar still stands there today.
Uncrowned thistles and beasts rest under its shade.

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If Ever I Should Have to Wonder

If ever I had to wonder, 
I would simply wonder why our paths were even destined to cross.
Obviously, I have so many things I have to wonder, 
Because my love carries the strength of steel and an armor of cloth!
No doubt that I will think of the many things that could always make me sigh.
But I know that I’d forever wonder why so much pain comes with an inevitable loss?
“Tis a soul for a soul and one cast out with your solemn moment of pride”.

If ever I should have to wonder, 
Indeed I would have wondered where?

Where is the beginning and where is the end to this forsaken way of life?
Where does all this “hidden truth” lay and why is it that I’m still standing and I can survive?

No doubt that I will think of the many things that I could always compare,
But I know that I’d forever wonder how much warmth there really is out there to share.
Brought down from sorrows below my beliefs have become my sacrifice.

If ever I had to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder where?
Where do we go when we go away and why is it that we even have to leave?
Where is this truth and why should I be the only one that will produce my beliefs?

No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me instantly care.
But I know that I would forever wonder why there’s so much hope with all of this despair.
‘Tis a soul for a soul and each is in such a constant dire of eternal need”!

If ever I should have to wonder, 
I’d simply wonder why this was all even meant to be.

Why could you not see the power and the glory that God has invested in the life of me?
Obviously so many things to have to wonder because love carries so many will’s that fizzle 
and die.
No doubt that I would think of the many things that could always make me sad and cry.
But I know that I will forever wonder was it I, the one who has been received?
But most of all I will forever wonder what is it that you, as one, really believe?

© Copyright:  1998   Ann Rich

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There are some days when I just want to sit around 
During certain moments and just relax doing nothing. 
In my back porch I just enjoy all the views I can get 
It is so nice to dream away and just let go of things. 

This day is kind of nice and it is neither cold nor warm 
It seems like the perfect day and the sky has a pleasant blue hue. 
And as far as I can see now there's not even a single storm 
There's nothing in my life right now that could ruin this day for me. 

Well that's what I like to think at least especially in a pretty day like this 
But well all we know that nothing will stay in this life for us the same way. 
I remember all the good times I had and all the people I love so dearly and miss 
I see no butterflies fluttering 'bout my garden but still I am having a great day. 

I plan to get hold of some of my blank pages and then I'll seize my pen and write too 
There's something so wonderful 'round me that can't describe but that's the way I feel today!

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I Dream of Dances

A dance I’ll steal from this night
And move slowly with the moon
Stars will shine upon my feet
I will create a waltz for each one.

My arms move slowly, entrancingly
Hypnotizing sleepy watching eyes
Light sprinkles on my face from above
My bare feet glide across the breezy grass

A dance I’ll steal from this night
Sailing between each strong tree
Fireflies accompany my spellbound trance
Musical allusions fly alongside.

The flowers bloom acceptingly in the still of the night
Their quieted lights reveal the dreams of those asleep
Nuzzled in their nests as I drift below the leaves
Dancing in a daze, as I would in any sleep.

My feet skim a cool stream’s edge
Fresh water glittering on my lively legs
A skip across the small blue belt 
The constitution of the forest
Winding from end to end.

A dance I’ve stolen from the night
In a forest of breathtaking captivities 
Each shining star a kindly ovation 
To my dreamy wander.

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Winter Solstice

Zero,minus twelve growing colder
yet orange meadowbrite blossom
though autumn is over

Bare burningwood trees lost their leaves
...ocher,orange copper
their vased pink flowers pruned proper

Snow burned my glowing brown skin
cold calloused stiff as winter begins
warm garments feel thin in bitter cold wind

Wool socks soft as kittens 
sown into mittens
summer's blossoms frostbitten
beneath deadened soil next spring's seeds hidden

Skin worn and blistered
yet warmth's in distance 

Home's...warm as summer's past,this day's first splendor
my skin thawed,blushing red and tender
as an orchard rottens and all pain's fogotten
yearning winter's end and spring first blossoms

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Everything was so spontaneous 
and beautiful in my younger years;
a young heart reaching out to adventurous dreams,
making them as real as his imagined schemes!

Climbing a grassy hill,
pushing forward to reach mountains,
and discover hidden treasures
that lay in darkness for centuries;
frescos of saints in spacious caves,
a statue of an Archangel
guarding the dusty altar
as he thrusted His long spear
into the woeful Devil!!

Spring was a stunning sight of fireflies,
so incrediblly cheerful and thrilling,
when the impetuous wind
scattered the small white flowers
of a clustered viburnum
over the acient town of Baianum...
where I spent my younger years,
cherishing the liveliness of adolescence!

Coming down steep cliffs
towards early evening...
when the sunset was ablaze,
serenity was never felt so deeply;
and as weary as the canary's song would be,
it prompted me to sing!  

In my younger years,
all those days weren't a passage through brevity...
they lingered on like they were enraptured by eternity;
If  I had foreseen the misery of my misfortunes...
I wouldn't enunciate the loss of their affinity,
or the vitality of my unrelenting footsteps:
when I crossed,so unhastly,
 that magnificent land called, " Italy! "

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A Blessed Season


Sitting out in the back I felt the cold north wind blow in across the lake.
   Nearly a spiritual moment as my breath it did take.
The summer had been long hard and hot.
   As I patted my wife on her hand as she lay on the cot.
The firewood has been all chopped split and put in its place.
   Ready for another winter to snuggle and embrace.
This is the time of year I look forward to so much.
   Like the feel of a warm blanket as winter sends us its touch.
Like a warm cup of cocoa to soften the nights.
   Or to sit by the fireplace with its embers so bright.
To reminisce of past days and the glory we find.
   Of loved ones that have past and their memories left behind.
Life has been good as I drink from its cup.
   I’ve enjoyed it to the hilt since I was a pup.
And as the snow gently falls and white glistens the earth.
   Remember before too long spring will return offering all a renewed birth.
Always enjoy what you’ve got and give the blessings to God.
   Praise Him with honor and love as through this life we must trod.

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The Pillar

Currents of chaos
Battering battering my fragile ports
Steady flow of tidal constance
Fluid life and yet 
I drown silently
A water sogged pillar
I steady the pier and hold true
Against the undercurrents and crashing waves
Briney depths beckon and call
Shifting drifting sandy murk
Dances at my feet
Upturned, my face to the sun
But that is not my place
Shadowy cool caressing fingers
Urge me downward
For the waves are my lullaby and 
They call me home

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White Rain

White rain
Tumbling from an ivory sky
Blanketing a pastel slumber
Clouds cushioning night

Silent lucidity
An alter of tranquility
Baptized by rain drops
Caressing virgin skin

Legs overlapping
A fair maiden's rapture
Forbidden from capture
A beauty furled within

A silhouette
Bathed in serenity
A midsummer’s dream
Nestled in winter’s light

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Once in a while, Mother Nature goes mad,
When this happens, all living things get sad,
For when she is angry, things start to get bad,
Volcanoes, and twisters, and earthquakes are glad.

Mother says to her children, "You're free to run wild,
For at this point, I refuse to be mild, 
These humans are ruining my beautiful gardens,
And I refuse to give them all pardons."

So we have weather that really gets tough,
Volcanoes and twisters really show their stuff,
And it's sad but the weather, men cannot control,
No matter how much he has made this his goal.

So poets and people all over this world,
Try to be nice or you may get twirled-then swirled,
For Mother Nature may decide to start fighting back,
So she can hold together and mend all those cracks.

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Magic is the hum of the tiny hummingbird,
I wonder if they talk, as fast as their wings purr?

Determined to drink, just as much as they can,
building their muscles, for that open ocean span.

Tiny, and cute they fight for the sweets,
sipping all day with that long skinny beak.

Alligator attitude, they attach with no fear,
remembering the course, year after, year.

Soon they will leave for much warmer days,
sometimes you will see, one that has to stay.

Nature tells them, it is time to go,
see you next year, after the snow.

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Vignette-RAIN - CHECK

After the thunder has rung aloud
Through the rain & dark cloud
A shining rainbow there will be-
A covenant between God & thee
Witten in the sky for all to see.

Full story @ Gen 9:14&15

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To the spigot, to the Spider

At sunset one summer evening I stepped outside to enjoy
the summer evening’s sunset and water the garden plants that were
dying in the draught. So I made my way towards the hose spigot at the
back of the house, and as I marveled at 
the purple sunset
a dark writhing Figure appeared before my eyes, eclipsing the sun
and stopping me dead in my tracks.
It was not a dragon. It was not a Ringwraith. It was a Spider, a huge Spider,
busily at work crafting an enormous web two yards across, spanning the forest to 
the bushes,
His labor diligent and instinctual like that of a master craftsman.
There I stood, marveling at Its pained yet natural movements, wondering when
some bird or wasp would descend upon the Thing
and rip out the Ugliness from the otherwise
perfect scene. But when I shifted my point of view
and the Spider no longer tarnished the backdrop of the sunset
I noticed It disappeared into the shadows around It
and would have been invisible to all but the
sharpest of eagle eyes. And as I blustered through an invisible strand of the 
exciting the Demon even further, I knew
that the Thing must go. But how?
I knew how. I would give to It the same thing that I meant to give the garden 
for no terrestrial creature can long withstand the force of water.
So I unscrewed the spigot, marched around the other side of the house to grab 
the hose,
and walked back to the spot where I spotted the Spider.
But in my absence the Spider, too, had taken Its leave
and I wondered if Nature was not made for men 
to marvel at, or if in those moments
Nature does but laugh at us.

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Day's Last Light

Golden sunglow 
molten heat rises against slender shadows 
once flowering trees...
tall skeletons without their leaves 
their pink pedals once plush  
lost in infinite sands outnumbering stars dust 

Glowing white stratus melting like snow 
over miles everlasting where nothing shall grow
Distant grand canyons and red sandstone mesas
the sun harms the lost and faithless

The camel's path...ancient sandwriting
guiding its followers until saved 
the lost find thier grave
The day journey's slow the lost age quick
night promises an inviting gift
yet cool darkness seems true as myth 

When faith's kept and all is hopeless despite   
the odds the lost find solace in day's last light

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Earning Our Wings

A rainbow will sometimes follow a needed rain,
one of the many masterpieces, sent to man.

The clean, fresh air is another treasure,
compliments from God, just for our pleasure.

Flowers that bloom in an open field,
a picture so perfect, can this be real.

Little birds, that sing their hearts out, all through the day,
Heavens orchestra in rehersal, for our homecoming day.

We have a glimpse of Heaven in our daily lives,
but sometimes only seen through cloudy eyes.

I know I'm blessed to be on this earth,
and God only knows, my true worth.

Hard times, and sorrows, we must have our share,
a part of earning our wings, He has waiting there..

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They set their clocks by flower petal
As they open or close-
Bethlehem Star,Sowthistle
Julap,Field Marigold
or scented Evening primrose

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Winter Retreat

Once the beach was my favorite place, 
but now the mountains, I make my escape.
The cool crisp air in early Fall,
this is Heaven, and my name it calls.
A little retreat way up high,
My refugee is almost, where the birds fly.
As Winter comes howling through the great Pine Trees,
I know this is the only place for me.
Snow covered mountains that rise to the sky,
and down below a frozen pond lies.
Smoke from the chimney, gives a cozy hello,
telling your neighbors, you are home once more.

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The Wind's Soul

The wind once whispered a calming song
Describing the importance of every second that ticks away
It spreads a tale all over the world
Yet, some notice that lovely rhyme

It is so harmonious that it has so many doves
Accompanying it wherever it flew
For it adored the beautiful rhyme

Kids run along and play with it
Chuckling and laughing so loud
But, as they grew up, they simply forgot
About the grateful friend they had
They drifted to work and never had the time
To rest and listen to its song

It waited for someone to come and play
But they never appeared
It got so sad and lonely 
That blisters approached
And tears dropped from the sky up high

One day, the wind heard a chuckle
And a voice that called from down below
Quickly, it flew to observe and discover 
The source of that pure voice

At the front door of a house
A kid stood waving at the wind
Inviting it to play with him

A smile appeared on the wind's face
As its song played so loud
And the life of happiness filled it again

It met new friends that adored to play
But, it was afraid it'll lose them again
So, they carved on a tree
Their names so clearly
So that they'll never forget
The times they spent
Playing in the open field...

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The grass has turned brown.
   The leaves have all fallen down.
The air has taken on a different feel.
    My allergies are back, oh where is that pill?
My eyes start to itch.
    My nose runs with a twitch.
This would be my favorite time of the year.
    If it weren’t for all the pollens around here.
As I stifle a sneeze.
   That was caused by this breeze.
My inhalant is near.
    Eyes are a blur I wished they were clear.
I feel like a sap. 
    Maybe I need me a nap.
My head wants to pop.
    Food tastes just like slop.
Did I mention this was my favorite time of the year?
    I can’t go outside I’m confined to right here.
The coolness at night.
     Oh such a delight.
The tissues are near.
     To keep my head clean and clear.
To the pharmacy my wife I have sent.
     To find me some relief is her intent.
Just six more months and it will all be okay.
     Then I can get out and play.
But until I see that day.
      Inside I will stay.

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Lilies of the Covenant (Part I)

     The earth dried and withered.  Rivers turned into desert, flowing springs into 
thirsty ground and fruitful land into a valley of salt.  The world languished, and the 
people lay in dust as the land trembled.  It was shaken like a hut in the wind and 
torn open.  Great structures crumbled into heaps.  The vine was, also, cut down 
by lightning and was burned in the fire and quaking.
     There was no more trumpets sounding; the straight trumpet was no more 
seen in this dry and weary land, where no water was; souls thirsted in anguish.  
Flesh longed.  Voices cried out,  
	“We have seen desperate times’ hard things that astonish us, and 
we reel as those who drink wine and stagger.”
     Even the merrymakers groaned for the new wine that had dried up in its 
bottles; therefore, in dust and ashes, this, they made their lament.
	“Remember us, O Lord, and what has happened to us.  Look upon 
us and see our disgrace.  Remember our devastation and have pity.  Show forth 
your mercy and forgive us, for we have reveled in gluttony and drunkenness and 
turned everyone to his own way.  We, now, see our destruction, that we are 
slaves to folly, and, again, we turn to you.  So turn us, O God of tender mercies.  
Manifest your loving kindness, which is better than life, and show favor to your 
land by restoring its fortunes.”
	“Mend its fractures!  Heal its breaches!  Give us your aid, for the help 
of man is worthless.  He is vain, but you, our God, alone, make your face to shine 
on us with salvation.  Save us.”
	“May the waters see you and writhe; may they convulse in fear.  May 
the clouds pour down water from you upper chambers, when you answer us out 
of the secret place of thunder.  Split the rocks so that the waters may gush and 
flow abundantly as the seas, and out of the rocky crags cause you rain to  stream 
like rivers, yet, remember your faithful promise and give us a banner that we may 
unfurl and display under the bow, and when the waters have subsided, bring 
your vine up out of Egypt.”

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Our weather is changing, from year to year,
questions of worry, what's going on here.

Summers so hot, you can't go outside,
reaching a 100, your feet will fry.

Hurricanes  brewing across the seas,
more, and more of these things we see.

Winters so cold, and no gas for heat,
wrapped up tight, still everything will freeze.

Our planet is changing, and this we know,
how do we adapt, where can we go?

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The grass is so dry, it crunches when you walk,
every where you go, rain is the talk.

One hundred or more, for two weeks now,
I stay in the house, don't even go to town.

This blistering heat, has got to go,
I'm going to welcome, our first snow.

Hurry up Fall, come real fast,
don't know for sure, if I'm going to last.

Hot, Hot, Hot, Hot

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They are destroying your creations,
the geen fields are burning
and blazes rise high;
the blackened town
has turned into ashes...
a devastated gost town
where once life
thrived with foot-steps 
and engines running!

They are destroying your creations,
barren vallies, mountains and lands 
where birds found their home so thrilling,
but forced to flee within minutes;
the scary arsonists also fled,
not to get cought or get burned
while scurring and panting! 
Weeping hearts and saddened faces
are overwhelmed by devastation...
who can understand their frustration?

They are destroying your creations
with torches and evil minds;
beauty is something they detest,
the smell of burnt makes them powerful;
how can they destroy the wilderness
that gives them life without chargiing a dime?
How can they stand back 
and watch this happening
while others are suffering?
If they are the devils' accomplices 
in this horrendous spectacle,
they will surely pay fully for their harm!

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Untitled #7 / The child

As the child rolled through a field of flowers
he spotted a butterfly flittering towards the sky
and thought he might grab the thing, sprout wings
and let the beauty carry him to heaven
he jumped and stretched out his little arms
but the insect had floated out of reach
and with a thud he fell back to the soil,
sobbing to the sun. 
But he had to try.

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I was not all Alone

Wind was blowing with a sound of the likes of the wolf's scream
Again it was midnight, where I was awake while others in a dream
I could see those big trees from the window
Moving with the wind but their motion was slow
It was like talking with the trees
If I say something for they will nod with the breeze
All alone I was, but it was all funny
For never I was without a company
I was feeling these lazy creatures still with me
No wonder, they were so involved with me.

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British Punjabi (2005)

Though I was born in the UK and I knew no more
In my dreams I heard my grandparents calling me to their door
I visited Punjabi and it lit my heart
This was me, a place in me where I found my part
Know I can see me as a whole
British Punjabi, my identity is in control
I met family I never knew before and they are a reflection of me
Funny, we live so far yet have parallel lives just to continue our ancestry. 
Unity just by sitting on the floor to eat
I am humbled to walk bare foot on the street
My village that struggles in a war and it is home today
I don’t feel torn; I know where I fee at peace and where I should stay 
I feel comfortable being inside of me
I am a British Punjabi 

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Those city's snowfalls in January
come down to earth surprisingly...
to induce an ideal stillness,and make
with an impressive effect,
lovely sceneries to be instilled
inside the inquisitive and perceptive mind!

Fluffy and swirling snowflakes
give glitter and beauty
to lifeless and drooping trees
sheltering the holly's shrubs,
which are fearful of showing  entirely
their frozen berries;
and who isn't happier than
a fumbling mockingbird...
vanquishing danger
and not being heard?

Hill tops are swarmed by teens
so confident and daring...
while sliding downhill
on snowboards delirously
and whenever they come to a stop:
they are shouts and cheers
so encouragingly;
imagine life without them: 
neither joy or event
will be rembered by us,
who cherished the thrill
of those days when we laughed a lot!

The tallest pine trees,ever to grow,
attract birds needing shelter and more...
and to hear and see swift blue-jays humming
their harmonious and cheerful notes,
while fleeing brench to brench,
is so inspiring and heart-warming...
not ever lamenting winter's pinch,
rather celebrating life with gladness!

Those city's snowfalls in January
are unique,pretty and breatless
as we draw ourselves closer to Nature...
when tranquillity is there to conquer us;
and we lose ourselves into it with ardor...
to amend our neligence and feel serenity!

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An almond dirt trails into the woods
where an old cottage home sits,
Yet I can not find for the deer intrudes
the almond trail in the lost whistle of wind.
So I bound to wait in the forest-
listening to the nature's call 
and watching the skies who arise and fall,
as eyes are glazing to the echoing angle
of each forbidden tree.

I plea to sight for the oak old door 
and pearl window that looks far out and over sees.
And the walls stand so fairly high,
but the roof hangs low, so low that the forest's
leaves bow unto the top.
The leafy green and yellow seems to always love to sit.
But I fear, as long as I am standing in 
this place of nowhere,
that the cottage I long to view will be no portrait to stare.

Yet if you look at high- just above the tree tops, 
yet look above- farther than the mountains stop,
a coconut feathered Eagle spreads its wings to glide.
And from side to side, I cant help but to stare in awe...
Wanting to even touch with my fingers- I leap out forward
to walk the miles distance in temptation for more.

And all do is walk, turning east to west, following where
the sun departs.  Where the stars are first sketched,
the Eagles then flies north, where the moon is sketched
shape from behind the clouds.
But-  The browness of its coated feathers disappears,
and in the dimness of the light, my cottage appears.
The old oak door and the yellow and orange roof top,
was something that I dreamt to see...
But where that Eagle has flown is meant unknown,
but the roaming of it has lead me home.

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Golden sun glow 
matter's new color fades with day's passage
classic earth harmony
pretty memories
ratifies my eyes
black pearls set in ivory...precious jewels
matter soul nexus feels true
their affinity strong...possessive like last harvest's brew 
blue twilight sky fades like worn denim it's nothing new
yet I regret yesterdays lost
dreaming of better places
the time waisted is brief sorrow
each day brings new meaning
saved for tomorrow 
the memories of now

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Night's Secret

autumn morning journ
dharmic lessons learned
the past photographed bridging
here and now yet then it begins
the material and imaginitive blend
where in darkness secrets hide
unknown to you and I
twilight skies and mirroring blue
cranberry bogs morning dew
veiled by drifting fog are consumed
fog rising like steam
obstructs sunlight's crystal gleam
and blue irredescence 
its photographed past,rariety's its essence
autumn's gentle rain
nurtured thristing floral plains
and yonder wild meadows tamed
Dusk fades as eve's shade
kept secrets , its reason once unknown
yet this picture window the answer is shown

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Autumn Dream

                                                  Autumn day ages slow
                                        gazing through canvas windows
                                                molten gold amber glow
                                                        burning glare 
                melting summer's stratus...gentle fabric,stretch and tear
                                              cloudless blue canvas sky
                                             over miles of summer's rye

                           Lime blossoms turn copper,orange,amber gold
                               summer's orchids sunpaled and aged old
                 wilting flower tree pedals litter endless verdant meadows
     Passing through autumn meadows nestled sleep in verdant country woods
              In the quiet secret of dreams peace its essence understood

                             Twilight...burning amber fire clouds
                          glitter stars shone through cosmic night's shroud

                                       Curiosity enhanced night vision
                                        walking barefoot as I listened
to night's calming silence, beneath its wild verdance peace its gift and purpose

                                                Morning silent peace
                                         day's guilded relief
                              next autumn's seeds nestled beneath
                                                  winter's first snow

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Our Land

Guilded light 
tangers lost in flight
over lavender meadows
whistling like our rooster kettle
Hot...summer days violets grew
where crystal light filters through
picture windows
The wind soughs and whispers slow
stirring gentle leaves 
turning gold in late summer's eve
Crystal light paled 
I nestled in verdant orchard veil 
silent rain nourished verdant plains
Beneath deadgrass and muddy soil
new seeds nourished by snowmelt...unspoiled
Walking across cool beach claysand
gazing at the horizon on OUR LAND

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Fall Creek Falls

Fall Creek Falls and
ripples out and
gives birth to a
million mosses.

Mystical flora 
rises dozens of 
meters around us and
the trees’ whispering 
leaves bestow shade
even as blades of grass
shroud an ant army.

Boulder juts out
side of mountain
Father Time’s
furtive and wrinkled
and weathering
majestic face of granite
broad, turned boldly
against blue sky.

Sticks for hiking zigzag
across trail paths winding
to the cascades, and the falls
underfoot roots and pebbles
around Nature’s blooming 
Springliness. And crossing 
a jungle twine bridge over 
cascades gushing floodwaters.

Mind-numbingly soft
limpid, yet colder than ice
my goosebumps shake
to the pitter-patter water rhythm.

Memories are already desires
in the evergreen tree sea.

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Untitled #77 / The land is old yet reborn

Oh! The land is old yet reborn
baptized in the fallen rain, innocent
in spite of the pain it has witnessed
over thousands of years the stage of
countless tragedies, tales of mortal strife, now they all
fall away, oh, save for mine! 
On the porch I swoon from the fear 
of that coming witch!
My soul wavers! I cannot remain!
Though my eyes would love to drink up these angel tears
I will walk back inside with Hannah!
I am lost!

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Nature's Narration

Nature's willingness and narration 
of winds blowing in from all points
Earths' compass tells us west to east
and from north to south
Wind breezes' goes howling
through trees everywhere
as nature begins 
her new narration in water

Water flowing onward 
filling Rivers and Oceans
with great wonders
of life in abundance
Ocean tides often rise above
and waves are push on shores
... signaling forward motions'
and slowly back again
into the ocaen
from which it came and formed.

roaring rocks gushes
down the mountain side
Winds goes howling
through trees
And nightime follows
drifting in on
a gentle breeze
Domestic nature silently
resting with ease

Climates are warming
Our sun giving
off a dazzling display 
of colorfull rays
reflecting off the blue sky
Days are left to last longer

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The Mystery Of Darkness

The mystery of darkness, each has a tale,
afraid to go out, I have been there as well.

Many a night, as I sat all alone,
my house so empty, outside muffled moans.

Who could it be, why have they come,
the doors all locked, I checked every one.

A scratching so near,  are my screens being cut,
maybe it's a dog, my neighbors silly mutt.

Flood lights beaming, looked like a football field,
telling myself, this can't be real.

I looked out the window, and out of a shadow,
waddled a little raccoon, such a cute little fellow.

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                             Salvaged driftwood and polished mirror glass
                                          framed summer's tranquil past
                                      photograph moments compared
               to complex highlights which  pale, where staring eyes wear

                                                In artificial light glare 
                                            perfect vision's impaired

                                 Photographic memory,clever subtley 
                                       and trick camera's precision
                                each rythmic stroke...creative wisdom
                       its brilliance begins where pastel colors blend

                                          Its pretty warped patterns
                                       mirror gentle subject matter

   Citrus spiral sun, spider orchid smearings, yellow painted tongues
                                              coral floral pedals 
                     dappled fine verdant lines...its silent orchard meadow

                                           Summer skylight gentle blue 
                   vased velvetine flowers gleam...crystal morning dewed

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Lilies of the Covenant (Part II)

“We will clear the ground of all rubble.  We will plow the earth and break up her 
clods, so that the vine will take deep root and flourish throughout the land.  The 
hills will be covered with its shade; even the mountains with he mighty cedars 
will be shadowed under its branches, sending out its boughs to the sea of reeds 
and its shoots to the Euphrates.  May her hedges never be hewn again, and let 
her boundary lines fall for us in pleasant places.  May her walls never be broken 
through, so that boars from the forest and all the wild creatures may not pluck its 
tender grapes.”
	“Watch over this vine you will plant with your right hand, and so shall 
our sons be ...well nurtured.  They shall blossom like the lily, and our daughters 
shall be like corner stones, like beautifully carved pillars adorning a palace with 
their capitals cast as trumpets in the shape of lilies.  So shall they be in rows 
when the city is rebuilt.  Our garners shall be full, and our vats shall overflow with 
the fat of the land.  There will be no more breaching of the walls within our gates, 
and our fortunes will not go into captivity again.”
     And when the entire host of people had shouted, “Amen!”  it rained a great 
rain, the former and the latter rain together, and singing and dancing 
accompanied the sounds of land and sky.  The wilderness was turned into pools 
of water and parched ground into water springs; so their thirst was quenched 
with wines and their hunger filled with grapes, and their captives were brought 
again to tend their own vineyards in the land where trumpets are heard one 
more;  the straight trumpets are seen arrayed by the palace in the beautiful city, 
and there they celebrate God, for the seed and fruit both sown and reaped in just 
one day.
A Scripture Compilation

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Memory of Summer

Silent mornings...bright crystal light
filtered lukewarm and pale 
through long white stratus veils
gliding through an ancient void of neon blue
To our naked eyes...its chemicals mix unseen
confined to our sight's simple color scheme

On an endless road far from home  
my destination unknown
tanned by solar glare , my skin glistened in the humid air
passing flowerfield gardens sweet
their reap my secret keep
tasting fruit ripe and bruised 
tasting...raspberry dew

Walking barefoot through tall blue grass
Crossing white coal stone paths  
to white sand beaches covered with glistening particles of glass

Oceanshore...intides turned sand tender as clay
sunlight burning...yearning relief
I found shade beneath 
white cedars 
Maple leaves,their colorful expanse cool and pleasant  
filtered solar incandescence
I nestled on blankets of paper leaves 
and slept until eve

No summer forgotten,past winters...I can't remember

Skyward gaze, the skies bright yet its still night
and I'm miles from home in the distance dark overcast and thunder
Yearning tomorrow morning...the memories of summer


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The Tireless Sea

Transfixed I stand and watch
The Tireless Sea
As it waves crash upon the shore
Spraying its white salty foam
Against the rocks and cliffs below,
Then returning unto itself

The Tireless Sea
Wherein its immeasurable depth
Secrets lie buried
Never to be reveiled

The Tirelss Sea
Whose temperament is so mystifying
it neither fears, nor needs any man
but gathers its strength from within.

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My Ship

I imagine my ship with sails full form,
drifting on each wave, away from any storm..

Quiet and serene under Heavens hues,
my ship is ready, but where is my crew?

I must be the Captain, for there is no one else,
I am in a dream all by myself.

How will I know , the course to take,
for this is the ocean, not a big lake.

With compass in hand,, I will do my best,
I think this may be, my biggest test.

Out on the ocean I am drifting along,
my ship is very capable, of getting me home.

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This summer's evening still echoes
with the distinguishable city' noises:
the screams of adolescents,
the cranking of cars and motor-bikes
the loud rotating blades of helicopters,
and the blasting music
from luxurious convertibles
that unawarely tranfix...

We can get away
from this madness,
and find a silent,
infrequent place
where nothing has to be hushed;
where the firmament 
emanates a perfect peace
to submerge us by awe
as we coalesce
in a lascivious wish...

We can return to be innocent,
and lean over blue waters
to cover the still lake
with beautiful,velvety roses 
as the gondolier enthralls us 
with his poignant vocals...

The quite geese float 
in the aromatic lake of flowers,
inperplexed by our presence
as we lean over blue waters,
so intoxicated by the balsamy air,
to invoke and inflame
an incessant desire
and incur no regrettable fault... 

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good mornin' starshine

empty twigs with new bud ends
welcome the warmth of risen sap
filling with  hope of Spring and leaves
hints of green in ice burnt lawn as 
sudden snow bells wave in hints of breeze
rhodies' leaves are open to the warming day
a shiver sway of dripping green
against the patient cedar
pointing into a well lit grey white sky 
Winter's claws are nightly clutching deep
Holding on in grimly sour 
Someday soon the rushing tide of Spring
will sweep away ache of morning risings
Dancing in the greens of life reborning

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Little Treeling

Little tree don't weep today,
your limbs so tiny, and frail,
but stronger, and stronger,
with each passing snow,
as nature watches you grow.
You're just a treeling, 
in the forest of life,
waiting for another season.
One day you'll be the one,
a family calls their own,
decorated in lights of color,
adding beauty to that home.
Dry your little branches little one,
and drink from the nourishing soil,
time will get you ready,
for that special girl or boy.

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A Memory To Keep

The frosty tree line, in the distance, so white,
soft fresh icy flakes, reflecting the light.
Quietness surrounds the frozen ponds,
little rabbits hopping, following their mom.
Slightly a breeze, rustles the leaves,
imprinted in my mind, a memory to keep.

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Fuel and food for thee & me
To Noah a sign of life
And others ,a symbol to end strife-
A pictorial arbor emblem
To encompass God's kingdom

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Jewels Blossom

Silent motion jasmine votives flicker
near jewel blossoms embraced in painted hand-made wicker
barely surviving this winter's frostbite
closed pedals sunstained pale in window light
blushing pink where colors blend
barely wilting where it mends
its pale reflection gone as day ends
winter passes spring begins

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Midnight Waltz

Dazzling twilight
Sparkling starlight
Ocher lights all around
Heavens are chanting
Nature is prancing
Anticipating concerto sounds
Zephyr tantalizing
Music harmonizing
Grand flora sway lofty in a row
Nightingale ready
Standing steady
Awaiting her cue from the Maestro
Gesture is given
Moment for singing
She shares an inspirational serenade 
Welcome midnight waltz
Tonight, no faults
Night dances in a splendid cascade
Sonata swarms
Tranquility warms
Finale’ is here. Morning’s first light
Evening in awe
Heaven applauds
Bravo. Fortissimo.
Thank you. Goodnight.

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White Flower

Glowing white flower...peonies
stained with fragrant oils
its olive leaves , finely aged like foil
litter pale shadows , returning to soil
Golden daylight , copper pail glare 
wilting blossoms...bittersweet air
An aged torn painting photographed 
the ancient Renassiance Age ...ever last

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one day

One day i'm gonna fly ,
fly far away from here.
From everything else i'll turn away,
and on my knees i'll stop to pray,
pray for the strength to carry on. 
Then with lifted wings i'll sore,
sore to a place where i'll be free,
free to just be...well me..

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You left us in shambles when you came ashore
Destruction everywhere, lives changed forever more
Heartache and disbelief as you came raging through
No one ever expected this from you
Untamed by nature, you had your way
so many left homeless, with no place to stay
The wrath of the waters as you came rushing in
lives were lost, helpless children, women and men
Fearless and brave some made their way in, searching
for suvivors, praying they could get to them
Unpredictable disasters is what nature breeds
Sadness and death she sometimes leaves
Wind and water we have no control but a rude
awakening we have come to know
Victims still waiting for much needed help and promises
made by some have not been kept

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How far is that rainbow, 
you know the one,
it follows the rain,
yes that's the one.

Colors so perfect,
each vibrant ray,
red, yellow, blue,
a halo they make.

Only a touch away,
but out of reach,
rainbows so perfect,
for all to see.

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cascading light 
washing over me 
on sunlit wings 

fierce golden glow 
feather edged sundancer 

sun light in your heart 

goose pimples of pleasure 
sun trickling drops of pure gold light 
dapple on me 

sunbreathing,basking sunshine 
golden wings soar 
rush of warm wind, 
blinding white light 

blue silence 
calm of mind 
flex of golden wing 
on sunlit clouds of white 

pure joy of golden light 
pure joy golden flight 

feather of mind 
feather of heart 

sunlit heart 

breathe me 
soft golden journey 
my journey 
your journey 

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This world is a merry-go-round, 
full of beauty, changing as we go around.
Our ups, and downs, our smiles, our frowns,
sweet melodies, and sometimes not a sound.
Winds to caress, and give such relief,
or ice cold temperatures, that freeze our feet.
Rivers, and streams, for our pleasures we find,
one season ends, and another, not far behind.
Love may be found, to be lost again,
but sometimes it will always be around.
Hearts so complete, you feel so safe,
then again,  sometimes changes have to be made.
Friends will come, and some may leave,
this is the way, it has always been.
Loved ones pass, but their memories stay,
giving us comfort, in a sweet, precious way.
Enjoy your ride, for it may end so fast,
this merry-go-round ride, will be our last.

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Hunters Meet

It’s another Monday afternoon
The postal route is done for the day
Did it all without getting rained on
Still haven’t shaved
Wolfed down a partially nuked sausage croissant
The still frozen bit was crunchy cool
Made me feel like a teenager again
A dragon fly landed on my windshield wiper
Stayed for seven stops
Eating a smaller winged thing with relish
I don’t know why but
I stopped the van
And got out to put him on a bush
He flew away as soon as I stepped down
The oldest recorded life form on earth
And unchanged
Humbling to say the least

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Northern Lights

I have seen pictures of the Northern Lights,
amazing, is this, mysterious sight.
My dream is to one day, be a witness so small,
under God's Heaven, watching it all.
How many have come, just to see,
a light show by nature, all for free.

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Lifes' Many Songs

Her heart is a fortress,
barricaded with pain, and tears,
diminished hope of dreams lost,
shadows her desire of new love.
Once so vibrant, her smile told the tale,
now pieces of yesterday, linger so stale,
such beauty within, has hidden its face,
bitterness is now blooming, filling that place.
Winter has set in, her leaves no longer green,
but memories are there somewhere,
of the summers, she has seen.
Seasons change, it is natures way,
giving us hope to carry on,
we can't help what others do,
this, is only one, of lifes' many songs.

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Secret Me (2005)

I was a disconnected child
Outside confused but my inside was wild
A lack of confidence and no interest
Been spoken for believing it was best
A struggle and uproar and inside I burst
It was for the best but others always saw the worst
Never to this day will they understand
I am past caring I know where I stand
Never took pride in the home
Never ever felt it was my own
Away I am a different being
Always pro-active and everything is clean
A master chef believe it or not
Everything’s a secret kept in a knot 

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Summer's Cimax

The yellowing sunset dances across the waves,
as another day silently falls asleep so moon beams 
can play.
The echo of thunder barely whispering afar, as the wind
sweeps so peaceful revealing a star.
Sailboats still glisten, with sails set for home,
saddened at the thought, another day is gone.
Tourist seem happy to be out tonight, and
they will all be back again, at mornings first
Misty is the surf, with its salty taste,
stinging the skin that today's sun baked.
A coolness is coming, the season of change,
summer shall climax once again..