leaves in the trees
an old man sitting
on a bench
and thinks of his youth
sitting on a bench
looking into his iPhone
simulates the falling
red yellowing leaves
God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…
who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again
The March madness ends
I am just an April fool
looking for sunshine
Must make haste
Time for "waste"
Gladly would I die
for your love, my dear...No! Wait!
Just kidding! Just kid...
For Andrea's 'Show me the funny' contest
Look around,embrace life,smile,
Even if it's only once in a while,
Gods' world,acres of entertainment,
Learn to laugh,enjoy your environment,
Umbrellas out,the birds are soaring,
Two parrots pecking,so adoring,
The king of water,angry river roaring,
Water racing each other,raindrops pouring,
Snake shaking his rattler,rumba girls luring,
Woodpecker sharing knock,knock jokes,ohh so boring,
Visa-card in his poach,kangaroo touring,
Owl seeking more wisdom,bird brain storing,
More hay over here,horses neighing,
Green,green pastures,the donkeys are braying,
Twenty four-sevens,happy hens are laying,
Do you catch the drift,of what I'm saying,
Now open your eyes,see what I'm talking about,
Hope it put a smile on your face,
Or pulled a laugh from your mouth....
'Tis strange where we should get the notion
That poetry expressed in motion
Should within the human form reside.
When nature gives us many chances
Unpractised and ephemeral dances
Like in a muddy field when sheep collide
Truth is, that nature's not so humble
And doesn't mind the dancer's stumble
There's nothing that it ever seeks to hide
Uncaring it leaves all revealed
And is not shamed if one small field
Has crazy sheep and one long muddy slide
They're mad, they're bad, they're having fun
Those naughty sheep and every one
Is doing what convention has denied
The hillside's muddy, wet and slick
With crazy sheepies sliding quick
Down to the bottom, down where sheep collide.
Many count good nature's fare
The birdsong and the country air
Among the wonders of the countryside
But strange delight can yet be found
In woolly bodies sliding round
A simple muddy field where sheep collide.
While nature guides celestial spheres
In cosmic dances, it appears,
With majesty the earthborn are denied
Down far beneath in mud and grass
A sheep slides on its woolly a***:
A sense of fun, though not a sense of pride.
< Cascading lakes and streams
The loon stands out it seems
Minnesota's state bird
I know it must sound absurd
Adopted in nineteen sixty one
Wails and yodels heard under the sun
Black and white bearing red eyes
Wingspans five feet can make one cry
Body lengths up to three feet
Yet clumsy on lands and moss peat
They are high speed flyers
And great underwater divers
They can dive up to ninety feet
In pursuit of fish they want to eat
They are even on our license plates
An critical habitat drawn on metal slates
Twelve thousand of these unique birds
God that has to be a lot of turds
But for now I'll enjoy it's captured views
Of this beautiful loon and it's most colorful hues
Written By Katherine Stella
Entry For Mini - Blog Beautiful Bird Contest
By Constance ~ A Rambling Poet
O' possum O' possum
Sleep the day away
Await the setting of the sun
before you go and play
As the dusk arrives at last
Awake and stretch your paws
Don't clamber from your tree too fast
Hang tightly with your claws
The brown team 'v' the greys
Its football night you see
they'll use a melon for a ball
with a ring tailed referee
The match is quite a tussle
both teams are very strong
The crowd sit up in the trees
And Hisses them along
A possum breaks loose from the pack
Towards the goal he's bound
The goalie take a single look
Then plays dead upon the ground
The melon bounces of the post
A dustbin crashes to the ground
The crowd invades with fever pitch
To look in and see what's found
Give a man a sea-kitten,
And you feed him for a day.
Teach a man how to sea-kitten,
And PETA will make him pay.
I guess there isn’t much to say,
We’re gonna eat them either way,
Because the message here being conveyed
Does not have to do with fish per se.
Instead we feel the need to build
A foundation where we can rest our guilt.
Or where we can sway, or push, or tilt
The basis of sanity. And watch it wilt.
Humans are actually land-dodos.
A tree is also a green-giraffe.
But no name we will ever sow
Will ever cease to make me laugh.
I mean, how bored do you have to be
In a world with war and disease uprising
To stop what you’re doing and decide: “Here see,
Fish are in trouble. Start compromising.”?
Man is the measure of these extents.
The apex of idiocy slips his mind,
And thus he chooses to invent
Another means to thwart mankind.
We’re defending the rights of things we need.
Things we need for survival, like skin.
And in our greed we fail to read
The paradox lying herein and within.
Among all the things that humans bleed for,
Nothing more imbecilic has ever been,
Than renaming the fish of which we feed
Into something like sea-kitten.
“And then Jesus blessed the sea-kittens,
He broke the bread and divided it amongst 5000 people.”
Run, jump, scream, duck, dodge and leap
Try to stay on your running feet
Honey in the hive
The bees are alive
Run, jump, scream, don't fall and leap!
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Satan in my bowels
All I can say is 'ow'
Cringing and churning
My biscuits are burning
I’m praying for relief
Some sort of lanolin leaf
Wondering why I wasn’t born
Before the devil had horns
Squatting in the bush
Mourning my tortured tush
Asking when trees portend
Charmin is our friend
So if you hear me cry
Shouting Jalapenos must die
Remember that camping is fun
Except when nature’s on the run
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods
The tarantula built
a web in the upper-left corner of my patio;
she weaved it perfectly as Antonio
rose on his wobbling feet to reach it.
That boy didn't know that
spiders get vicious and suddenly bite
when someone tries to grab them for spite,
and Antonio tried to pull it down with a tiny twig...
no, it didn't work, so he tried again with a long stick;
oh, once a garden spider got stuck into his mom's wig!
" Antonio, put it down,
before it crawls onto your skin! "
The spider will bite you on the cheek
and you'll be doing the Tarantula Dance! "
I yelled by taking the stick away from him with extreme force.
" No, I like that spider...that's the one I want to keep! "
He rebelled with a grin, transforming himself into a beast.
" OK, you can keep it, but remember spiders creep! "
I warned him and told him to wear a mask and just peak.
The tarantula built a web where rain or storms
never soaked it, and scorching sun rays
never melted it...how laborious she was in summer's long days!
We watched it going to and fro searching for food for her little one
as we took daily videos and had fun watching them!
After all, I realized that a spider is not dangerous...if left alone;
and Antonio kept his distance by warning other boys
that trying to catch a tarantula is a very dangerous game!
T'was a warm summer's day, when I took to the trail,
to cruise that old black spruce, way down in the swale.
A gallon of bug dope was strapped on my hip,
which I figured would last me for most of the trip.
Down through the sphagnum I plowed like a moose,
a huffin' and puffin' and spittin' my snoose.
Then off in the distance, I heard a faint roar,
like B-29's coming home from the war.
The sky clouded over, so you barely could see,
"They're mosquitoes! "I cried, and they're coming for me.
They flew by me once and past me again,
a-flexing their stingers, before they moved in.
I grabbed for my bug dope and spread it on thick,
just hopin' and prayin', it would do the trick.
They came at me fiercely and punctured my hide,
But before they could drink much, they dropped off and died.
I thought to myself, "What type of bug dope is this?"
The mosquitoes all had smiles on, as they lay there in bliss.
After checking the label, I saw my mistake,
t'was the 100 proof whiskey, that Uncle Jake makes.
I do not know?
A bird/bee with head-mug, on one side of fence, tail/wump on other.
A mugwump sitting on a fence,
smug as he can be.
His mug was writting a reference,
and his wump was hanging free.
When mugwump would lift his head,
a flight he tried to make.
When he flapped his wings o'lead,
his wump got stuck in the gate.
Mugwump is a mighty mess,
hanging from that rail.
As a pilot he forgot to test,
the windsock for the gusty gale.
If a situation should arise,
where you think he's gotton free.
It wouldn't be good to surmise,
that mugwumps are great big bees.
If you consort with bees and birds,
the words should set you free.
But, if you don't watch your words,
a mugwump, you will turn out to be.
I stepped out on my lawn tonight
To catch a breath or two
Of cool night air when with a blare
An Owl questioned "Who?".
"Well, it is I", was my reply
"And now, just who are you?"
Then in a short he did report
Again with that same "Who".
"You", I said, "Is who", I said
With some authority
"Now who are thee, up in that tree?"
And "Who" again said he.
"Oh! Now I see, when uttered thee
From high up in that tree
'Who' was thy introduction
And not a question be.
So, Who is you and I am me.
I'm glad we talked this out.
Come again my feathered friend
You're welcome here about."
"Why," thought the cat,
"can I see through the glass,
but when I try to go through it,
it won't let me pass?"
"There are bugs out there,"
the cat thought to himself,
"yet to them, I'm as dull as
a book on a shelf!"
The cat shook his head,
"This is really too much!
There's two squirrels in the yard
and a bird in the brush."
"How much fun it would be,"
with a mew he announced,
"to hunt and to stalk and then
"Why, I'd shake them until
their necks were broke!
Maybe then," mused the cat,
"I'd be more than a joke."
"They'd be amazed by my prowess,"
he thought with a sigh,
"I'd torture them slowly and
they'd wonder why,"
"they never realized that
I was a threat,
while completely ignoring me
like I was their pet."
"I'd show them," he growled
as he laid on the sill,
"with them in my tummy,
I'd savor the kill."
"They'd show some respect,"
he thought with a yawn,
"I'd shown them who's king
of this yard and this lawn."
Head full of adventure,
he fell fast asleep,
safe in his house,
with plenty to eat.
In England’s pleasant pastures amid the free wild flowers
Lie pagan ways the wise ones do not mock
And one adept at harnessing these ancient rural powers
Was Oggwool Fleece, the black sheep of the flock
Oggwool was old, much older than the old oak it was said
Beneath whose boughs the dark sheep’s plans are sealed
‘Twas said the sheep had come back from the other side of dead
With the darkness in that corner of the field.
The farm hands better knew to venture in the oak’s strange shade
Or to the long grass that the darkness gripped
Where Oggwool lurked amid the spells and potions he had made
A sheep unshorn and magically undipped.
Not limited by four hooves in working his deft skill
Unhindered in ambitious sheepish plans
Harnessing the dark elves to do his dark sheep will
Dexterously with little dark elf hands.
From that darkened corner of that English country field
His influence extends itself outside
His arcane woolly web through which his mystic powers wield
Reaching parts and persons spread worldwide
He has extensive vineyards in Italy and Spain,
He has mining operations in Peru
He owns a flock of ostriches down in the Ukraine
(Although he never quite intended to)
He’s engineering world events on scales beyond the ken
He has his hooves in business of all kinds
He interferes remorselessly in world affairs of men
With night-time thoughts drip-fed to human minds
Little green men fly through space in saucers flat and round
On interstellar missions without cease
But on their furthest journey yet, their enterprise is bound
To the ever growing plans of Oggwool Fleece
The politicians spin their words and armies shoulder arms
And yet do not beyond their small acts see
But Oggwool Fleece with thistle skills and other sheepwise charms
Is planning how to rule a galaxy!
Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"
He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!
He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue
The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect
So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance
He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree
The dawn was approaching, not a breath of air blew,
And the bass should be bitin', at the edge of the slough.
I gathered my tackle and shoved in the boat,
Not knowing whether, the blamed thing would float.
A pull on the kicker, got old Betsy churnin',
To the home of the large-mouth, for which i'd been yearnin'.
The boat snaked on through, the lily-pad carpet,
Toward an old sunken log, as black as a tarpit.
Don't ask me how, but I knew he'd be there,
Just awaitin' to be pulled, from his watery lair.
With a flick of the wrist, the lure sped toward the log,
Which stuck from the water, at the edge of the bog.
The silence was shattered, as the bass took the bait.
You could see in his eyes, the feeling of hate.
I had him hooked firmly, in the side of the lip,
And he couldn't get loose, no matter how he should flip.
I guessed that he'd weigh, no less than twelve pounds,
For he was straining my tackle, beyond all its' bounds.
An hour went by, but he fought just as strong.
He had to give in, 'cause I couldn't last long.
Finally the old lunker, turned on it's side,
And slid in the net, with mouth opened wide.
But after I weighed him, I found to my plight,
He'd lost over ten pounds, during this long and hard fight!
I didn’t see a mammoth on my walk today
I don’t think any mammoths saw me
But the rocks did
The rocks had seen the mammoths
The rocks saw me
And, before the mammoths
They remember the winter when the glaciers came
And scoured the moors
And gouged the valleys
And deposited the rocks themselves
Where I saw them today
Sleeping in the sun
Dreaming of those mammoths and those early men
I wonder what they thought of me?
Note: Valley of Desolation, Wharfedale, Yorkshire, UK
I do not know?
Way down yonder, beyond the barn,
In that soggy, muddy old bog,
In a small and crowded, murky pool,
Lived gloomy Tad, the pollywog.
One of the things that made young Tad
Resentful and unhappy,
Was the very simple fact that he
Looked nothing like his pappy.
And, you know, he also didn't look
A great deal like his mamma.
What this pollywog resembled most
Was a chubby, little comma.
And the safest place--to say the least--
Was not that shrinking pool,
Where one well might be ingested
By some poor misguided fool.
Then one day Tad got so fed up
With his principal place of abode,
That he grew some legs, left the pond,
And became a happy toad.
I do not know?
Most people are crazy about flowers,
Whether grown from cuttings or seeds.
They can talk of their beauty for hours,
But no one says anything nice about weeds.
And out in the garden, the veggies
Enjoy far more care than they need,
But along the highways and hedges,
The world has no time for the poor, lowly weed.
That's why I hate work in the garden.
It's not that I'm lazy, indeed,
I would really enjoy the labor,
But it's cruel to pull those poor weeds.
Fall arrives today, still clad in green,
Clear skies of impossible blue
Presage the riot of color to come;
Hot reds and golds, yet bitter cold - whom to sue?
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Roses for you!
petals all over
sexy, sexy as can be
press the flesh tonight
my roses are black,
did I forget the water
dry flower bed!!
my roses are red,
give me a kiss, sweet as you
potion pucker lips
flowers for the dead
roses running through my head
zombies are blue.
ouch! ouch! prickly thorns
rose blood, falling all around,
snake under my bed
I did not mean it
I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!
here have 2 roses
baby bash, ice cream
only In America
roses in demand