THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.
One fleece the more, one hair the less,
had half repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.
And on that rump and o'er that round
so strong, so firm, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest
Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?
Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”
My pet is an E.T. come from far outer space,
In that incredible green morning full of grace,
Ready to take compassion on uncomfortable race.
I mistook him for a vainglorious giant green ant,
Or a friendly, playful silver chameleon vagrant
In a strange green cage like an UFO, or a bright cube;
A changeable dark hollow sphere, ellipsoid or tube
Was his environment, where he felt incredibly free.
A fullerene as molecule composed entirely of C,
Might resemble his changeable colors and forms...
Coming from other world, he had different norms.
Like a tortoise or a snail with their long life shells,
He bore his genetic and civilization dowry`s codes,
And no hesitation in polishing them in many modes
Of significant recollections as invisible diamonds
In some allotropes forms with recordable sounds.
In their world, the injured ET always may complain
Regarding the rude restrictive rules to self maintain,
And too severely lathe`s and Lathes` laws to bind
A submissive or subversive aim of washing mind.
If many faces gambles have gained a grinder at hand,
Deceived by logic, or urged by mirror`s command,
Whatever transformation and simulation`s tidy tie,
The judging common world expects our constancy.
In his multi-dimension space, my pet`s only obsession`s
A shift character shows multitudes of points’ collections
By dragging a 0-dimensional object in some direction,
One obtains a 1-dimensional object and self-selection.
By dragging a 1-dimensional object in a new direction,
One obtains a 2-dimensional object as self-protection.
My ET pet is playing in his cube beyond the K-K project.
Indeed ,he could collect an (n + 1)-dimensional object
By dragging an n-dimensional object in a new direction.
In our world,this game seems to be a natural selection.
He lived upon the analogy that (n + 1)-dimensional balls
Have n dimensional boundaries, beyond the buckyballs...
If he he had wings ,could we put him in a modern hen coop?
Our world build this as a new loop-hole or as an alarming loop...
Glowing eyes invade the darkness of the night.
A majestic hunter with prey in it's sights.
Slowly moving through the grass, as slient as an empty glass.
A creature with a sullen expression, embraking upon a hunting session.
It srikes from the shadows of the night; giving the prey little change of escape or fight.
A body full of warming fur and makes the sound of a meow or pur.
Pointy ears, thin legs and sharp claws; extending out from padded paws.
This cretaure wears a sumptuous looking coat always shiney and clean; walking with graceful posture like that of a ballroom scene.
It's younger form more playful and small, but soon will grow just as cunning and tall.
Masquerading as innocent family pets and balls of fur; hiding the true heart of a loin waiting to roar.
Some choose to live with families in thier home; well others like the nomadic people enjoy to roam.
Hedonistic in nature like Lord Henry from the story of Dorian grey, the cat hate's having it's pleasurable lifestyle taken away.
Roaming around night and day...... this creature of beauty is always on the hunt; for it's next prey....
How unlike a cat is this
slender dash of ink upon the page,
this pinch of print, this little line
of punctuation, adding
its mere millimetres of meaning,
black against white,
significant in its separation
of segments of the sentence,
imbuing words around it with a dab
of consequence or moment.
How like a printed dash
is my black cat,
stretched and stark against the sun-white concrete
of the distant yard baking below,
separating nothing but atoms of air,
significant only in herself –
a piece of furry punctuation
that tells us solely that it is,
and needs no function to perform.
By itself, it is of itself,
answerable to no one and to nothing –
except the rain, which has just arrived,
suddenly, in slapping, ponderous lumps,
to soak the stone page and darken it,
and drive her dash to drier quarters.