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Long Nature Poems | Long Nature Poetry

Long Nature Poems. Below are the most popular long Nature by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nature poems by poem length and keyword.

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Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Retire v Retread

What I have for you today is not so much about re-treading an outdated fuel-based system--
little bit like reshuffling the chairs to fix the decay 
of a segregated Country Club.

No, this is addressed to economic policy re-tirers. 
Keep the tire and the chairs, 
but let's get the tread of our personal and public economies into EcoTherapeutic shape.

Economic policy administrators are everybody, 
but some of us have more responsibility for larger populations and larger wealth deposits than oneself, 
and one's household, 
and one's own capacity to invest one's own funds 
and future. 
Based on my own miserable failure in these areas, 
my best advise for public policy administrators is to do just the opposite of what I have done.

For example, 
do not invest your capital or equity in storage silos 
where your value will not have a chance to help fertilize local development--
and it doesn't get more local than a little Family Care, 
up to the point when Family Care becomes beyond what we can all do with and for others.  
Because, for instance, that would be breaking the Golden Rule. 
"Do to others as to self" implies do not do with others--
of any species, during any time, or era, or generation--
what they have not done with you. 
And, this Golden Rule is economic gold standard. 
I am here to tell you that this (0)-Sum Cooperative Value Network is optimally balanced 
for inclusive prosperity and equity. 
Economic Zeroism derives from Buckminster Fuller's fairly famous "Trimtab Conjecture."

Fuller lived as a Unitarian--
investing 100% in more than his fair share of Universal Intelligence. 
But, he wrote like a systematic Taoist:
Trim Tab (wu wei) optimized economic flow is deeply nutritious, resonant, resilient--
and our competitive cultural  and corporate alternative is toxic backwash.

Cash on hand is a Trimtab opportunity for risk,
 for learning, 
for adventure, 
for investing in our shared Universally Intelligent Abundance. 
Investing in mindful and grateful cooperation with colleagues 
(but not authorities or "experts"--
these were blasphemy to Fuller's sense of intellectual integrity), 
people who intend a community that feels like home--
nurturing, and caring, and cooperative, 
where adults play nice, 
and all the kids are graceful--
and not so blind.

The relationship between humans and their places 
is the story line of historical-cultural development. 
This cultural teleological view of history might, post-Bucky, 
bear the label ectosymbiotic evolution, 
a "positive" evolutionary trend 
(think "Positive Psychology" and "progress"). 
Basically, regenerative theory is a torus-formative Hilbert Space, 
filled with a positive teleological conjecture about our reason for being 
as a species.

Combining Julian Jaynes' endosymbiotic evolutionary theory 
of how the bicameral LeftDominant-RightIntuitive hemispheres developed 
the capacity for self-consciousness and awareness of "not-self" as Other, 
with Fuller's binomial metric information development, 
and Gregori Perelman's (et. al.) (0)-soul Universal Group Theorem, 
I find merit in the conjecture that:

Greatest, 
most equitably and peacefully inclusive, 
reason for investing 
in the hypothesis that we are all in Earth gratefully and mindfully together, defines,refines, and minimizes 
any crusty segregating cultural remnants to the contrary.

So, look around, fellow Bridge-Builders, 
economic developers, 
philanthropists for the future of everything, 
what seems to be thriving, growing, resilient, 
here for the long-term? 
Perhaps the urgency of our Transition Generation's position becomes clear 
when we suddenly realize that human biosystems, 
as we know and love them, 
are an endangered species.

Thich Nhat Hanh says of Buddhism, 
"knowledge is regarded as an obstacle to understanding, 
like a block of ice that obstructs water from flowing.... 
water can flow, it can penetrate anything." (pp. 48-9, Being Peace, 1987). Considering the possibility that any somewhat sane and mature adult 
knows enough to perform more sustainably, 
more optimally, 
more wisely, 
as we plan our economies and investments, 
what is it that we fail to understand? 
If our economic, ecological, and social pathologies 
are a misunderstanding of information 
already profoundly and democratically accessible, 
what is at the root of our anomalous cultural consciousness?

Our internal nutrients and economies flow with richest understanding 
when this balance is achieved between left and right, 
exterior and interior, 
ecological polycultures and economic value, 
Universal Intelligence and Polanyi's Personal Knowledge, 
cooperation and active hope of contributing, 
teaching, helping, mentoring, facilitating; 
between desire and gift, 
mindfulness and gratitude, 
justice and actively nurturing peace, 
Yang and Yin.

Invest in cooperative vocations, 
residences, 
communities, 
strategies, 
research 
and learning plans. 
Avoid competitive, survival-limited teleological assumptions, 
conjectures, 
missions, 
and corporate structures. 
Create cultural and ecological and economic music 
and dancing in revolving circles with those investments; 
not marching in competitive, 
extractive, 
self-commodifying lose-lose squares.

Cultural and economic EcoTherapy derive from consciousness 
of the Laws of Thermodynamics, of course, 
but, the Prime Root Law of Thermodynamics 
is the Law of Eternal Moment Thermodynamic Balance; 
what goes out, 
must come back in, 
and out again, 
regenerating frequencies of oscillating formed information (P) 
and reverse-functional Yin (NP) exformation, 
reiteratively bowing to torus-graced "Namaste."


Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |

The Rhine Salmon Complaint Translation of Etiemble s Complainte d un saumon du Rhin by T Wignesan

The Rhine Salmon Complaint, Translation of Etiemble’s Complainte d’un salmon du Rhin

						For Yvon Belaval
(A lilting musical poem of varying line length in quatrains with a refrain and much internal
 rhyming; end-rhyme scheme: alternate rhymes in succession: abab or in aabb and abba…)

   The Salmon:

Banks of the Rhine 
Joy of my loins
Bronze-sounding roaring 
of limpid spindrift !

No, my bleaks,
I tarry not
until the feast
whence I make haste.

When the salmon of the Rhine
swims towards encountering its lovers,
for all the gold of the Rhine
no chance of its turning back.

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold 
The Salmon:

Bloated dogs stuffed with soul,
what do you want of the plains?
I’m on my way to my lady
outwitting the (sirens’) breasts.

The poisons of filthy waters
haul you towards death;
with my lustrous paddles
I’ll arrive at a better station.

Every chance there on high,
beyond the echoes of thunder,
hop! with one jolly good jump
I’d have gained the glass palace…

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !


   The Salmon:

Fishermen, you are mistaken
Who thinks of catching me:
I’m off to meet my lover:
Discard your quenelles.

Nothing will stop me,
neither the grass
of the deep calm,
nor the beaches of the isles,

nor the darkest shingles,
over which the sun enjoys
dressing for our eyes
temporary altars of fire.

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !

   The Salmon:

At the heart which right night
am I going to – at last – know the truth?
Exhaust my desire for him
who palpates the eggs of my spawning?

This force within me so profound
being less of a salmon, I’d be drowned,
it carries me like a wave
and crushes me like a ray.


She breaks me and makes me whole
and lets me triumph over your sexual prowess
O ! Sirens, queens so rosy.
I don a head band to take on other battles.

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !

   The Salmon:

I have in vain a premonition of Kehl’s caresses !
The quid, one could say: furious and curious, upright
in its ink of flame and mud, ah! Which 
dam of blue flashes, the black holes…where but where

am I? Oh! Prisoner of these queues of magicians
who seduce and disembowel you during their emotional                              
                                                           bursts!
But here’s my current and death is theirs
and I go past the bridge and life I’ll have won !

Gurgling air bubbles where the quid sleeps:
I have cut your gullet which had you tied to gold,
to the mud of galleons rotting on the Rhine bed,
to gold, when it’s love that I bear in my loins !
   

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !

   The Salmon:

Stronger than the force in me
vivacious, this failing
in me which cuts me off
from my back, would it be

cupping glasses of river lamprey ?
an eel which crushes me
in this informed gesture
while I snap up an herring ?

O fruity salmon,
O trout of blue flashes,
after this night…
tired, how I am pumped out !

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !

   The Salmon:

And my night entangles itself in billions of gulf weed,
Thickened in black milk which hardens and brings rotten luck,
The aveniau of currents cling to my scales,
I’m carried away downstream, I weaken, I give in,

Help ! I’m drowning. Surfeit of love, of soft roe,
For this back made lean through fasting and through faith.
Everything’s heavy, everything’s pulpy, everything’s deaf; but I 
                                                        hear this time
true thunder – peace - the recompense.

Should my back break with the effort and when the hour
of truth stares me fixedly in my eyes,
leap, salmon, leap even higher ! And with little concern
but for the act of spawning, and for the best, so be it, you die !

   Lorelei:

Leap, salmon ! Leap much higher !
Leap much higher, higher than the water,
than the waters of life, than the waters of death,
than the waters of death, than the waters of gold !

When the salmon of the Rhine
swims towards encountering its lovers,
for all the gold of the Rhine
no chance of its turning back.

Banks of the Rhine,
joys of its loins,
bronze-sounding roaring
and limpid spindrift !

It doesn’t tarry
before the feast.
Gaze upon its head,
and its bones.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014


















Long poem by Kim van Breda | Details |

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21

ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME

AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS 
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
 AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER 
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER

FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
 AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
 HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT

SOON IT WAS TIME FOR  PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE

OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS 
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
.
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER 
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN 
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS 
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS

IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
 ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL

AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
 FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP

THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND 
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE 
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF 
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH

THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE 
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.

THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN   W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR 
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS 
.
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
 STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT


YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM

SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR  LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART 
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY 
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL

TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-

(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Hoot-Full Owls

Like the foolish owls
we made enemies with falcons,
now we are doomed forever
to live amongst the ruins.
Rumi 

Are we searching for integrity
of species and clan and race,
synergy of EarthTribe centrism
appreciating our diversity of natural resources,
depreciating our monopolistic anthro-racial-centric history
and monocultural excesses?

What to do, how to respond,
to totalitarian tyranny
within my own ego-centrism,
and within another's home,
or community,
or economy?

These questions of avoiding negative monopolizing trends
monoculturing economies,
monochromatic elitist races 
toward presumption and resumptions of mutual immunity
alienability
grow perennially in Spring's garden bed
of polycultural nutrient hopes,
intentions,
opportunities,
permacultural design,
and polycultural installation practice.

Monopolistic economic assumptions,
like monocultural ecological identity,
are more fruitfully and forcefully revolutioned
as polycultural challenges
to religion resonant balance,
reconnect harmony and peace,
where we have become,
internally and/or externally,
monochromatically lost in ghetto silos of over-specialized deductive blackness,
stagnant genetic pools blind to what remains
of deductive-inductive integrity's analogical potential.

What did I think could not be coincidental
about rhythms of revolutionary dissonance
and epicentered patterns of evolutionary confluence?

Why do I fear
self-immunizing subsistence
resisting ecocentric co-entity surrender,
loving,
minding,
tending spacetime's brilliantly synaptic burning bush?
Humane/divine natural/spiritual pilot light
unveils transmillennial regeneration
Be-Longing Redeemers' Cooperative Commune
of economic EarthCommons natural systemic values,
positive psychological ecotherapeutic practice,
humor's common-sense
of double-knotting negatives
recommunion what could not not be,
polynomially double-bound universal fractals,
trigonometrically seasoning spacetimes of logical closure,
unfolding outstretching universal breath
of time and depth,
recreation through double negation.

Have we done
and not done
somethings to tick EarthTribe off
and out?
Untimely decomposing extinction and extraction
of Earth's ulcers and ores
oils and pores
gas and boils and bores,
fissioning our fused Elders
faster than Earth's slow-revolving reintegrative systems,
EarthTribal incarnate pilgrimage
toward globally inclusive cooperation.
I would pursue empty-handed love without death or misanthropic "Other" fear,
peace filling symmetric fore-giving justice
of interdependent, timelessly coincident, responsibility,
accounting EarthTribe's collective synergetic intelligence,
regeneratively balancing wisdom
reflected in Black Pearl's Key (0)-Soul Theorem
of Positive/Negative Balancing Community Teleology.

Where lies this devilishly ambidextrous tipping point
TrimTab threshold of tyrannical discovery,
reverse functioning mayhem and decadent dissonance,
moving mercenary competition
toward cooperative mobs of mutual mercy?
Slip-sliding competitive strain and pain,
both up and down,
coincidentally back and forth
uncovers (0)-Core balance toward equanimity,
omnipotent equi-valency,
confluence and harmony resolving,
diminishing violent systemic tyranny of sound and sight,
confined by exclusive racing cultural fear,
feelings of sad and angry power and monopolistic might
masticating sadistic nightmares trembling within siloed eternal night,
Even these spread spewing meaning's past and purposed future,
meeting mutually greeting NOW.

Who is winning our global competition
for more integrity
with less supremacy
within Self and Other and Earth's ecologic relay racing relationships?
Who is losing?

How do monopolistic habits and judgments
ego-iconic norms,
egocentric, rather than compellingly cooperative eco-centric,
id-entity,
rebirth polycultural Spring thaws
of thermodynamic (0)-sum balance,
Win-Win synergetic loving strategies
and co-passioned principles of eco-normic design?

Where do monopolistic SuperEco Yang and
coincidentally polyculturing yin id-entity
dance and tip their two-step
in perfectly harmonic octaved pitch?

Might this Omega Point 
breathe in and out
Here and Now
Yang convex-eco echoing
within eternally concaving
double-binding
timelessly reverberating
yin?

Double-jointed owls,
graceful friendly challengers
fighting with falcons,
predicted to live together forever within co-passionate flight
through mutually fertile wisdom,
transcending dark's light freedom
nesting trees of regenerating life,
Beloved Regenetic Root Systems
of endosymbiotic evolutionary strings, tendrils
folding and unfolding cultural networking past and future
Here and Now
(0) Tao SuperEco Present
wise and joyful grace of Form Co-Creation.

Like the wise owls
we evolve co-challenges with falcons,
now we are regenerating forever
to fly above and through past ruin,
fly below and reverse-future's radiant rain,
square-rooted prime function
of +P spinning (-)(-) negativity,
fusing what was bi-fissioned
re-naturing global EarthTribe's breathless spirituality.


Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details |

The Cascade Adventures - Part 1

It's been four years since I've seen so much as an insignificant mountain creek. Been overburdened with comfort, now frantic with nature withdrawals, having to settle for photos found on Google Images: emerald pine trees, blue jays on limbs, moonlight cutting through forests, lakes the color of Windex-ed glass. It's much like drinking water that's been doused with Crystal Light... you may feel yourself becoming hydrated, when it reality it's only satiating your thirst temporarily. So you can imagine my joy when my best friend called me up to break the news.

"Monica, Brandon, Joel and I are gonna go backpacking. Care to join?"

the finality
of a cell hitting the floor -
shoe tying

Like a bunch of sardines packed in a can on wheels, we headed out to beautiful Cascade: the place where the Idahoan mountains aren't just paintings from afar, but close enough to taste. We weave our way through the spider-like dirt trails, as we each take turns changing songs on Joel's iPod. It's my go and I'm searching through the John Denver list, mourning the fact that there's over a hundred songs by him, and not one of them is Colorado Rocky Mountain High (the one song I could say fit my feelings to a tee). The menagerie of everyone's taste in music made for an interesting trip no doubt - even if Jonathan picked the worst possible jams simply for annoyances sake.

My first peculiar observation:

Humans have been making calendars for thousands of years (the first being more akin to cave drawings and stone tablets than paper). But as long as all that has been going on, the mountains don't care that August is expected to be sultry as November is expected to be chilly. Cause June took her first baby steps with a stubborn December mindset - a meandering way to say it was cold enough to freeze your nads off. The mounds of five feet snow made it all the more comical the fact I was wearing plaid shorts. Mother Nature wasn't going to be kind, I could tell.

like turtles
struggling to stand -
our packs full of crockery

It was breezy at first. We would practically glide down the mountain side, using our backpacks as a counter balance. The snowy counterpart to kangaroos, we were. The glistening flakes were thick enough to snowboard down - granted I never touched a snowboard, let alone ridden one. But after seeing this it gives me ideas...

Monica smiled for the camera, as I fumbled for my iPhone, a smile that didn't even require the forcible Say Cheese! nonsense. It wasn't waiting for the camera flash, but the other way around. Now you might be calling that rather pathetic, but I brought my iPhone along simply for the function of capturing memories. Angry Birds just don't compare to the real ones, sweet with lilting songs.

My second peculiar observation:

Google Images is an absolute horrid plagiarist; some beauty just can't be encapsulated despite all our advances in high-def technology.

The downward slope finally leveled out a bit, if only for a few minutes. Truth be told the path never stopped declining - some routes were simply more apparent than others. Our group of five walked single file through the trees, all basing our faith that Joel (a person who has been to the site once when the trail WASN'T covered in snow) would lead us in the right direction. And here's another interesting fact; this was no official trail, but a hike through the purest of adventures, unpredictable and unreliable.

crushing pine needles
with un-gloved fingers -
roaring rivers beneath the snow

The first time my whole leg collapsed into the fragile surface of the snow made me realize just how far above the dirt I was walking. I'd ask Brandon for assistance with a beet red blush on my cheeks - I blamed it on my fair skin falling victim to the sunny day. From then out I tiptoed with exaggerated caution, my heavy pack helping me just as much as it was hindering me. For even a foot drop had to be taken with a grain of salt. Everyone had to adjust to the added weight (except for Monica, with her light load of a sleeping bag, nothing else). I'd very ungracefully glide through twigs and pesky low branches, oblivious of my bare legs. In all honesty the cold didn't get to me, just the scratches of neighboring trees is where my concerns lied. At anytime I could have stopped the whole gang, beaming, "Wait a spell and let me put on some pants for crying out loud". Course that never happened, my clothes were in the bottom of my pack, and I was no where near desperate enough for monkeying around with that sorry mess.

slick slates
slanting down the cliff edge -
helping hands

Joel, with his redneck stubble, beams up at me, "Every hiking trip needs a little bit of adventure, don't rush it by any means!". That's the last thing on my mind - the first is whether or not that rock I'm about to put my weight on is as stable as she looks. It's a very roundabout route, and as questionable as it is, it's safer by a long shot than the first path we took - call it a 103 degree wall.



NOTE: Still working on writing out the rest of my trip to Cascade. It was my first backpacking trip and even though we only stayed one night, the trip is full of wonderful memories.


Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Change

I am feeling the shock of fast change. How to cope with it is of course the question. Listen to Beethoven through the neighbor's window? Look up from the page? Appreciate doves even though they are so numerous? I seem to have limitless choices although this cannot be true. Could I have become a computer specialist? Sure! How to remain still in the ever-maddening mandala. To remain still on the outer edge of the wheel is to ride laughingly and pluck at the gold key. I force myself down into the craw of the black vortex New York until I feel the strong oscillations gather rhythm and expel me or accept me.

            What do I find within the black electric walls of this unique vortex? I find there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope. That my efforts are unnecessary and hopeless. I cancel my subscriptions and stop eating. I embrace wild roots and run through streets with arm around my girl.


                    *                                  *                                  *

What is important.
That question.
I part my lips in the middle
      and blow
eat corn chips, dipsy doodles
make love, eat grapes.
                                In their mere chronology
events have no relation. How was making love
different from eating grapes. Differentiation

is essential to bring order from chaos. The chaos
is the accelerated change created by our own species
whose consummations have a quantum effect
      on the environment.
                                   But the chaos
existed long before, and long after us
in both more serene and violent forms.
Again a duality, but here's why.
                                            For
each duality may then be said to be in a dual
relationship with another duality, forming
cubes.
           These cubes are difficult to join
with other cubes, unless first they are
somewhat melted.
                          We were traveling among
these cubes, maneuvering
through a static array of equidistant points
but finding it impossible to avoid striking them.

So why the difficulty adapting. Because no species
before us had to adapt to its own effects upon
environment? No, every species must

but our adaptations (of the world) are so successful
(such fabrications!) One green, one brown

                      Two dead leaves
                              sleep-touching
                                     Then a breeze!

                                        *                                  *                                   *

                        Loveliness and loneliness
                        these periodic
                        auras
                                 they sleep apart/together

sometimes not always
        using sheets of white nothing madly
                connecting, splicing, parturition
                        continuing to birth life and ideals
                                like ants or any other species.
                                        Tree, each poem, begins
                                                and ends and giving up
                                                        to life's forms
                                                                graciously

surrendering to greater force, power, strength
        whatever it is called, the clog of heels
                upstairs to the door, turning of
                        the key, the taking out of the
                                garbage down below, car
                                        starting, placed in
                                                gear, cat
                                                        meowing

anyway, for myself, personally, speaking only
        for myself, because although the Parks
                Department rakes the leaves as it
                        did last autumn, to keep them
                                from clogging the sewer system,
                                        I am in a heightened
                                                state of vibration
                                                        Quivering

like a long steel pipe banged hard against an
        iron beam. The hard hat feels it in
                his hand (on the gears) but
                        great buildings are built that
                                nature destroys in time
                                        with a little wind
                                                water, fire

air, you glide down through the limpid air
        toward the ninety-seven story abandoned structure
                remnant of an earlier civilization
                        abandoned but not yet entirely
                                swept away in slow waves
                                        of change.






Long poem by Amrapali Tendolkar | Details |

RAIN SHOWERS

The Earth dry and bare; waiting eagerly for the drops of care;
 


Caught in the hot, steaming summer’s snare;
 


The flowers and creepers decorating window sills; all look desolate and ill;
 


As the nature withers away in the sun’s merciless glare.
 


 
 


The men and the wives; the kids and the wild;
 


All are enduring the summer’s waterless exile;
 


They are waiting for the rain; to relieve them of the heat pain;
 


And of that life which has become a sweaty turmoil.
 


 
 


The wind strong and gusty; makes the roads yellow and dusty;
 


And the air around becomes suffocating and musty;
 


The birds forget to sing; their lilting, musical thing;
 


Even as the tree leaves wristle and make noise so husky.
 


 
 


Then come the Monsoon showers; falling first on boughs and flowers;
 


Making the trees and plants glisten and glower;
 


So the monsoon comes in grace; driving away summer’s trace;
 


Lashing at window-panes with its all-reigning power.
 


 
 


As the monsoon drives away the summer heat; with its raining rhythm off-beat;
 


And the flower buds open up to return it’s greet;
 


And as the water seeps in soil; a refreshing fragrance arise;
 


While the rain continuous to cool down hot gardens and streets.
 


 
 


The Earth grows green; and water droplets gleam;
 


On the smooth, waxy surfaces of the leaves;
 


Everywhere the flowers grow; in pink, red, white or yellow;
 


While buds make their way blushingly between tendrils.
 


 
 
 The wet and soft soil; now grows fertile;
 


And tender green plantlets push through the Earth in style;
 


Through soil the tiny saplings peep; as their sown seeds begin to reap;
 


And the plants and crops shake off the Earth’s temporary curse sterile.
 


 
 


As the raindrops go pitter-patter; water in puddles begins to gather;
 


And the little birds begin to chirp, twitter and chatter;
 


The insects begin to hum along; their irritating and happy song;
 


While due to rain and wind the roofs on houses begin to chatter.
 


 
 


As the showers for some moments cease; after giving Earth life’s new lease;
 


And the pitter-patter of rain is gently appeased;
 


The sun coyly shines; a cloud it half hides behind;
 


While the fluffy clouds move along with the cool breeze.
 


 
 


The fields now green and bright; are an artist’s sheer delight;
 


Pleasing to the senses of smell and sight;
 


The fresh air so sweet to breathe; that with pleasure the body writhes;
 


In the newly born rainy sunlight.
 


 
 


But this sunlight so quickly goes; as thunderstorms blow to and fro;
 


And Earth engulfs in darkness that now grows;
 


The wind rises and howls; with a voice that trembles all souls;
 


And day and night this gale roars.
 


 
 


The trees in fear tremble and shake; as leaves, twigs and branches break;
 


And the life of these trees is put up at stake;
 


Birds in nests cower with fright; and due to cold shiver with all their might;
 


And live in fearful anticipation of what else the storm may rake.
 


 
 
The monsoon now shows its ugly face; gone are its days of grace;
 


Rainy calamities take its place;
 


Cyclones and floods destruct worldwide; the raging sea throws up its tide;
 


“Nature reigns supreme”, we are forced to say.
 


 
 


Same is the life of man; may he do what he can;
 


But destiny will always play a hand;
 


What all will man control? So he should let destiny play its role;
 


And enjoy life and act as the situation will demand.
 


 
 


Somedays will shine the sun; those days life will be fun;
 


And work will be successful how much ever it’s done;
 


Somedays by the fun you will tire; and will long to get back into the attire;
 


Of normal life, however boring or glum.
 


 
 


Sometimes hope will come out; like a tiny plant sprouts;
 


And will remove from your mind every shade of doubt;
 


It will be a bright, hopeful ray; but for long it may not stay;
 


So we must make most of it when hope sprouts.
 


 
 


Just as the shower of joy; after summer comes out shy;
 


So shower of success will come when you have almost given up the try;
 


It will wash away your helpless sigh; and will give you a new will to try;
 


Which will help you succeed by-and-by.
 


 
 


Just as the sun goes behind the cloud; when thunder is heard aloud;
 


And darkness suddenly falls on Earth all around;
 


So also failure will touch you once; its upto you to prevent its repeated occurrence;
 


Or due to failure remain depression bound.
 


 
 


Sometimes through demotivation you will go; sometimes loads of success you'll know;
 


For we need all types of experience to make us grow;
 


Like some days it is wet; some days the sun for long doesn’t set;
 


But then it needs both the rain and the sun to make a RAINBOW…


Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Souls On Fire

We have been observing the expanse of the parched land for many years, a land that stood the test of time and captivated by myriad dreams unfolding through the footsteps of the ages thus penetrating our lives. We gazed at the vast mountains and high lands with its luscious vegetation stretching thousands of miles from across them, Autumn on one side, Summer on the other, and Spring reluctantly emerging from a gruesome Winter that paralyzed the inhabitance of nature, stripping it from its wholesome prominence while it convalesce from the battered and bruised earth. 

We languished at the sudden disappearance of the water valley and the vast landscape around it. As far as our mind could reach, and as far as our feet could travel we trod upon the visible land within our reach. Land that has never been inhabited stared at us; land that has never been farmed is waiting to be ploughed. I could hear my great, great, grandfather and my grandfather before him shouting at the boys to get out of bed, harnessed the horses and start plowing the land again. 

We reminisce over acres of lands that our ancestors have fought for, land that spilled blood and claim the lives of innocent souls and fearless warriors, land that expands from ten generation, stood before us bare and empty, weeping for the souls who have fought furiously to preserve them. 

This land that has fed us for more than a hundred years lay waste before our naked eyes, the land that God gave us to feed the next generation has been sold out to strangers. The land is infested with dilapidated old building and at the whistle of the wind they are destined to collapse. They spread out all around the city and is inhabited by ruthless strangers and priced high despite their aging structure.

We lament the days spent on this land but foresee hope for the future. We searched for the farms, but they have disappeared, we look for the streams but they have dried up. Our bodies are polluted with toxic substance from contaminated food washing up on our shores from the other side of the globe, food unfit for human consumption have replaced the natural food on our grandfather's farm.

Oh great God that watches from every corner of the earth, extend your mercies and cause the land to flourish once more. You have given us land so that we can eat; you have given us land so that we can have enough in time of drought. You hold the universe securely in the palm of your hand and expand it so that it can reach everyone. The land is precious in your hand, no one can bargain for it and no price can be paid for it. 

When everything is stripped away, and the money diminishes, when our strength fails the land is here to stay. This is the land that will feed the younger generation; this is the land that will produce our crops. Powerful God, proliferate the land once again, mend the broken edges, and rescue your children who have been doped with hatred, intoxicated with bitterness and sedated with evil desires. Empower them and eradicate the poisonous substance from their perishing souls.

We gazed at the vastness penetrating the earth, and see land waiting to be occupied exposed to brutality, exasperate with atrocities and evil works. Great big God, save your children from the open gutters and trenches that awaits them, save the mothers, their suckling and toddlers who have been ravished from their homes and recruited into ruthless activities to torment and demoralize innocent people’s minds. Save them from the snares that await them, the tribulations surrounding their homes and the pestilence that seeks after their souls. 

We traveled the entire land, and hear you calling out the young men to till the ground. We can hear you beckoning the young men to throw down their weapons, clean up the garbage and farm on their grandfather’s land. They can hear you but they are too fragile to comply; they have weakened themselves with substances that make them vulnerable and unreliable. Emerge you powerless youth, transpire from your defenseless state, purge your body with clean drinking water and start cultivating the land again.
 
What else do we have but the land that you have given us? No one can take it away from us because it belongs to you. Strengthen the young men to till the land again and plant on fruitful ground. Bless the earth, and endorse it with your favor, thank you for this journey you are a mighty savior.
                                                                              
                                                                       ©2014 Christine Phillips



Long poem by Diane Lefebvre | Details |

Transmigration Of The Wind

The strong gust of wind was cut off from its source; a frigid early spring blast that swept across a lofty mountain range, high above British Columbia.

It then encircled one of the lesser peaks and swooped down upon the slippery ice pack below, reaching out with cold, airy tentacles to caress the frozen surface, as it skimmed ever downward, dipping its fingers into each crevasse, only to dissipate into nothingness when swallowed by the vast emptiness of the frigid ice chasms below.

The main body of wind rushed on, over the thick, craggy glacier that had recently become an impenetrable shroud for several unfortunate ice climbers, who for one fateful moment challenged the supremacy of the mountain.

The wind now reached magnificent snow fields. Untouched by the imprint of man;  it swirled the fresh offering of snow into powder so fine and glimmering, that the human eye left unprotected, would most certainly be blinded by its glare.

The wind was less bitter now. The warmth of the sun at the lower altitude tempered its bite as it continued downward past a small group of skiers, lending sting and color to their cheeks. It exhilarated them and the memory would help bring them back to the mountain again and again, much as the drug addict must return to that which obsesses him.
 
The wind had now reached the tree line and was met by green, trenchant sentries waiting in dwindling cradles of snowy whiteness.  At first they would bend and sway in deference to the wind, as it attempted to bully its way past. Then the trees became the master, slowing and tempering that which so boldly challenged their strength and stamina.  

This left the wind transformed once again, now becoming an energetic breeze, reaching out to the upper meadows of the mountain: adolescent fields now alive with the arrival of a warming season and the promise of springtime’s grace.  

The breeze was refreshing in the late morning sun. Its welcoming touch stirred everything in sight: rippling through the young grass, now caressing the immature leaves on awakening trees that harbored mating song birds and caustic squirrels.  

The high meadow spring flowers swayed beneath its gentle touch and a hare frolicked this way and that in the beautiful moment called ‘spring’.

The breeze then happened upon a flowing stream. Icy cold and gurgling, the brook wended its way down the mountain side, offering a ride to the transient traveler and carrying it along on its surface, just above the ripples and eddies that danced over boulders and foaming white water.

It tumbled along with the stream, as other small rivulets joined in and soon was hitching a ride with a river that had grown more powerful: over falls and through canyons, now widening out as the steep incline of the mountain slowly vanished.  

The river grew fat and sluggish in its mighty girth and the wind, with very little propulsion, had no choice but to lessen once more and become a mere whisper of what it once had been.

The scene was no longer recognizable to the errant puff of air.  Everywhere was the beginnings of the trappings of man and fearful in its vulnerability, it chose to remain with the river: skimming along under steel bridges, past little towns and eventually a small city. 

It dare not leave the river, for it feared dissipation and the river must wend its way to the sea if the little breeze was to survive.

And just when it seemed that all hope might be gone for the tiny little waft, the languid river gulped in its first salty taste of the ocean and the childlike wisp of air was immediately adopted by the offshore breeze, caressing it gently in its more powerful grasp: nursing it back to health, giving it the strength to survive. 

Then, into a harbor that was generously sprinkled with small vessels: some with trim masts that invited the puff of air to now come and frolic, if only for a moment or two. 

The regenerated breeze felt stronger now, as it playfully sparred with white sails, while tumbling this way and that, tickling and teasing all that it touched. 

It had now reached the ocean, where it would once again be renewed: drawn upward far above the clouds and absorbed into the powerful upper level winds, only to begin another long and treacherous journey, fraught with excitement, as well as adventure.

And in the end, there was and still is the vast and powerful sea, from whence all life once emanated and in its own and very special way, so too . .  even the wind.



© 2015 Diane Lefebvre


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/lifes_midway_668462' st_title='Life's Midway'>

Life's Midway

Our body is only a cloak;
seek the one who has dressed you,
heed not the dress.
Midway means nothing to infinity.

When totally immersed in pursuits that you love,
illness and pain won't distract you.
Midway means nothing to infinity.

I wonder why when a bird 
clearly sees the trap laid out for her,
she's still drawn to fly straight in!
Midway means nothing to infinity.
Rumi (M Mafi translation)

Midway means nothing (0) to binomial time,
captured between a polynomial past and  not-so-unpredictably resolving,
resonantly revolutionary,
mutually redemptive future,
where science religions polycultural metrics of infinitely wise and lovely bodies
discovering Interior Landscape's analogical ecology of evolution v. revolution,
diastatic compost mirroring and absorbing Earth's nutrient streams and flows,
functions and (0)-core frequencies 
of energy and life,
development and design,
decomposition and regenesis,
organically fertilized farming
Prime Relationships of loving peace-filled fairness
in Beloved Climax Communities.

Space means nothing to Time, as
Midway means nothing to Infinity,
as Midway equals Polynomial +Left-Deductive
reiteratively dancing with(-)(-)Polynomial (-)Right-Inductive,
as Yang-convex + Yin-concave = [(0)logic Tao]
balances Infinity's Prime Relationship
between Here and Now  cooperative economic ecologic,
meeting Economic Design CQI,
Globally Synergetic Optimization,
Natural System Development Standards
of ecotherapeutic orthopraxis
thermodynamic balance
and electromagnetic 4-equivalent dimensional spacetime Commons function.

Adults grow from children
deep learning prime relationship
between isolating comedic ridicule
and mutually humored information
emerging from both self and other,
confluently sometimes,
while other times only through sustained cognitive dissonance,
hard birthing events,
yet both confluent Yang/Yin harmony
and dissonant Yang-dominance
unveil redemptive merit
for polyparadigmatic comprehension of other complex
chaotic
stressful
discontented love relationships.

Shared joy and beauty and goodness and wisdom
multisystemically regenerate
when polyculturally analyzed and decomposed
discussed and discerned
remembered and reconnected and religioned
reflected and redeemed
with karmic grace intent,
grateful noticing as-is here and now,
cooperatively redemptive practice,
mutually mentoring synergetic design,
incarnating Boddhisatva Messiahs and Prophets,
Teachers who are first EcoTherapeutic Listeners,
thus permaculturing orthopractors.

Zero Space is Infinite Time
at Her best
wisely resonant Beauty
YangBeing what we are YinBecoming-Balanced
diastatically enculturing internal Climax Communities,
both YangJustStrength and YinOrganicBeauty EcoTherapists
enjoying our ride,
avoiding "I am Ego-Special" feelings
if only because catastrophic paranoia and megalomania both grow contagiously sad and angry,
slowly
transitioning
returning to a self-regenerating dream of
Beloved Community Teleology and Orthopraxis
of active peace absorbing issues of lack-of-time fears
such as mortality and death and climatic survival
as something darker than a shadow chasing Infinite Light
and Midway as something other than this revolving ride between
our SuperEco One,
our Love,
our Contentment,
our being and belonging
where Here greets Now greets Here
eternal cooperative economic ecotherapeutic information
redundantly  and inclusively unfolding
enculturing
binomial/binary un-double-knotting systemic QBit string
of prime fractal-telecometric Beloved Community.

Midway is nothing to Infinity
as (-)(-) balancing information-bits grow everytimely
ecotherapeutic (+) prime Eulerian relationship function,
(0) Core Vector/Vortex Fullerian crystal-fractal spacetime.

Id is nothing to SuperEco
as ego-centrism confluently optimizes resonance
with Right-brained eco-natural systemic encoded DNA/RNA
SuperEco Metric Regenerative Optimization Systems,
both thermodynamic and electromagnetic.

Here is nothing to Now
as Now is Comprehensive Coincident Intelligence
regenerating SuperEco Tao.

Fear is nothing to Love
as Love loses everything to Fear of Time's Unresolved Absence,
as Absence of Fear enculturates Beloved Communities,
Exterior/Interior Prime (0)-sum Balancing Cooperative Landscapes.

Here means everything to Now
as Midway means nothing to Infinity
unfolding permaculturing past
enfolding polycultural future promise.


Long Poems