Oh, how I’m longing to float to my death
Not e’er again heave sweet CO2 breaths
Each of us whirl with a dance all our own
Loosed by a mistral and heavenly-blown
All of our lives we’ve provisioned The One
Synthesized O2 with bright from the sun
Tasting the rainfall whene'er a cloud burst
Wetting our folds for the deep-rooted thirst
And now in the autumn endeavor the spring
Let loose our branches to dance and to sing
Trading our green for the shades of the sun
Zanzibar waits when our last waltz ... is done.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Autumn leaf changes
Green into amber color
Longing to fall down.
I am tired of prayer portals,
gateways unlocked by trance,
the meditative magic carpet rides
to promised realms, the rituals -
it has always
been here in the soft whisperings
of evenings, writing its narrative
in everything -
the tall eucalypts
of the high country, the coastal
she oaks and grasses buffeted
by the wind, rivers and pebbled
streams, mountains, the wide
plains - and murmurs
in the soul stuff
and in every atom of me.
Mostly I am deaf to its voice
and search for my own,
a plea, a prayer, anything at all
to send a ripple across
this dark, featureless terrain
that drops off at the cliff edge
of thought and stretches beyond
the full stop at the end
of my mind.
The first touch of a womans skin,softness.
From fumbled beginnings to adult exploration,softness.
From top to toe in lust or love,softness.
From neck to breast,inner thigh and inbetween ,softness.
From whispered words to gasping moans,softness.
I can glimpse a greener future, through the misty, "purple haze;"
But, "we've only just begun," inside of a fragrant, blossom craze.
"Here comes the sun," to shine on the "strawberry fields forever,"
is what "we'll sing in the sunshine," to laud the green endeavor!
I have "Georgia on my mind." I miss its skies of "rhapsody in blue,"
since our earth now has the "natural blues," in ways it never knew!
"I heard it through the grapevine." Yet, the way back isn't too far;
Earth, "where did our love go," as we were "swinging on a star?"
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would teach them to waltz across vast skies.
They would never dissolve into nothingness—
And they would always inspire searching eyes.
If I knew how to make the clouds dance,
I would be a musician of bright notes and vivid colors.
I would take them by the hand like friends,
So they would never grieve as lonely drifters or lovers.
I would teach them how to be like the swans,
Moving gently with grace as they glide.
A composer floating endlessly in the lake of dreamers.
This Moment
Inspiration is education.
Reciprocate, energize.
I like whimsical things-
Spiral columns, rainbow rings.
Elucidate, open eyes
To synchronicity, vibration of dragonflies,
Sense revolution, evolving synergies.
Inhale fresh-baked sun rays;
Drink wind that flutters feathered wings.
Smell the silence, taste the fire,
Within this moment of surprise.
~ARCantu, 08/06/2021
SHES A RIVER
Her life is like that of a river,
persistent and unpredictable.
She carved her life in the California mountain peeks
following the creeks,
creating her own current at just fifteen—
forge on
she dammed fears and tears that tore at her spirit
childish emotions raged inside
Forge on
once she would fall
many came to see the wonder of it all
but eventually a comfortable place called home.
was the place she felt most alone
forge on
All that trapped her today would eventually be torn away
resurfacing through the cracks of where she had been,
forge on
She smiled glistening to see the sun, her old friend
to be united with something so bright and warm again
then fog crept in to elude her
and the sun crept out to remind her
Forge on
And at the fork of her life’s journey,
a paradise awaits—
one worthy of envy.
Forge on
Turtles on the beach,
From burrows called by the moon,
Drawn to the sound of the sea.
Morning comes too soon.
Shadows of curved trapezoids,
Appear on the sand ahead.
Now they're caught between,
Never born and surely dead.
I'm struck by an unknown rush,
At ten years of age.
Golden laughter leads me to,
Put my feelings to the page.
Found after recess,
With everyone standing there,
Subjected to ridicule,
Love stings those who dare.
Who claims life or love is fair?
Which was the dream?
The sweet comfort I found
nested in your boughs,
or the shape you take now?
Some cold, unfeeling lot,
where I used to sleep in
the grass.
And much like the seasons
Your leaves too did change
Me, the perfectionist I am
Didn't like that,
I wanted everything to stay.
The same.
I often think back to when your leaves were still green and healthy
But now they can barely hold on
You shed leaves like a drunk sheds tears
As much as I love Autumn
I didn't feel like cleaning up the mess you made.
That's not fair of me to say,
It's what you do
You change
And really,
I was the one that planted the tree
trees gets a workout—
branches rattle, leaves shudder
roots refuse to move
sunflower turns round,
tracking the sun all day long—
evening light stalks backs
The elm feels smug now—
showing off autumn colors—
dressed to die in style
dandelion ghosts
wait for puffed breath to come near—
leave before they're asked
snapdragons gossip
mouths open to every sleaze—
the wind takes the blame
pinecone hoards seeds—
doomsday prepper in the woods—
banks its hopes on spring
thorny vine hangs out,
snags your sleeve—stay for a while;
what's all the rush for?
willow boughs whisper—
tangled whispers touch the pond
water keeps secrets
young pine stands too straight—
trying hard to look grown-up—
rings hide under bark
palms on vacation
lean too far out over sea—
no luggage is due
Sapling asks the pond—
which of us is upside down?—
neither can answer
roots hold yesterday
branches reach for tomorrow—
the open trunk waits
"Wake within the Rose Wilderness,"
with the sky of pinks as this day closes.
"I beseech the sun to undress the stars,"
as the moon comes over the crest.
"If I am your refrain, let my name burn,"
in the morning light as the sun climbs out of bed.
"Tortured by the taste of Touch,"
today will the hot sun burn me once more?
"What is a ripple without its rhythm?"
Like the daily sun without the nightly moon.
gold and rust landscape frosted breath….
I feel welcome in fields of autumn
Autumn in the woods. I looked
around, up yonder to Cemetery
Ridge. Tried to count the leaves,
so many fallen, Nature’s colorful sighing.
Thought of uniforms, brothers in gray and
blue; blood fresh...and then various stages
of drying. Did we learn our Mother, so much
like her leaf on tree -- rooted in dirt, dying
to be set free?
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