As we were climbing the hills
Babbling brook caught our eyes
Crispy sounds of rhythmic clashes
Dancing feet gesturing to us
Ears of paddy swaying in the breeze
Field of grass in a dense green smile
Grains ripening with monsoon rain
Hints of good crop delighting people
I keep gazing at your charming eyes
Joyous always and never judgemental
Kindness casting shadows on the lens
Lovely moments rippling on the pond
Meanwhile, clouds were building up above
Nest of birds are extremely apprehensive
Bottoms up
in the brook a-babbling
topside down
ducks a-dabbling
wings in webbed feet
a-scrabbling
omnivorously grazing
on the dunk
beneath the water
for insects sunk
yet in the U.S.A.
above below but not abaft
they rank 7th most-hazardous bird
to commercial and military aircraft
and as a high-flyer at least one duck
was struck and it's hard to beat
at a cruising altitude
of 21,000 feet
When the clouds’ part and the sun does rise,
A glimmer of hope felt for my treasured prize.
Vast above the sky shimmers blue,
Forever in search for a heart pure and true.
Over rolling hills, farms and babbling brooks,
Through glimmering eyes and dazzling looks.
To the horizon they dream and leer,
Forever trapped in what is ever so near.
So far from the feathers of my soft, warm bed,
Nothing but the hard ground to comfort my head.
The big expanse of the night’s sky,
Shows the tears from love’s lost eye.
How I miss my home and Mate,
Every day I wish for Yesterday’s forgotten Fate.
Still lakes can listen
A babbling brook cannot hear
Cast your words with care
Into this sea of people
The source, the flow, from the mouth
This brook in the woods I pass in the winter
It babbles and blisters and wanders and splinters
In all sorts of directions grinding and winding
Turns back in connection then to itself binding
Like limbs of a squid with their purpose undid
A playground of kids with rules they've rid
Not rigid or timid, free flows with no limit
Nothing to follow, full of depth's wildest grit
A space not to wallow, fills up all its hollow
Ill will and doubt with my pride it can swallow
Like veins it runs through with no skin to confine
This brook in the woods of a place that's all mine
Like children at play
I hear them babble,
Ever skipping away
Over rocky rabble
And all ten toes
On my own two feet,
Watching as it goes
Before I retreat
These eyes alone
Caught rainbow trout,
His home below shone
With the dawn about
Was swiftly running
Throughout the wood,
And deeply sunning
As best it could
The coldest brook
Born of the snow,
Months it took
For spring to show
Clearest river waters
Were ever glistening,
I stood, a squatter,
For the listening.
Resistivitiy Metrics are aassocated with
locating water before the drilling.
where discussions take us
from price to certainty
Costing then finds us as we
are excited to see
in awe we gloat and glare
those whos lesser understanding
just look at stare
which reduces labor
a chore which we support
then to doing
then that whats been needed
done
we applaud happy
as we prepare to drill
reliblity and productive
automation Barnard 33
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depths of Kiffer
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The Babbling Brook
The babbling brook was very loud.
When people saw her first, she drew quite a crowd.
Usually, brooks are relaxing and smooth
This brook was different, but not to be rude.
She always kept the villagers up at night.
But they were very kind and didn’t put up a fight,
She babbled and spoke from dark till light.
In the middle of the village, where the brook was in sight.
Though everyone could see it, it was still overlooked
They had the wrong impression on the babbling brook.
One day, a girl, who was small and kind
Sat by the brook and a question came in her mind.
“Hey Brook, Why don’t you tell me a story?”
Then it started talking about its former glory
It chatted and chatted, and it wasn’t boring.
The other villagers noticed and starting to listen.
At the end of the tale, their eye sort of glistened
When they snapped out of it, they started to cheer
They asked more, for more they wanted to hear
Everyone started to like the babbling brook.
And it alerted them from every thief and crook.
Their lives got better, and the reason is quite clear.
A key to happiness is just to open your ear.
Bubbling, babbling brook
Smooth stones washed by your motion
Sunlight shadows dance
Our own history disadvantages our weak soul
We were conquered by our weak thoughts
We defy power thinking we were deceived
Guilty or not we acted more than we should
Angry! Upset! Terrorised! Empowered! Entitled!
How can we defeat our strength? how can we devour our overflown emotions?
How can we prove we’re right when it does not matter at all?
All mixed up circling in circus
Our actions does not rhyme in rhythm
When our words does not worth anything!
Misunderstood! Isolated! Punished!
When magpies' crackle joins the song
Another answers from below--
That neighing horse completes the verse
Until loud winds hush gossip's row.
The flow of time and I but a stone in the current
Upstream I cannot know,
Downstream but a memory.
Piece by piece I am worn,
To the past I become,
A shadow of what went before.
But I stem the flow, life's blood,
Staunch and strong,
Present in this single moment.
Stoic
Coloured and in cascades, there's foam on the falls,
Elliptical dome shaped..almost perfect circles are recalled
Haven of childhood and sanctuary gained, ephemeral beauty
its existance proclaims, against backdrops on dewdrops in
rain on the leaves, bubbles are forming in torrents and streams
in my bathtub they a'wait me..under billows of steam..!
Copyright Joe Maverick 2011
"Indifference is the plague of the heart - blind tendentiousness the babbling brook
sown solely of this denial - abiding absent of forgiveness; grace - forevermore feeding it's
root - latter the boldness, passion; pureness, perfect opportunity; honest beauty/
eminent-blessing... provision of mercy."
Author notes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xLdpM01inM&feature=related
Dear the Pope
was supposed to vote
but sat around
just taking notes
Holy Sheesh!
was he asleep!
and so it goes that
a whole in sheets
don't mean two cents
if we miss a beat
it wasn't meant
to be anything less...
then Heaven sent.
so if I must
I did in deed
asked to confess
within my peace
and prayed to a god
I couldn't see and
asked the guides
forgive me please
... I know not what I do.
humble i go to the
apple grove
babbling love as
much as i know
and asking still...
god let me grow.
I sleep not nights
I write in lights
flickering in
a candles glow.
babbling words
i shall not know.
"...see no evil..."
is what I heard.
"...and hear we know..."
is what i learned.
"...live on..."
it was written and
SEWN
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