In an early Sunday morning muse,
there I was, in a huge forest of trees.
It had the feel of being in a world filled
with people, ever increasing year after year.
Notwithstanding, there were two trees
that stood out more than all the rest.
I was then reminded of two contrasting
trees I have read about in the Bible.
The Psalmist David spoke of 'the wicked'
being in great power, SPREADING themselves
like a Green Bay Tree. Another Psalmist said
that 'the righteous' shall FLOURISH
like the Palm Tree.
And then I prayed to the Lord Almighty.
O God, may the wicked cease from spreading.
And Lord, let me be among the righteous
who flourish like the Palm Tree.
100424PS
(Green Bay Tree)Ps. 37:35; (Palm Tree)Ps. 92:12
What do these crows say?
Certainly, they’re not wasting
their voice. Perched on the
branches of the bay tree,
they don’t fly in the sizzling
sunlight. Long, short, swift,
slow, vibrant, weak…Variations
in the length and the size of
their cry affirm their cawing
is not meaningless. How can
they be close-mouthed about
the things around? They are
never opportunists. Like the
black oyster, there’s life within
the harsh shell of their voice.
Theirs is a pretension-free
accent, conveying true emotions.
Their raw communication is
worthier than the polished talk
with the hidden hypocrisies.
Though undeveloped, their
language never lacks warmth.
It’s the tongue of the heart,
spontaneous and syntax-less.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue#28)
Every my step is a sensitive move
They reveal all my attention to you
I know that you deserve
To achieve a needed perfection
You make me feel like home
There’s no monsters under my bed
I had "peter pan" syndrome
Now your body is in my head
Please touch my gently
Whisper my name in my ear
Listen to my heart intently
I’m here, kiss and hold me
Every my word is mellifluous
Tastes like honey and cherry pie
I know it’s obvious, you are the reason of me flying high
Your love inspire me,
other call is “the meaning of life”
Flourish like a green bay tree
You are my personal lullaby
I’m gonna keep your piece
So relax and close your eyes
We’re going to chase the clouds
BUTTERFLIES RETURN
After the storm azalea perfumes
the lawn yellow., the bay tree
curtseys low,the copper stirs
and a firecrest alights upon
the smoke tree. Butterflies return
to sun,weed covers the pond,here
and there the ceanthus coloured blue
stops the honey bee in its tracks.Ivy
climbs the wall un noticed,the peony
all dressed in white fragrants the air.
Listen to meread this poem on youtube under name ichthyschiro
showers all day
the bay tree
curtseys low
Rain lasts all day
the bay tree
curtseys low
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