Best Earthy Poems

Sometime, in July's budding charm
when the harvest of earth's clay affirms
that which exposes a content heart,
I remember a glimpse of rare delight 
accepting the slow exposure of one morn
when daylight warms Grandpa’s hands
soaked in earthy glow on his farmland.

A rumbling wind turns amiable,
as bamboo drifts...

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We danced like dappled light through swaying trees
our golden embers stoked by panting breeze
in bed of canterbury red and phlox.
As lusty wooing coos did float through morn 
love sounds of seventh heaven Sol did scorn;
with scents and flames of burning equinox,
our passion dimmed the jealous...

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You've heard that self-unfulfilling prophecy?
"I love humanity--
it's just people I can't stand."

I love healthy humanity--
it's just uppity and/or snooty people I can't stand

I love cooperative humanity--
it's just overly-competitive individuals I can't stand.

Not so distant from,
I love U.S. society
and nationalistic 
patriarchal monotheism,
absence of healing and empowering...

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At last, metro’s traffic comes to a halt…
the quarter moon peeps between hilltops
as a  lingering  gladness warms my flesh—
half steady, half shimmering
when early evening’s air 
 prances  like fine  gauze, shedding 
time’s need for revelry. Unzipping
my mind  to surrender to...

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Of the Earth - Earthy


Of the earth….”earthy”
Hell, he was filthy,
a veritable organic “Pig Pen”
complete with dust trail.
The trees “high fived” him
as he walked, quietly,
respectfully, among them.
Forest ruminants contemplated
his simplicity, predators
welcomed his scent,
the earth rejoiced
at his footfalls.



John G. Lawless
3/5/2016...

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the last tram passes away 

the boy 
who is the owner of  every parted-kite 
sits lonely on the empty bench of the park 

and makes it enlightened 

in one pocket 
he has few pieces of dry breads 

in another 
the air to play on...

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i may call it a leaflet 
i may call it a handbill
 
but don’t you notice 
a large number of gossips 
is natant in the air 

do you admit that the fuming heart 
that’s  glorifying the plate 
should be made a must-read 
for any...

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there are so many pieces of torn paper 
into the stone-chips of the broken road 

they are of summer 
they are of late autumn 

beside is the ice-mill
the glow-sign board 
attached tightly 

the indelible ink 
catches the finger of the lemon-grass 

the fish-market is also...

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The fairies of chaitra 
lie on the un–wrinkled bed 
with their backside up  

in the hearsay of the air 
once the woods of tamarisks
once the hill of paraffin
 
it appears there is no interruption 
to this circus 

the toy-telephones 
hang from the cloud to...

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i pick up flowers from the pages of the calendar 
and scatter them on the picture-frame 
of my dwelling place 

sometimes the spring comes 
sometimes the buddhist monastery  

along the pitch road  of the city
thousand counts of uproars 

the mess-building that is situated...

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the krishnachura and the champa 

both of them 
have the only-one unsheathed afternoon 

both of them
have the same-one broken harmonium 

how long more the eyes of terracotta 
would roam in the sun 

the uneven fate-line 
is written on the green slate 

the sound of the...

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Throwing acorns out the window is not reforesting
Leave it to the squirrels

Fertilizing your lawn is not the BEST way to a greener planet.

Recycling has nothing to do with bicycles

A quantum leap is a thought that gets you somewhere

A conundrum is NOT a condom disposal

Asphalt has...

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To see ecstatic Earth
is to no longer see our home
as merely static,
framed,
quantified,
commodified

Yet, 
To see all physical nature as dynamically changing,
ecstatically or more BusinessAsUsual,
is not necessarily to suddenly discover stones
are animistically organic
and ego-conscious.

To find a surrounding universe
or intimate home
ionically balancing,
ergodic repeat patterned,
fractally holonic,
octave tuned and turning,
need...

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I have nothing against 
traditional presentations
of poetry – 
              Though, not for me! – 

personally liking a winged start: 
            ...

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some light of the former birth 
glitters on the hand-fan 
made up of palm-leaves 

do the child boats of the pigeon-pea flower
 go to them to learn the fountain 

all over the room 
the cobweb of fundamentalist spiders 

the toy-train breaks the water colour 
to...

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