Everyone’s political
anti critical
right by the rights
now wrongly divisional
Giving up the literal
power unconditional
Narratives are narrowly
focused on disparity
comparatively ignorant
to actual reality
You’ll never change the past
try to understand it better
Don’t look passed what made it past
its not your own endeavour
advantages that you now have your ancestors didn’t
branching out from beginnings to a global vision
colonies were empires and empires were common
the way that people were back then has long since been forgotten
so don’t skip over history the path we all come from
everybody’s owed something we need to move along
Summoned from above she was one who would never be left behind
The wind whispered her name
when I was looking down
in the pools of gray
as if yesterday
had no lasting say
There were ripples pushing out to shore
and life had no knowledge
of what would be in store
words slipping into my mind
as I was slipping into her
a symphony of dreams
endlessly playing
no beating about
the bush
branching off
the road lead me home
and in the silence
I heard her name
A mirage
Reflecting another path
Showcasing another life
Man to man
A timeless wonder
Ravaging the mind
Distorting thoughts and persons
Transcending sages
Traversing phases
Life, a treacherous haven
Selling tenuous dreams
Whispering delirious melodies
Slithering into nooks and crannies
Branching far and wide
Dispensing the message
Selling the vision
I see a spate of branching paths
before me in the woods,
do not have time to take them all,
so wonder which I should?
Being cursed with real wanderlust,
I feel the dread in me,
if I choose one, not the others,
what thing will I not see?
Will this one reach a waterfall,
mossy rock in a glen?
Will that one reach a twisting gorge
that I’ll not see again?
Does that one go up to a ridge
where long vistas stretch out?
Does this one go down to a lake,
with frogs hopping about?
Or do they present false choices,
going nowhere unique,
just more of the same forest grounds
with nothing great to seek.
But could I live with the regret
if I missed something grand?
Or do I waste precious hours
just roaming normal lands?
I know the choice that many make,
and yet, I still must go;
I guess I’m wired to explore,
and my soul needs to know…
A WOODY PREDICAMENT'S RETRIEVAL
Here stumped in the forest of life:
Where would we be without trees
And their sage planking of life?
Would, if I could, say where;
But I’m here, lost in the woods!
May the rod and staff of faith
Navigate me in liberty’s grace
In the coming branching of the
Spring of the treeing of my life;
Healing fruits of peace, love, and joy,
Bringing proverbial holly jolly retrieval:
“I once was lost, but now, I’m found:-”
Dominoes in a sequenced pattern
branching out randomly askew across long table
~ mix-and-matching dainty dots
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place
I wish I knew how acorns grew
Into a mighty oak,
But I’ve no clue and nor do you
Nor any other folk.
For certain seeds fulfill their needs
Yet take so long to grow
That, unlike weeds, our human speeds
Of life are much too slow.
We might take heart and see how smart
Are seedlings as they sprout,
But we’ll depart before they start
Their skyward branching out.
polka dot curtains in the form of dotted swiss
light and airy, fuzzy and bumpy, minute and white
polka dotted pillows in reds, blues and oranges
unusual in grandma’s house; everything here usually has a dog on it
She has a dog-print couch, dog-paw-print carpeting,
dog apron, dog dishtowel, dog toilet paper holder.
Maybe this is her idea of branching out?
Where are the cat prints? I ask grandma.
This annoys her.
She despises cats.
One bit her in 1943.
Gold the young moon
above an Andalusian grove.
Love vines bind us
as we share the same wine.
In a sterile Spanish clinic
her cat-scan is read in a dead language.
I keep looking at the stark image,
hoping to see Olive and Date Palms
not these smoldering shadows,
branching through her being,
as if she were a vineyard
on fire.
The hidden one moves in silence
with violent footsteps
pounding the pavement
While grounding itself to disengage
from grooves designed to uproot
it found its level
Leveling to find balance between
the liquid & solid only enhanced
its brolic nature
There's no frolicking between
the halves described in nature
for this is a serious
matter of things
This being flows through a world
akin to dreams
but is awake to the
world it is seeing
Its eyes are open to views
above & below
for it knows you need both
on this plane of being
to grow
This is growth from a seed
that was buried in darkness
& rose but not without
being detected
I'm not sure what you're seeing
but what is being projected
is the truth
& nothing but
No rut is deep enough to stop
you from shining
& branching out leaving
the dirt behind
Be blind to the attacks
on your mind
but feel them to internalize
then use it to grind
My mind operates like night
& day
so the sun and moon
are its compass
We're in the middle of it all
winter
spring
summer
& fall
but no season
is a losing one
I have compassion for those
lost in the darkness of night
& don't see that
the sun has come
It cocks an eye at me.
I recall, as a boy, I stood
by a window looking at a sparrow
just like this one.
Every feather could be the same,
even the mien and stance
– the same.
I had never thought of myself
as a tree, yet all my life
I’ve been branching away from first roots.
I'm still changing into something else,
but not this little bird,
it has perched itself on a branch
of my life,
and is caught within a timeless lens
forever.
Do you regret, when you make a mistake?
While I surely understand your concern,
do you know that you'll get an even shake,
a priceless education in return?
So, go ahead, and give yourself a break,
for it is life's fumbles that make us learn.
So say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
there is no need for self-assault.
Tragically hurt, no longer content,
you find life comes without a guarantee.
All harmful things, you can never prevent.
Maybe, it is helpful for you to see
that each and ev'ry good and bad event
is the divine branching of your life's tree.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
blest departures from the path of default.
When genes do not properly replicate,
It's not a problem, but a solution.
You might things it's a dirty word, "mutate",
but it's nature's brilliant contribution.
As the epochs and eons pass, just wait,
and you'll see glorious evolution.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
without them, life on earth comes to a halt.
The discarded dead find an unused beauty,
an afterlife that curls, re births,
tunnels and reshapes -
a mulching of a former season's thin bones.
Mortality buds from an emptiness
long before the seed encloses it,
a mottled mold unwinds death to life.
See the genetics of the unseen,
see the shedding and replenishing,
a branching polymorphic architecture
that constantly furrows and gardens
the grave.
A self-determined choreography
of stemless minds, the unseen labor
before the upsurge, before the foundation
and the root.
flowers
foster
all
round
any
matter
whomever
whatever
whenever
wherever
whyever
however
be of
poetree
branching
len
Your petals wilt,
Your rose has resolute.
Fearing its completion,
Its ballet is sung,
Dragging its roots along
Your rose has begun withering.
Dirt covered masking
Leaves branching of torment
To drag your flower’s petals
Across the crimson pavements.
Your rose weeps and mourns,
Sorrow overwhelm –
Overwatering its cycle of growth.
Your rose wilts,
Yet you oversee its potential
Why must you carelessly love it?
Tend to its time of need, love.
Your rose requires – yearns
For love
Yet your love has become no more
Than a desirable response.
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