I sigh, remembering moments in time
Enjoying life in my younger years, just being a child.
I remember times living out in the country,
Surrounded by rows of young plants emerging from loose soil
And orange tree groves around our home.
I loved to sit or climb on their cool, dense, shaded limbs,
Extending and bending out like roots in the sky.
Temptation never failed to pull, peel, and enjoy the sweet, juicy oranges.
Or wash a freshly green top, an orange crisp carrot pulled from the soil.
The sun-glowing sea slowly moved toward the horizon,
Disappearing into the deep blues of the evening and the twilight hours.
A delightful flurry of fireflies would appear.
They drifted, glowing, an ethereal presence
With a delicate, rhythmic wing motion that made them appear
To float and twinkle among the foliage in the night,
Landing and perching among the foliage or on the ground.
I would run out into the high grass, in joyous excitement,
With a glass jar in hand to chase a whimsical scene.
I loved the feeling of joy watching them glow in flashes up close.
There's an ability
Might be rare but allegeds stability
The curse of thinking
Usually pretty usefull
Comes in handy
And keeps the situation cool
The dark side do exist
As it forces to over-analyze
Compels one to always think
And makes many situations, realize
Forces one to overthink
Perhaps the biggest drawback
As well as some boon to bear
If the analysis delays the setback
Changes your view
By which you see others
If they fail to observe
You'll disgust them forever
Prevents cringe habits
And avoid those having them
Many might climb on you
Like you're some kind of stem
It gives you some morals
And apathize sympathy
Those who seek it exist
And when you don't, they envy
The curse of thinking
It is as it is
Can't change its nature
And have to bear as it is
it is a hovel now, due to the work of a poltergeist
once a home, it is plunked in the middle of despair
the copper wiring was pulled out ten years ago
it is a vacated domicile which probably still house the jokester
no one has been inside for years; too many horror stories
We approach it from the east; in the background we see orange
at first I think there must be electricity, then I realize it is sun up
surely the poltergeist is gone, my companion says.
His voice is smiling, I can hear it.
He does not believe in malarky
There is an ambiance about this shanty I cannot describe
a feeling that has no name; I walk a bit slower now
reluctance is the closest name I can come up with
yet it is not enough; terror and fear and reluctance
I decide not to go inside; feeling the entity is still there
waiting with sharp teeth, ready to climb on my back
I fear he will return to my home and turn it into a lean-to
Church Christchurch once torn by earthquakes rugged rips
Where satin dark descends on sandy shores
Sweet lady of the nighttime skies and dawn
Still holds the broken dreams that men despise
Yet from the shadows dawn of broken time
The lady starts to grow again in form
New buildings climb on what was the broken past
New dreams begin to grow from broken hearts
The lady of the night still shows the pain
Some buildings still hold scars of broken pain
Those with wealth can dance upon her shores
Well others sleep on roads of broken nights
With empty pockets cold and shivered plight
For both may see a different vivid dream
A necklace of the stars is seen by some
Well others live with empty stomachs hum
I hope one day the love will grow to action
The people that have money will invest
Creating jobs for everyone is best
I love the trees that line your rivers banks
The kindness of some hearts still have my thanks
The Archer: branded in the skies
With fading beauty and mind’s rust,
Yet the light is far; the route unwise.
I climb on hope; cracked rungs hold true
But winds whip me into hurt dust—
Shamed! I rise to start my climb anew.
He was almost a toddler, more of a stand up and take a bow crawl away and climb on whatever was near. We used the now dreaded “play pen” to keep him out of trouble. Then it happened…CHRISTMAS. You know, the tree part.
It was a smaller tree but it took hold of his complete attention. And that took complete hold or our attention. What to do?
After a serious deliberation concerning the alternatives, it was decided by a majority vote, one almost a toddler abstaining.
To protect the child from the tree and the tree from the child it was decided that the tree would be placed in the “play pen” and the child allowed to view it at his leisure. Christmas was a rousing success. The tree hung out with us until New Year’s Eve.
the tree’s history
a Christmas awakening
discretion’s valor
S’ils ne savent garder distance,
Parle au léopard des neiges,
marche en gardant confiance,
En observant les montagnes,
s’ils ne savent garder distance,
Peut être sauras tu rêver,
Dans les jardins de la vallée,
rencontreras la belle Nadège ?
S’ils ne savent garder distance,
Grimpe sur les toits de Florence,
Va provoquer cette chance,
Parle au léopard des neiges
S’il ne savent garder distance ?
If they don’t know how to keep their distance,
Talk to the snow leopard,
walks while maintaining confidence,
While observing the mountains,
if they don’t know how to keep their distance,
Maybe you will know how to dream,
In the gardens of the valley,
will meet the beautiful Nadège?
If they don’t know how to keep their distance,
Climb on the roofs of Florence,
Go provoking this chance,
Talk to the snow leopard
If they can’t keep their distance?
Allow me to introduce myself to you.
I knew your dad and grandfather too.
I am an oak tree, one hundred years old.
I've lived through hot weather. I've lived through the cold.
I won't be happy til you climb on my limbs.
I'm your home away from home til twilight dims.
Hop up on the swing your grandpappy built.
Go as high as you can - I'd say, "full tilt".
Enjoy my acorns, my squirrels and my shade,
and I hope your children will play where you played.
If I were you, and you were me
We wouldn’t have to worry
Salvaged by intergrality
We’d live a different story
Inside our own illusion
We’d share our personalities
Illusions aren’t confusion
Illusions make realities
I want to fly, a man once said
The birds can, why can't I?
They laughed at him you must be mad
Climb on the roof and try
Later his daring dream came true
Without that dream of flying
No flights we’d book to get us to
Wherever we desire
Illusions save me from today
Tomorrows petty pace
Continues in the same old way
Days walk across my face
No warning says that it’s too late
Or its too early to begin
If I’m in power to create
Our own prophetic dream
I’ll do my part the best I can
Gale winds will mix my dust
With yours, according to the plan
That is unknown to us.
But no one is fast enough.
On the roof.
Sheets of ice are fickle.
He tried to hurry.
You shouldn’t climb on the roof.
This winter is proof.
That our hands shake when it’s freezing.
Fixing the roof should have been easy.
Thankfully you fell into the snow pile.
It was scary for awhile.
You got a little scraped up from the fall.
You decided to give your mom a call.
The phone rang.
Like the sound of icicles rang.
As he fell…
He hung up the phone in a hurry.
Somethings need to be fixed quickly.
Others don’t.
My dragon Rutherford is a dare devil out for a thrill
Along the way he likes to roast a good kill
I climb on his back, not knowing where we are going
If he says “bring a coat” I figure it might be snowing
He flies easily between continents in a couple of hours
He has other talents, some truly remarkable super powers
Invisible during flight, he sometimes messes with a 747
I tell him to stop it, or he might not make it to heaven
Rutherford knows I am strict but loving, he is my tight pal
He flies me to other galaxies, I am his favorite old gal.
He has been my dragon since July thirteenth of 1972.
Exhausting summer if you knew how many miles we flew.
He eats along the way, roasting pigs, sheep, cattle, and one time a boar.
I know he is getting ready to feast when he drops out of a soar.
He always wants to share, but I bring my own snacks.
I don’t like to eat anything that moos, gobbles or quacks.
Last week we flew to Scotland, which was quite a trip for me.
All because Rutherford had a craving for Welsh apricot tea.
He is a marvelous pet, who has best intentions about me.
I love my dragon Rutherford, together, we are happy, you see.
Here’s a staircase to nowhere
You can try to climb on top
Just to see the world from there
While ascending, you can drop
See the steps are wet and rotten
Loose, unsafe and slippery
What is up there you've forgotten?
What do you expect to see?
“There's no view, but an old station
Which was built of wood and stone
I assume there's renovation
Could be an industrial zone
I can't say why I must be there
No one is supposed to know
So I follow steps to nowhere
It’s the way for me to go.”
These fears I have swallow me whole though I fight to be released I feel I've gone rouge which has moments of crying spells but no tears have yet fallen taking swings at the gates but I've only wept disappearing the feeling of being astonished to thigh own self in dept how do i pay with empty pockets chasing stars that climb on to me effortlessly feels if run backwards towards my rewards I've already received trained to think first my emotions head started the race misplace energy for my fiery stage of evolving
It makes a stop; the kids climb on
And poof! The day camp bus is gone.
The parents wave; the kids, strapped in,
Are off to let their day begin.
Some campers smile, while others fret,
Not certain of their prospects yet.
Still, most of them (not everyone)
Will spend some hours having fun.
The afternoon will come at last,
Their camping session over fast.
The day camp bus will bring them back,
Their parents waiting with a snack.
There is a gate in the midst of
A small garden, maybe a red or
White.
I went over and met a dwarf who
Claimed its possession of the gate,
This is my gate and area, what are
You human in this sacred forest?
What mushroom! What leaf!
What another bird!
Birds fly to the west and I am following,
Jogging turns into a short run and my feet
Find themselves on some white thing.
Fluffy and wet, in truth! This is actually
A cloud.
Crystals climb on to me, from their silky nests
And then I turn to walk north
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