A flower does not think of composting.
It just blooms.
~Zen Proverb
Serenity is a place I haven’t found,
Elders say it’s all around
Residing in the air we breathe;
Even though I practice faithfully
Not a fragment comes to me,
Incense perfumed with morning mist
Teaches me I am alive and well,
Yet, serenity is an ever elusive realm.
random thought
about bought
lesee i let a i o u
tune my poems
& it's so true
entomb my tomes
now for guilt
wrapping quilt
or satisfaction or both
placate faction doth
i don't write know more
blank white boar
less than not
in ending this
game of rot
composting fbook
if you care to look
just don't kiss
any dyslexic
mix or be sic
sans which rye
on rub in put in pi
know where going
less point more thumb
all ready now showing
orange ain't knew dumb
can't get past
third weak
sans rubbing cash
praytell pay less
peter's pall
merrikka stall
must get this sin
don't kill venezuelan
since rus needs busy be
now that you crane
has no see
but blown apart brain
an wouldn't want sia
defend with weapon i ran
brics expect expand
wooden wont bee ya
all drunk
aslib progressive punk
hanging hard
on mccarthy card
ptsd owns petard
I stand on leaves, dead
My toes entwine skeletal remains
of shells, bones, limbs and all stuff, dead.
I sleep on cotton sewn from cotton buds, dead.
My bed is hewn from trees sawn up, dead.
The air is full of smells and wafts
from the pile of composting debris, emanating from the dead.
There is no escape from
the tug of entropy begging me
to join the dance of the dead,
and to be rendered down to dust, dead.
It beckons and pleads to claim my dust,
to scatter it randomly disordered,
devoid of structure,
blowing in the wind, swirling up
into the nostrils and mouths of the living,
to join the dance, and prance til dead.
News storm.
Have you heard the news?
For you will hear
that our Lives are in chaos
throwing us into a
spinning spiral of ever growing hysteria.
The headlines are shouting like larks in the morning.
Bleating their warning.
Spewing out their vomit.
Of fear and panic.
The virus is coming.
Thine eyes see,
thine ears hear
the agitated,
animated urgent reports pouring out at ever increasing speed.
But
Ears are deaf to the dying, the silent screams, grasping for breath,
Words never uttered,
as we cook up the dinner.
Pour a glass of wine.
Raise a beer to our lips
Death has always been waiting,
along
with the washing up,
and the vacuuming,
Let’s fit that new kitchen, get that new sofa,
buy that new car.
whilst the world is burning.
The markets are turning
Buy new, buy now, must have,
Have it now.
No
not on your nelly
Me,
myself,
Living this life
I am planting new seeds
Composting those weeds.
Creating art of a form
in this
News storm.
By Pskips
Sacred EarthMother and Child,
bearer and born
to win together,
to not sin apart
No less true for elephants
and dolphins
and humans
and undemocratic sycophants
than owls
and solvent wolves.
Child rightbrain nonverbally born
to hear before seeing,
to internally feel
before externally touching,
to smell before tasting
sometimes win together,
sometimes sin apart.
For what purpose
MotherEarth and EarthMothers
but to deeply learn bilateral Winner,
prime composting compassionate health
equally codefining
ego/eco co-refining
co-acclimation,
Earth's perpetually regenerative celebration...
Green cultural opposite
of red fascist nihilistic
wealthy multicultural life denying
Sin/Sin
Lose/Lose nihilism,
climate change cynicism,
unhealthy womb denialism.
Legacy of the Green Monster
An odd green monster
Resides within the corner
Of my kitchen sink –
Mouth open,
Stomach rumbling,
Whispering feed me – feed me now -
Ready to receive scraps of wilted salad,
Spicy pie,
Pasta sauce and olive pits
With bits of Tuesday’s stew -
Not fretting when it’s musty perfume
Mingles with strawberries
Past their prime –
Banana peels -
Or
Tattered leaves swept from the floor
Dragged in on furry paws;
No sweet smelling new mown hay;
The useless and expired
Now expelled from the monster’s grip,
A smorgasbord of the over ripe,
The underdone,
The scorched and slightly singed
Mingling – Maturing -
Ever ripening in
A mountain growing by the house
To once again revive growth,
With discarded apple cores
And sweet potato peels -
This pungent bisque spread on sleeping garden beds
When springtime wakes the earth
From hibernation
Only to find tomato plants
Growing in the strangest places.
Contest - All About the Environment
I see the future
in the constellation of my crystal tears
as you siphon the sparkle off what’s left of my joy.
Heavy is my heart where you spread your composting ego
sacrificing my fire.
Your unwillingness
to ascend from darkness
on wings of breath and light
is not lost on me..
as you strut your fan of peacock plumes
snuffing out any hope
for my flickery flame.
Susan Ashley
July 19, 2018
~ Third Place ~
Contest: Any July 2018 Poem
Sponsor: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
~ POTD ~
July 21, 2018
There was a time
not so very long ago
when clopping horses
and sighing sleighs
and paddle splashing canoes,
and then, later, trains
and electric streetcars
were the resounding heart
of multicultural transportation.
And local newspapers
with indigenous,
perennially planted village editors
among ecoschooled
one-room patriarchal chiefs
competed only with local gossip
in barber shops
and beauty parlors
for communicating hearts,
listening among each democratic trusting,
sometimes mistrusting,
but rarely anti-trusting, other.
These were slower
and in some more nutritional
ways more goodfaith experiential based
and less indoors extracted,
distracted from outdoor Earth voices
singing resonance,
preaching resilient multicultural climates
of and for co-redeeming health
as Original Intent
of Paradise WinWin Wealth.
There were these times
when horses and sleighs,
mules and oxen,
cattle and pigs,
camels and llamas,
and then, later, bird flight imaginations,
bikes
and ecoschools
and organic composting gardens,
electric streetcars and trains
were the heart of multicultural
PositivEnergy communication.
SPRING!!!!
I stepped in it this morning
soft squishy, tracked it into the house
SPRING!!!
Mud, ice crusted, glistening,
steamy, warming in the
mirage of early sun.
SPRING!!!
Aromatically composting
Autumn’s neglected harvest,
SPRING!!!!
Worms aerating the soil
playing tug-o-war
with early birds
SPRING!!!
Crocus and Jonquil
Opening Day
SPRING!!!
Hats and jackets
celebratory decorations
swaying in the breeze
SPRING!!!!
Princely kiss awakening
Sleeping Beauty
3/13/2016
submitted to – Spring – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Catie Lindsey
Karma, grace, incarnation,
evolution, progress, enculturation,
pick whichever label fits for you,
are like composting souls and soils,
regenerating dispossessed stuff
within myself, society, Earth.
With compost we extract what we cooperatively invest,
both nature with my nurture,
through Ego's intent
and Earth's Logical polycultural nutrient-praxis.
Soil and humane nature's egosoul enrichment
as bicultural co-redemption
compost two layers
of one ecotherapeutic process;
Browns are decomposing Yin function
and Greens are resonant resolving Yang form.
Just-right balance cooperative water,
avoids dehydration and toxins,
and gently stir BiLateral Time
daily CoPresent
Endo/EctoSymbiotic
Earth-(0)-Soul TransFormation.
I've become inordinately attached
to cooperative health-trends
of EgoMe without EcoWe
as one of my less-well-performing compost piles.
Even so, we keep stirring.
What do you do with road kill
Dispose of it you say
So how does one dispose of it
There is always the Maryland way
You see Maryland picks up road kill
To keep their roadsides clear
And turns it into compost
Mainly made of deer
Bodies are placed in wooden bins
Wood chips and horse poop piled on
Each week the bins are aerated
For the composting of deer and fawn
After three months it is ready
To be spread along the roadway
Helping to grow the grass and the plants
Until sometime around dusk one day
When the deer who are always hungry
Come by the roadside to eat
Along comes a passing auto
And the deer and the auto there meet
So there along the roadside
A deer dies in the weeds
Thus completing the cycle
Of road kill to compost to feeds
Beneath the eyebrows, windows.
When I was a child- fresh of life;
Seasons flew past my watching,
Mountains of newness grew before me-
-And I conquered Everest...
Ran like the wind,
Now;
Taken like an autumn leaf-
Weathered and ready for composting;
They give us mood, gesticulation;
Always moving, eyes are on us-
Tell me a story of your ways; what did you see?
Just now or many years ago.
Windows-
To earth, arriving home
Sitting on its clay- waiting
Watching-
Beneath the eyebrows,
Through windows fixed once,
So I could continue to see my view;
A way of life- real and lived in full.
These I will leave to watch over you,
My spirit and soul are my vision now.
glorious day calls
donning summer's broad-brimmed hat
for LOVE of sunshine
locate garden shoes
unworn since last november
garden work my FUN
laggard spring was late and cold
urgent..seeding must get done
dig them up and put them in
setting sets in ..seeding seeds
hoeing, raking, composting
POETRY alive
Won a 5th with this
By: Joyce Johnson for Linda's contest "Fun & Frolic" (3 forms)
Dry leaves give back earth upon composting, richness and life to blossoms
Dormant roots covered protected, nurished and nestled beneath the earth
Green crocus blades sprout in a composting dead leaf cemetary; Earth.
A series of monoku...
Beeches shed leaves galore
Leaf mould on the forest floor-
Composting bionomics
As winter melanges the mix
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