I have finally found my favourite shopping bag
the words upon it say "my poo grows trees"
Also depicted a cassowary below his bum a young shrub
I'm like the cassowary I make use of all my poos and wees
Both in the compost with vegie scraps and other useful "waste"
when the compost is dark and friable and fully broken down
I make a compost tea or add sand to make a seed raising mix
Fill buckets for my orchard to spread goodness all around
My efforts are rewarded as I harvest an abundance of fruit
mango paw paw grumichama sapodilla all organic fare
If you are ever in far North Queensland come and visit
for breakfast a bonanza I would love to share
BY YOUR LEAVE
significantly
&supposedly
scribbled
aesthetics
prepare
by
implication
in
accord
embroidered
instantly
inscribed
&wonderfully
named
depicted
seemingly
by emphasise
conspicously
fantasised
thereafter
by suggested
&
pivotal
pointed
touch
restored
&secured
Symbolist sweethearts are we
emblems of our era you see
Depicted by artists we knew
Klimt & Von Stuck to name just a few
Father Time, depicted as ‘the Grim Reaper’
House of Horrors gatekeeper
Holding a scythe, ready to strike
Where's ‘Papa,’ who loved me as a tyke?
A Saturday morning.
A peek of sun rays as indication,
And as usual
Birds chirp greetings as they pass by,
admiring MAMA as she sings along to
"Another day in paradise".
Mesmerised, Grandfather turns up the volume
on his antique radio.
A ghost smile plastered on his face
as he takes a sip of his African beer.
Oh, how peaceful those days were.
The days of our mothers and fathers
Dancing to "Burn out" by Sipho Mabuse.
Worry quivering
at the scent of peace depicted in the environment.
What a rayful day to envision such,
with fragments of nostalgia never had.
I cant carry your bones and my own
But I will because it hurts more to be alone
What you think of me is my view of myself
You design my skeleton not me or anyone else
Now that I no longer carry your bones
I hate myself wherever I go
When I look in the mirror I am haunted by my own skeleton
Disgusted by the bones you depicted that I am forced to live in
You discarded all the parts of my skeleton worth keeping
Now I understand my well being was not what you were seeking
I am now living with a crafted skeleton and chiseled bones
And your words will never leave me alone
Forest and Dove
Artist: Max Ernst
Turn on the Lights
White of his eye, orange nose, black bird.
Blue sky flying high above the dark forest.
Scenery is haunting; like the kid’s movie “Coraline.”
Disturbing, the feeling of being lost in the forest.
Nightmare of trees depicted as serrated teeth.
(Hansel and Gretel in a cage) dove’s bars behind him.
Is he free, can he flee; will the bars surround him?
The woods, towering like skyscrapers, tight
in the frame; childhood claustrophobia, intense.
The full-bodied bird appears to be caught
“in the headlights,” like a deer taken aback.
Tenebrous green and rust brown, skeleton stature;
shadowy beasts bullying, stalking, terrorizing.
I can’t turn away. My eyes take in the scenery.
No matter how small the canvas, the ink
seeps into my brain, driving me mad in the night.
Surreality; reality of the young and very old.
I finally felt your heat
under the pouring rain
an inexorable moment in May
perfectly predictably perceived
a picasso'd sliver of life
art depicted of time
escaping the angeled mind
I would die to coil up in your spring
give you peace and hope
quite possibly everything
shared a slice of a certain pie
tip toes on the piano
the sparkles of the eye
your smile doesn't laugh enough
at the silly rhymes
as we watch the swans
swim on by
REACTIONS
together
exhibit
display
realistic
shadows
depicted
shaped
transcendent
involving
contemplative
prescence
a setting
to
illuminate
&witness
a glance
a reference
surprising
in
a
phased
astonishing
silent
breath
perpetuating
commemorating
alarming
trivialities
ignoring
unjust
powers
hesitating
recognition
in
sublime
feelings
thought brew stale is familiar tale
but if the void of silence be our home
our heart will not pale in the fiercest gale
with consciousness mirroring God’s gong Om
life as scripted is in time depicted
wherein in the vastness we wingless glide
nonchalant to outcomes, heart uplifted
aware at all times that God dwells inside
the light that lights all lights always aflame
our form is suffused with bliss magnetism
life’s highs and lows then for us are the same
as we transcend knowings of every ism
commingled with bliss that does not abate ~
such is our vibrance mind cannot translate
Trump has depicted himself as Jesus
he puts his hand on someone as if to heal them
It seems he has lost his mind
Thinking he is now divine
Some are calling for the 25th Amendment
He needs to be on the funny farm
So he can cause no more harm
STAGED REBIRTH-:-
pure
sourced
declared
decorated
frescos
now SHOWING A POINT
imaged
appropriate
moods
deeply
impressed
still REMAIN A PRESCENCE
depicted
lyrical
lined
coloured
dimension
EARTHLY DREAMS
antiquity
habitual
preserved
naturally
depicted
in
traced
traditions
transient
alluring
processes
of
naive
sentimental
similar
guise
of
revivalist
interest
All together gracious falling to the ground
Swooping looping and turning around
You see them in Spring Summer and Fall
Once they were small but that's not all
Under the sun they grow into leaves
All to quickly then they fall it seems
Renewed once again without doing a thing
Entering the scene with the dawn of a new spring
Beautiful depiction the true message is near
Ever pointing to the new leaf's color, it is clear
Altogether green signifying new life
Until they fall swooping looping into after life
Together graciously falling to the ground
It's clear that there is something depicted here
Find the meaning in the color for it to appear
Until then all of this is repeating once again
Life's beautiful message hidden with this pen
Dr. Kay Scarpetta,
Does wonders with a scalpel and also with sharp cheddar.
A medical examiner depicted in Cornwell's book,
She is much preferred as a gourmet cook!
Dr. Kay Scarpetta is the main character who is a medical examiner in Patricia Cornwell's books.
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