Take unhurried steps into the foothills
And get enlightened by the untainted zephyr and pristine snow
Never mind the smell of the soil on you, as it is the scent of the nature
With ballads, awake the spirit of the fire that light up and warms the night
And collect jar of memories that could be adored for lifetime
Take care of your feet
those clay looking things
molded by a blind sculptor
hardened by miles and time.
Sure, treat them to a pedicure
powder-paint jewels on the nails
pet them like twin royal elephants
that'll take you to beautiful places
that could never be reached otherwise.
They helped you discover new things didn't they,
like numbers as your mamma counted them lovingly.
When your old and alone -when they ache all of the time
when you're no longer flexible enough to pet and paint them
you'll know you've tasted whirlwinds and lived a fulfilling life
and when you die don't let them put shoes on those elephants
have them bejeweled ,let them dance one more time in the light
yes I know it looks more like a boot than a foot
i caught her
sipping honey
suckle flowers
drunk on autumn
memories but the
breeze that slapped
my face put me in
place and my
mind aligned
with her feet
s l o w l y
opening
eyes and
toes every
thing was
yellow
i took a
macro to
a micro so
before me the
sands washed
upon her beach feet
as she seismically
wiggled just the
little if a finger
they'd say
pinkie
but she
knew not
what she was
doing to me or for
me finding a need
to explore her
colossus
form for
she was
gigantoid and i
was nobody
to the body
of what
she had
become and so
her behemoth
more than
enough
held
me in awe but i
knew because
she would mis
construe who
i was and
crush
me
We're in the foothills of a second civil war
the divide between left and right
burning and widening
Peace undermined by the rich behemoth... indifference
the uneven eye of the media leviathan
universities raping our children's minds
impregnating with stalinleninputinxi disease.
Slapping lady liberty in the mouth
with metal dongs of intolerance.
Cutting out tongues of freedom of speech-of religion-of differing opinion
and the socialist/commies and pacifist wonder why
we the people are stockpiling high caliber rights.
It's because mad clowns are running the government
entitled mad dogs are crapping in the streets
the elite and naive emptying jails and asylums
onto our streets.
While they sleep soundly behind gated communities
while their storm troopers are slicing the stars from old glory
never satisfied with anything.
Always burning and cutting and running-reaping
never sitting-talking -discussing-seeding...
burning tongues and bloody stars.
Amassing in the foothills of the second civil war.
Chance encounter at the college library
we'd found the same cove of peace.
We were both doing research papers.
You were plain and had been messing with a pimple.
but the accent caught my attention
A brit with big ****.
We went out for coffee a couple of times.
A week or two later I was in your mouth,,,
and you in mine.
How devilishly divine
we stayed together for awhile.
Maybe we peaked to quickly.
Maybe I should have sealed it with a ring.
or at least approached the foothills of commitment.
It was fabulous while it lasted.
A few moments past twilight,
half a moment before blackfall,
I was sure there’d be time enough
and light enough
to return to the bodies I’d left behind.
My lifelong friends followed me,
we quaked under the bridge,
through the narrow tunnel,
up the steep, narrow footpath,
through the second tunnel.
We saw them still there,
just where I’d found them
and left them,
why would they not be there ?
Yet somehow
I wasn’t sure that they would.
Eerily visible from the distant road,
so brilliantly white
they almost glowed,
seven bodies hanging in the gloom,
this was how I found them
and left them.
Now they were five,
there was no hint of a breeze.
No longer hanging,
they stood like forgotten mannequins,
hoping, perhaps,
that we might breathe new life
into the quiet foothills.
29th April 2019
At the foothills of Vesuvius
Scarlet against the leafy green
Nurtured by the golden sun
Sourced for lusciousness
A cherry orchard
Of well renown
fruit ripened
to pick
yum!
"Where are we?
I don't know, looks like the foothills.
The foothills of what?
The foothills of the head lands."
The Beatles Movie The Yellow submarine
So many feet has covered this small hill,
but the young heads keep making;
playing till age is death.