look outside, what do you see?
is it forestry or fire lit by the human hand?
in the middle of flames i stand
scared as any person would be
im targetted for being a sack of bones
they claim i lit the fire
but they all hold lighters and kerosene
i am engulfed in flames yet still they blame me
look outside, what do you see?
is it a crime or a misjudged accusation?
the ash ridden trees around me smell of terrifying warmth
people's evil faces enlightened by orange
my naked body burns
yet still i survive in this broken world
I am still alive.
I wasn't truly attuned to the Bard
Who tried to show cosmic significance.
On the dark moonlit forest's stage, he starred.
His Bardic thoughts defying arrogance.
I met the night Bard while he was singing
In chorus with Oaks of the magic grove.
Sprouting with seedlings was his beginning.
Raised in the forest, his true treasure trove.
This bounty lies protected by wet clouds.
It seems nature knows how to calculate
The number of elements it enshrouds,
Even as they waltz on the lovely lake.
The wind plays the wooden flute merrily,
Pleasing the Stars with chants of forestry.
Inside the forestry of his heart I live
inhaling the scent of his deep woods
I could never fill those Timberlands boots
nor explain the thrill that he provides
when he arrives at the grove of my soul
and whispers, "Darling, I love you "
softly cloaked and protected by his pine
I am evergreen in moments like these
Existing in this charming jungle of love
I could never retrace my steps, for
arriving in this place of no return
I feel as suitable as a thriving conifer
Inside this evergreen existence, I just am
breathing in the fragrance of his loyalty
I feel like a woman in love, ...
After a lifetime of bending, to his will
I am the wind that blows on his heart
when I get to him, I just breathe...
Ongoing rows of trees
branches reaching binding
crawling braiding trunks of
olive trees capturing my senses
warm breeze glides down my
spine the ripened forestry handfuls
delightful ripeness historic scenery
as I mastered the monopoli landings
the essence of extra virgin oils pour
to perfection stored in tins we carry
them between the lemon zest aroma
of the countryside an afternoon filled
with pacifying my fancy with a charming
pinot noir settling down between the
largest tree trunks split into from thousands
of years of draping olives trees throughout
the hillside magnificent magnitude strength
balancing heritage while embracing culture
saving the old country the vanishing Puglia
Home
Songs
Love and nature
92
Period of composition (Bangla): Nineteenth Vadra, 1346
Period of composition (After Christ) September 5, 1939
Place of composition: Shantiniketan
Again and again, looking back to thee, once more,
Days and nights these foamy churns awakened, in parables, mind approached out there, rested on armrest
The verses and the divine bell, awakened on the festive zeal, with the foamy quest on a tempest
The raga-based vibes, orbiting around the tides, ecstatic zeal
From the deepest a sound diphthong, to eloquent most trochaic meandering trail, a hymn
Bhoirobi the three with the sixth, the festive fair of Ramkeli mela, Purvi, armrest, strumming along the whim
Along the foamy tempest through the golden jubilee, joyous, eloquence in ragas through vibes resides in a song, songs among
Floating through the trail of thine, intertwined mine, meandering we
Songs among these will begin a journey to nowhere, in bliss
Trochaic, greenery, forestry, serene, motherland, a yesterday belongs, in tap dance
Along the way the must and the bohemian wind and unbridled they
Tap and tap on and tuned in, around a finely attuned may.
6:13 PM
8-28-2024
Rare grandness and extravagant appeal,
Chrysiridia Rhipheus ideal,
classified initially as a moth,
butterfly reborn as man of the cloth,
females, too, together metamorphized
Papilionidae catergorized
found on the island east of Africa,
one of the world's largest, Madagascar,
on its wettest, forestry, windward sides,
as they flit the heights where the odd tree hides,
gift with six tails they'll lose in their lifetime,
still with lengthiest wings ease skyward climb,
with their marveled proportions, like those trees
blessed world as Grace spreads nature guarantees.
Forestry Service and Bureau of Land Management
I don't know, maybe this year, you do your damn job?!
Maybe this year, you anticipate the obvious trend of massive fires?
Do you think fire lines are out of the question? Equipment pre loaded in quadrants, with watch-towers and water for extreme dry conditions?
Follow the windA**holes !-!Maybe the royal pisssTheCitizens
are taking
can hit you on the way out.
A world arises as dryad clusters of interlaced oysteruos flair umbrellas fairies from sunburst orb piercing rays. Vast umbra fae churn soil into a sea of plush fungi filigree in midst fields blanketed with lush evergreen forestry. Highland's spore-bearing rush wild, elevating charm. The gloaming illumination, an alternate universe climaxes as Jinns grant wishes to intermesh the electric event, an
aesthetic landscape
strawberry capped stems with white
polka dot sprinkles!
pixie’s apple bright garden
toadstool suspects virulence
Glass illusions forestry of butterflies in flight
swiveling and turning wing, aiming for sun
hovering over lulling waters of purple hues
Breathing like flowers, frilling up the air
inside a cornucopia world of rich and bright
Birds are calling from afar symmetrical chirps
of grandeur, across the wide expanse
nocturnal illumination of the heart and soul
Varathane music sonatas, flute escapades
within a dormant brook, nature's usurp
Fairies, trellises, and magic twigs interlinked
inside the Foloi forest, the mighty oak respires
aside centaurs and dryads, of their time
an emerald green, bottled by nature herself
all is transformed here, even the sky is pinked
Altered, Remodeled, Reworked, Transformed,
by my sweet, poetic imagination...
"Follow Me "
The wind brushes her red mane wild and untamed, lifting her gown
A trance sweeps and sways her figure while bright orbs surround her
Transported to other realms where forestry scenes blend far away
A wistful lean body revealed thru a sheer dress, she is lifted into thin air
As she twirls around to celestial sounds, with spirits she dances free
In this pipe dream phantasy I imagined it were me, on this blissful day
Leaving the train left us rattled
braising sounds abruptly heightened
my senses measured completely
beneath sullen moments within
quiet calmness thee essence of
Arlington cemetery the hidden forestry
catering to tiny mounds and trees
industrial findings nestled crawdads
flew out sparingly creating winged mesh
emptiness covered in insects flesh
Amongst the brambles of life there exists a sanctuary
both steadfast and silent
It is only when our days become unbearable that we
go searching for this tranquil inhalant.
Drifting into ourselves and away from the crowd,
we enter a forestry of peace and grace.
Here we can experience the solitude and respite of a therapeutic moment without trace ;
Inside the palindrome of our mirrored existence our reality needs a break sometimes.
Because of the agitation of this crazy world, we often rebuke the newsie serpentines and choose to believe in Angels instead.
The searching and seeking of peace is as natural to the soul
as the air we breathe. Lets perpetuate to peace, time and time again
and rest our weary heads once in a while.
For the journey is long and the road is treacherous my friend.
Don't allow anything or anyone to rob you of your God given peace.
January 29, 2023
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name Finding Peace
the woods in despair
evergreens and cuckoo clocks
i’m lost in Grimm fairy tales
in black forestry
cherries, chocolate ganache
dessert to die for
1/21/2023
I have come to find my haven in the thicket of night
after I've pocketed the sun and shared with it its light
The intricate pattern of a flower reminds me of God's lace
and here in this forestry of wild, I am never out of place
Reveling in the beauty of silence I admire wordless wild
and love the symmetry of nature for its utterly compiled
There is a quiet place I love to go where all the flowers grow
and there I am content to wait, for Eastern winds to blow.
[This little note is a word to the Woke…
(that’s people who can’t take a joke).
I hereby point out to avoid criminality
Murphy and Pat are of no known nationality…]
***
Patrick and Murphy had little to do
They feared their financial position
While looking for jobs they heard there were a few
At the forestry commission
Working outdoors was what they both desired
They hopped on the very next bus
Murphy said look there’s Tree Fellers required
But Pat said… there’s just two of us
***
[Based on a joke first published as a cave painting!]
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