Traveling along the Grapevine
soft green hills look like earthy fabric
folded into velvet shadow crevices.
Layers of rich, luxurious shapes
form the mountainous terrain.
As we make our way along the highway
the golden glow of the afternoon sun
caresses the flowing hillsides
oh so gently
on this cool winter’s day.
Sparse oaks flash their amber leaves
over the muted landscape
loudly interrupting introverted hues
that linger quietly over the grassy fields.
Against a whitewashed sky
hints of snow can be seen
amongst the scarce pines
while in the valley, sagebrush whip around
on a random road near run down barns
where ravens hide.
A linear network of power lines appear
marching like steel sentries
transformers conquering fields
while a formidable army of cars and trucks
hurry towards their endless destinations
unaware of the quiet beauty that surrounds.
A river lays still on a hush
Of edges mild in deepened blue;
Until her trail unfurls a change
As if to wake from rare debut.
Beneath the stars first dazzling rays
Old marbles glaze on hillsides green--
To roll like jewels down the coast
Embellishing her womb, serene.
Dazed by the fluidity of
This radiant bob...this duskfall thrill
Mutes my whispers as seashells play,
Requesting for a tide's refill.
River of dreams , linger a while
Where my bare heels might softly tread,
On waterdance and air-tossed quays
To where this heart is blithely led.
River Of Dreams by Matt Bianco 1999
Singer Billy Joel used the same title, a different song altogether
Flying past the hillsides,
flying pat the bays,
flying past the cabin
where I might just like to say.
Flying past the tall trees,
branches scrape my feet,
’tis the finest jetpack
you can buy with money.
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
Flying through the cities,
over the suburbs,
flying past the park where
kids by swings wait their turn.
Flying over mountains,
past the birds of prey,
the eagles give strange looks
then dive out of my way!
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
Oh, free flying,
so high and free,
I wish you had
a jetpack like me.
If I had cash
I’d buy you one,
we’d soar up high
and have too much fun!
Ain’t no toil,
in my jetpack royal,
my view is unspoiled
in my jetpack royal,
so high the blood boils
in my jetpack royal,
the schemes that I’ll foil
in my jetpack royal.
1410 Rhyme Time - New Untitled 9-5-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1410
Thin layers of amber curl around hillsides
Tendrils of dawn on a sunrise joy ride.
Forests of Green Coniferous Trees
Forests of evergreen conifers
(Fir, spruce, cedar, pine, and hemlock trees)
Keep their colour throughout the seasons
And don’t shed foliage in autumn.
Rooted in soil and basking in sunlight,
They grow on hillsides and in valleys,
Encircling rock outcrops, swamps, and leas,
And near rivers and lakes, and on islands.
These hearty trees endure nature’s throes
Of cold, harsh, winters to warm spring thaws,
Thriving in summer and fall to help provide
A habitat for the forest dwellers.
Conifer pollen and seed cones pollinate,
And fertilized seeds disperse on windy days
—Or get stashed away by squirrels and birds—
And grow into stately coniferous trees.
Elegy – 7-17-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elegy for Old Growth
Through measures of metered melancholy
The tattered winds sing a rent elegy,
A pensive wail for pristine old growth,
A drifting chant in pure pitch of final farewell –
The mute tongue howls in eulogy
For virgins of a thousand turns around the sun
For helpless giants surrendered in atonal sacrifice.
Gentle titans with feathery boughs lifted their faces
To embrace misted melodies of summer and winter snows
Forest zephyrs sang lullabies for sparrows
Nesting in their rustling wombs
Then shared the secret lyrics of their song
With robins sheltered in their lofty grace of red bark
In evensongs, matins and spring symphonies.
The myrrh of burial mixes with their lingering fragrance
In desolation and in their exposed flesh,
Nude hillsides of purple rage
Scream in final dirges of farewell
Modulated into anthems sung to saplings in circles of renewal
Little ones, like half steps, change elegies to odes
The threadbare zephyr now chants paeans to remember.
Leaving Tipperary behind
the rolls of greenery industrial
findings fields of yellow catering
to my innermost calm I’d always
remember my home in Mason
thee unforgettable rebellion
costly revolution the insurgents
blocking broken roads rushing
over cattle filled lands beholden
to a quiet comfort so well hidden
beneath the hillsides where
Gaelic melodies sang out above
the melancholy mountain tops
tis behind me now morning glories
bloom sparingly across wide open
plains peeking between the wondering
shadows of the beaming sunlight
If only you knew the feel of a zephyr,
With its current swooping around hillsides
Ruffling the spruce trees everywhere,
Or descend downwards towards verdant vales
Where flowers bloom all through the year.
If only you knew what the oceans utter
As wonderful waves smash into each other,
Or roll nonchalantly towards the bays,
Destroying sand castles or wiping up
The poor love letters which were written there.
If only you knew the various sounds of Earth,
The laughter of little children playing in our parks,
The parade of grown-ups commemorating feasts,
The sounds of aeroplanes fighting for supremacy,
Whilst on the ground tanks rumble on firing at will.
If only you knew the evil concocted by selfish persons,
Where kindness seems to be at a premium.
Yet I discern others who are compassionate
And help others less fortunate than themselves.
How grateful receivers of good works will be.
If only you knew how many angels fly above
Around the silver stars that orbit in perfect harmony.
Angels that care for this poor land which
We have ruined successfully through our unwanted trash.
While food is thrown away when others die in famine and pain.
Placed 1
When food and clean water linger moments from lips and anything else at our fingertips,
Quadruple consumption settles to stay and anything paper is just one click away
When they sell us our problems bottled cutely as cures, but the only real answer seems to be
MORE
And hillsides are speckled with hot springs caged in now man’s only purpose is to feel like he “wins”
When invention’s mother shifts from necessity to ease, you get all you want and don’t even say please
Addiction to dopamine is clawing up throats and it’s never enough for who needs it the most
When she is raging and screaming and ravished apart and not even this can appeal to our hearts ---
We are broken.
Is there only one shot?
Not all can be lost
Can we bring back paper box tops?
Gas station snacks piled in the free seat,
windows half-cracked to catch onrushing air,
velocity cools the day’s outer heat,
blowing around my girlfriend’s auburn hair.
Avoid dull highways, take the scenic route,
the country unfolds, villages and farms,
small valleys and hillsides I never knew,
each mile with its unique mood and charms.
Listen to old rock, then outlaw country,
stopping for views, or old buildings preserved,
maybe a state park with something to see,
or roadside diners where pancakes are served.
Compared to an airplane, it may seem slow,
but roamers like me love the open road.
Not Ready Yet
Give me just one more day of Christmas jubilee
Not ready to let go of Christmas, yet
Or stop gathering flecks of stardust
Scattered from the Heavens
Still reveling in the sweet aroma of frankincense
Or bovine straw
Lingering on evening's breath
To walk by candles in the window
Enchanted by twinkling lights of welcome.
My heart pitches a tent
On hillsides among olive trees
Craning it's neck to hear newborn angelic carols
And longs to cradle the pure cry of Love
Again and again
Infinite Love I can hold and understand.
Stay one more night, sweet season of hope,
Beside me
Not letting the lights twinkling with wicks of joy,
Festooning trees and doorways,
Dim with memory
Or exchange red and green for blue and ice
On starless nights.
Not ready to eat
The last crumbs of Christmas manna
Or leave the firesides of desert travelers
Stargazing.
Just one more night precious holiday
And then you can slip away
To walk from Bethlehem to Jerusalem.
winter flurries fall
crystal snowflakes quilt hillsides ~
lustrous in moonlight
Hillsides were ablaze
from sunlight's saffron fingers
Leaves fell like raindrops
from branches of ancient trees
What a stunning Autumn scene
Beautiful rain
By Michelle Morris
02/08/2023
Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I see your gentle tears
Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I feel your love draw near
The grass is green and bouncy
The earth sighs a big relief
They're bathing in your comfort
They're enjoying your cool mercy
We are blessed to have you
This joy and happiness
The peace of verdant hillsides
And luscious summer fruits
I love the flowers that smile
I love the ocean that sways
We're all enjoying your bounty
Our Earth needs you every day
For water is our life force
Without which we cannot live
I thank God for your comfort
I thank God for your gifts
Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I see you softly descend
Oh, beautiful rain
Oh, beautiful rain
I feel your love neverending
© Michelle Morris, 2023
A small lake
There was a lake not far from the white-washed hamlet
in the interior of the Algarve; on hot summer days, witnessed
by my dog, which shuddered at the thought.
It was a small lake surrounded by hillsides, modest
almost unobstructed, just water, no big deal
One day when driving past the lake had disappeared
a dent in the ground full of thistles and tine of tunny
Oh, come think of it, a rowing boat that once had been
optimistically blue, but now sad dried teardrops.
The plane between the hill where the lake lived
is a center for helicopter services; not that much I mind
but I would rather see the lake again in the moonlight.
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