hello brother,
irish hearing of translations
in american creole we leave, ears are not left nor right
they perk and grass talls to a tickling memory for running up to the hairs of trigger
trigger is limber and frequiently as december
bestow herselfish visits when attendants of time
dare not his fender
his fender glides in names as thumper
neither care to scamper yet both shall parent springs
Haibun
Inky dark night. Jewels in the heavens sparkle like diamonds in a necklace. The Seven Sisters wink seductively while trying to sit in Cassiopeia’s Chair. Orion chases Ursa Major and her cub when he stops to slake his thirst from the Big Dipper. Great Leo butts’ heads with mighty Aries. Sirius, the Dog Star, is the glowing eye of Canis Major as she helps Orion track Ursa. Faint Polaris guides mariners to home port from the tail of The Little Dipper.
new moon
a black palette rules the sky
stars come out to play
The distant galaxies show off their faint light as clustered pinpoints as if the black curtain were pricked multiple times by a needle. Sagittarius points the way to the center of the Milky Way. Nurseries of star forming clusters birth new babies to populate the sky as old ones blow up and die. In the middle lie the monstrous supermassive black holes which suck all light in to their mighty maws bending time and gravity to their will.
are they our ancient home
signals from a distant past
will we return to them
From quantum whispers,
a universe awakens.
A birth in stellar nurseries,
where light ignites.
Appearance and disappearance,
a dance of creation,
a cosmic ballet,
everlasting and fleeting.
Invisible to our limited sight,
a mystery in swirling existence.
Permanent yet ephemeral,
a cosmic puzzle,
beyond our grasp.
What traces remain?
when the stars fade away?
when galaxies collapse?
Are they truly gone,
or merely transformed?
Hidden in spacetime’s weave,
in the universe’s memory.
Appearance and disappearance,
teachers of impermanence,
choreographers of existence.
You are the heartbeat
of the cosmic symphony.
You are reality’s breath,
ever-present,
always shifting.
Marc Quinn's 'Nurseries of El Dorado'*
bronzed still life chromed patina show
pillars of creation
obscured by darkness
an evolution of mass
stellar nurseries
hydrogen helium gas
no need for slap on the ass
The pillars look like arches and spires rising out
of a bleak landscape, but are filled with semi-
transparent gas and dust, and ever changing,
albeit imperceptibly so. This is a region of our
galaxy where young stars are forming or have
barely burst forth from their dusty cocoons as
they continue to switch on and become fully
fledged stars, some will be just like our own sun.
Robin Hood thieves from the woodlands,
for seemingly meaningful greenery,
and rather mysterious scenery
to sell at garden nurseries.
Jack axes the canopies:
veneers to go on vanities.
And the lavish sunlit
leaves are fading,
and falling.
Pragmatic greed
smothers silent cries,
of felled trees,
gruesomely shrugs
over carnage.
Emptiness sweeps
into grey-gaps.
We ache for beauty…
remembered,
imagined,
unseen.
Across a field,
the tips of tall grass tremble
in the moonlight. There are
silent wings gliding the dark,
soft callings way off in the distance
and occasionally, glowing eyes
seen high in the trees.
Secrets are kept here
sealed from sight, mysteries,
a cache of wonders
hidden under a thick silence
fencing off the borderlands between
dream and the oblivion
of sleep.
Here too are desires
still unshaped in their nurseries,
soul shadows rummaging through
old remains, fears, childhood,
the unanswered pleas echoing up
from somewhere, looking
for an opening to get
inside your head.
There are times
when a weightless calm
lays across the evening
as if something beyond
imagining has curled up
and gone to sleep at the foot
of a starlit sky. It recalls
drowsy winter nights
in front of a fire, the quiet ambience
of a room, the stirring of dreams
from deep in their nurseries.
Something in us likes to return
to here as if this ideal has been
set within us, a place to rest
and gather what has been broken,
to let ourselves be healed.
And yet it hides in the hurry
and neglect, a place passed
on our way to somewhere else,
forgotten until such an evening
comes when all is too much
and what is broken cries out
to be healed.
OUR CHOICE
this is the winter of our discontent
the four horsemen ride exultant
slaughter in churches
bombed nurseries
corrupt legislators
pollinators dying for lack of forage
all the sun’s blessings can not
disguise our disintegration
small acts of gentleness
saving horses
and tiny piglets from factory farms
a touch of hands
or smile on the phone
keep the choking smoke away
we are the lucky ones
who see these distant fires
signaling from hill to hill
Tell me when do roses bloom
Is it by noon to the clock of June
Tell me why do roses bloom
For the Ambiance of wondering souls
The colorful beauty they possess
Any mortal can assume
Tell me how do roses bloom
They bloom from rose bushes
I suppose with flair and perfumed air
Rose growers plant seeds that
Grow into bushes and
There you have a rose bud show
Tell me where do roses bloom
They bloom wildly in fields of
Violet blades of grass and in
Nurseries a necessary atmosphere
They grow in precious gardens
Pretty flowering plant
Often seen at Christmas,
Indigenous to Mexico
Now available at nurseries
Showy scarlet bracts,
Each surrounding yellow flowers
That require much attention
Throughout the season
In order to re-bloom
And delight next year.
Written December 2, 2022
Young human babies can only see three colors.
From birth to two months, they can see no others.
So how do we know this? I doubt if I could find out.
But should we decorate their nurseries this way? Without a doubt.
In case the research is right; would not this be totally bright?
And what are these three colors you ask me, so tight.
According to research they are these three…..
Black white and red, scientists write up in books for thee.
And how in the world do we know this? You ask.
Figuring this out is not my task.
Children like bright colours
And so kindergartens and nurseries
And so shopping items
And so youngsters
And so tourist centres
And so food and souvenirs
And so bright photos
Colours brighten up hearts
A sign of hope,happiness,confidence
Freshness and life
But too much artificial touch
Will lose the naturality of scenery
The classic beauty
A quiet elegance
The history of antiquity
An appreciation with time
Anyway natural beauty is invaluable
No imitations
No artificiality
Oh
How about stop painting one's heart
with
Colours of greed
Joy
Watching the sailboats go by without a care in the world
gazing at the stars at night after their lights have unfurled
Viewing earth from a celestial window keeping an eye on
gaping at tiny babies in their infant nurseries calling mom
Feasting on nature, flowers, trees, and mountain peaks
following love wherever it leads when it lovingly, seeks
Eyeing life from a joyful point of view without regret or rue
Espying the spark in my lover's eye as he whispers I love you
Beholding faith with a clarion soul that trumpets all it entails
A mellifluous moment whole as the sun with nothing that ails
A hug, a caress , an embrace, tracing the lines of a favorite face
Day and weeks of appropriate deeds without a thing out of place
What brings me great joy, is sharing time with family and friends
Admiring the change of season and being grateful for its extend
Being able to go for walks, sing, write , and cook a great meal
Owning a contented heart that nothing on this earth can steal.
July 21, 2022
Many people pamper their pets
Love them so much
Treat them as small children
A dog with a diaper on
For cleanliness
A dog with a mask on
For hygiene
A dog with clothes on
For tidiness
A dog with dog foods
For nutrition
A dog goes to veterinary
A specialist
To pets they pay a lot of attentions
Maybe they deserve
How about their own children
And the oldies
Don't they deserve more
Sometimes children are left to the nurseries
Sometimes oldies are left in the old folks home
And their pets are always with them
Always being attended to
I'm lost
Does God says anything
About this discrimination
I wonder
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