I do not die
I fall.
Each spring I split the earth
press my green throat through cold, absent soil
offer color
to a garden starved for beginnings.
They find each other near me
hands brushing in my shade
laughter taking root between ribs.
My pollen clings
They carry it on their sleeves.
Soon, ivy knots itself to brick
Roses lean open-mouthed into air.
And I cut at the stem
sap bright on the wound,
feed the ground
that fattens their forever.
By winter I am rumor and root,
threading myself in the dark
until nothing is left but the memory of bloom.
No one remembers
which flower began it.
The hills,once green,now bare
yeild to poppy fields.
in rainy season,fierce torrents race down
towards the valley.
And in the valley,ancient rills-
dug by the kings,
most of them now chocked and buried
encroached out of view.
So water gushes wild
past the old foundations deep,
swallowing homes,roads,and,markets
without mercy in the monsoon's cruel roar.
Coming to my locality,
a rill that drain water stood for ages
encroached by the selfish ones
whose places remain dry
even in the rainy season.
And that rainy season brought
floods to our doors.
Our locality drowned,homes flooded once more.
Then the local club rose,
cleared the clogged course,
and waters receded- the levels fell low.
Relief washed over us.
But this very winter,
scourge struck anew;
encroachment returned
as intruders broke through.
The rill level does not drain;
the cycle repeats
the levels stay high again.
Once more we brace
for the rains yet to come.
It is a perennial threat
to our safety,weilded not by outsiders
but by the majority of people
from amongst us.
The Perennial problem
Red squirrels evicted
Grey squirrels stole their nuts
Say the woods are theirs.
The red squirrel is cute, and many
are ready to help eradicate
the gray squirrel, but that is not easy
As the gray gets help from
the continent they came from
where the red squirrel is reduced to
sentimental songs and romantic twaddle.
The problem is survival
The red fell behind time, but scholars
think they should be brought back
to the woods again.
What are we going to do with the gray?
Poisoning them has been tried
It didn’t work
So the red and the gray will have
to find a way
to coexist without us.
What the hell do we know about nuts?
Heard in so many situations,
when other words would suffice
(e.g., excuse me please)
tho' it's not a nice word
they're only trying to be nice
covering a multitude of sins
and every eventuality
accomplishing nothing nobody wins
without it and the obligatory
British cure-all cup of tea
as found in the board game
by Elizabeth J. Magie (1866 – 1948) Monopoly
somewhat similar to 'Hail Mary'
'Sorry!' seems to be
the perennial English card
to 'get out of jail free'
and if from the English language
the word from removal were to succumb
much if not most of the United Kingdom
would sadly be struck dumb
I am a perennial winner
Cause I refuse to be a loser
I am programmed for victory
And I vehemently refuse to walk by sight
Nor by what my circumstances look like
For what is seen is temporary
I refuse to allow my situation
To dictate the direction of my prayer or confession
For I can not rise above my confession
Confession determines the life I enjoy
Whatever I give my attention minutely
Is what I have become in reality
Let your confession therefore
Be in line with God’s promises
When hard times strike
Do not take the route of complaints
Nor get frightened by what you see around you
Cause the unseen hands of God
Who does not sleep or slumber
Work behind the scenes
To change you through your circumstances
For hard times are meant to improve you
And adequately prepare you for promotion
And not to impair you
So welcome challenges with all your heart
And confess success through your challenges
There is in my heart,
full testimony of warmth
a warmth so indelible
that, never any trace of ice
will have the possibility
of establishing a place...
Bubbled
in a young man's breath,
I glided along the weedy
and rock strewn bottom
just out from shore,
a companion to fish
and crustacean, a finned,
neoprene clad denizen
of the deep.
The limit of my lungs made me
gorge on this underwater
world in the brief time
a held breath could last.
I packed so much
into mere minutes
to nourish a lifetime.
I always felt saddened
in having to surface
and leave such wonder
behind.
These days old lungs
barely hold a breath.
At night I now dive deep
into other places
where poetry is -
take in the mystery,
feel saddened
when I have to surface
and leave that world
of words behind.
My perennial garden is peaceful and tranquil
A timeless place of beauty where calmness will instill
Vibrant blooms emanate sweet and savory scents
No fake or synthetic wafts among the floral presents
Birds flutter and dip in the rustic metal bird baths
While chipmunks nibble and play along their tiny paths
Swirling garden spinners whisper in the light breeze
An illusion of flying spindles, adds a whimsical tease
The solar fountain is a balance of sounds and silence
As water trickles and flows and provides some reliance
Bees and dragonflies hover and then stop to take a drink
As butterflies flutter in vibrant wings of purple and pink
Asiatic lilies open their bright orange petals of luck
Their beauty instills feelings of awe and wonder struck
Hummingbirds often visit the garden to stop and sip
Delicately feeding on phlox while wings flutter and zip
My perennial garden is a sacred and treasured place
Where nature is welcomed to visit and take up space
The Perennial
On an overhang, where the mountain slopes gently towards the lowland and the sea
there is a crooked tree with long roots embracing the mountain
Is the plant an asp or a birch, the leaves are compact and sturdy
It has to be as it is the first who catches the winter wind or the salty haar from the sea.
It is also a tree that catches the first light of the day and the last
To see the disappearing day, the first to see how wonderfully clear our firmament can be.
This tree will not risk the indignity, of being dressed up like a tart
have gifts in the colourful wrapping of favour bought under duress and be thrown
on the waste heap when the party is over
This tree will not be an elegant mast on a clipper sailing to China and Ceylon and
one day run aground on the hardy coast of Norway and be sold off as planks.,
This tree is art because someone looked up and said, look
at this, its true art and has a natural beauty and emotion only great art can provoke.
I prefer to gaze at my Eden
through this veil of screens.
There, the miracle of sun and bloom
explodes with delight over my stoned edges.
But...ponder me first before venturing
once more unto that breach, for there,
in the bowels of hosta and fern
lurk the humping beetle larvae,
phantom chompers, and
coal ink gorging rot,
all in roiling orgy,
within my manicured lines.
And, were I not a steward of the natural order,
I would Rambo myself into the fray
with bandoleers of bug cannons
and porcupine piss grenades.
Poised like a Spartan at the hot gates.
my doomed, flowing locks fluttering
in the blaze until the carnivorous
Paraná fleas hollow me out from within
and I fall like straw man turned delicately to bed.
cloistered again behind screen and wicker,
very non-Spartan like, relentlessly
resigned to trowel and tribulation
The days of summer will soon be upon us
To warm us and fill us with joy
Those bright sunny days and cool starlit nights
So sweetly our spirits they buoy
Gone through a bunch of these halcyon days
At my age I should be blasé
No matter the number each one's still a joy
Like my very first summer's day
What wonders this old world can still create
Each year after year without fail
The predictors of doom keep warning us guys
But still a new summer we hail
So now that I've reached my senior years
I've come to realize a truth
With many triumphs and some sad events
Life shares a perennial youth
Arousing our loins,
pollen coated bumble bees;
Perennial dance.
I think I may come from and my
hole entire family are tomatoes
And this the reason I think why
is this
We all have and possess such
perennial rotten luck
Passed down from my Dad to
Bianca the baby
Red faces born out of total
and due to utter exasperation
Wondering why oh why
What on earth did or could we all
of us have done wrong
Each and every one of us tarred
with the same unsightly fate
Also knowing nothing is or will
ever change
Or we will ever get to know the
reason why
Either
'wind is pounding in my heart'
It tears across the steppes and plain, it guides my mind and eases pain
Whithin the yurt, upon the road, it whets my mind; eases the loads
I've rode it's Breast ten thousand times,' with banner high the yak tails nine
Its of my blood, throughout my race, we hold it near'in flood; or trace
It's face is clear,, it's embrace strong, we sing it's praise riding along
The clatter of the ponys hooves, not loved by those who dwell neath rooves.!
The pallid sallow, wall surrounded.. And when we start they'll be astounded..'
We ride hard two days and nights, to charge and wheel; and ever strike.'
To clear a space, where yurts can be; then to move in travel free
To wake to different scenes around, to venture quickly into feotid towns
To take a bargain, to strike a deal; to return to the fire, and let sleep steal
And in this act, renew our mettle, to grasp each chance with finest fettle.
'For the contest of Constance Lafrance'
'Be inspired by your muse'
Written 17 8 2022
One’s parents are perennial,
Source of love eternal.
Selfless nature and ever,
A pure protection sure.
Never expecting from us,
In any situations.
Let’s not hate them,
Let’s not leave them.
A pinch of affection,
A particle of devotion.
Will give them contentment,
In proper instalment.
Spread this super verse,
For these Lords of Universe..!
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