I spent so many lonely days,
many even lonelier nights,
asking of myself
the whys and wherefores
of this terrible life.
To suffer such ignoble pains,
to be unjustly accused
of things I had not done.
I searched and sought
for reasons unknown.
Did I deserve such a life?
Or should I count the blessings,
a handful of good times?
Should I be content
with what I've received?
Can I say I'm incomplete?
That I have not achieved?
Or is there a balance somewhere
that is forever eluding me.
Do I double count ill luck?
Do I half the good old times?
I must at least be sincere-
evaluate my life complete.
Yet if it's peace I seek
I must remember
that it is not for me
to ask why this, why that,
rather admit that happiness
comes only if we accept and say
"Thy will be done".
Then I'll need to trek
uncharted roads,
fall into dark ravines;
meander through ugly days,
loiter through dreary solitary nights.
For I shall find all comfort:
the sadness I left behind.
Lines.
Vascular, photosynthetic ravines,
Cut deeply into the skin;
They morph from scar into the heart's sustenance.
Supporting bridges over ravines
or gap-toothed kings and queens
abutments may be improperly named
BUT they’re effective all the same
Although the sky is cloudy, we have a clear direction,
We soar through the thick clouds or cloud disruption.
When the pure white clouds spread like a carpet,
We glide over them like seagulls in flight target.
It resembles the smoke of a steamboat,
The swirling cloud is approaching about.
I realized I had entered the West border,
Gazing intently at the shape of Earth order.
Everything looks even and featureless,
The gray steppe, the mountains, the winding dunes.
The ravines carve through relentless,
Like the wrinkles of an old person on Earth’s surface.
In the distance, a settlement waves,
Did the people there see us from the graves?
“I’ll be a pilot when I grow,” the boy dreams,
With that ambition, he set his sights!
No matter how vast the land may spread,
From the sky, it's just a palm instead.
When my feet touch the ground below,
I’ll be as small as that hand in tow!
Psyche went to Eros
to speak.
He tried to gain her attention but she refused to
look at him.
She told him Titan disrupted Poseidon's plans
by sending a large wave to Oceania. The people there
stood on the shores
with the faith that the fishes would land at there
feet and ther need for food would
be quenched. All survived and they took the fish
to be pickled and brimed.
Psyche told Eros
that Zeus wished him to destroy
the vats of netar and
dump them into
the ravines of Hornorely(unknown place)
Eros looked at the woman
and told her, " that if she was
smittened by him: she wouldn't speak foul of love."
Feeling he had wondered off subject she turned to him
and saw his face.
She feel in love with him and they married. When she found she was pregant she made him immoral. He used his
powers to dump the nectars in the sea. He built a place for the people he had
ghelp create to study art and music and create wagons and raises goats and horses.
Zues blessed him with land and gold.
Though the sky was cloudy, the path was clear,
We soared through thick clouds, drawing near.
When white clouds spread like a soft carpet wide,
We glided above like a seagull in stride.
The clouds resembled a ship's smoky plume,
Drawing close, prepared to resume.
Westward I noticed our course to be,
Gazing at Earth's grand symmetry.
All seemed smooth, stretched far and vast,
The gray steppe, dunes, and mountains amassed.
Only the ravines with their rugged line,
Marked the land like an old face's sign.
From afar, a village waves its hand,
Did its people see us above their land?
Does a child dream, with ambition so strong,
To be a pilot, where dreams belong?
Though the land is endless, vast, and wide,
From the sky, it fits in a palm’s stride.
And when I return to the ground below,
I too may feel like a child, I know!
Cowboys
Let the cowboys be…
Let them tend to causes....genuine and real
To bequeath…an opportunity to be authentic.
To bequeath…a shot at redemption
To weed the errant and replant in ravines, chasms
In pastures new…
….the errant cowboys,
…..burdensome, irksome, oppressive…too much
….for sale, with privileges too plentiful
…..the ones acting out.. avaricious mode aplenty
……one too many errors
……. lives not to be trampled upon
………let the cowboys be, in bountiful pastures new!
Perhaps some coffee beans to sweep away the pain
The angst caused by servings of callous, and cruelties untold
Met her out in Costa Rica that summer
we were on the streets on Liberia when it hit me
crossed by an old casino long since burned out
forgotten
that’s when you looked at me
ever since then
and since that time down south
I wondered what you meant
back there
never questioined though
these things being the way
they always are
the timing wasn’t right
but it was more than just that
wasn’t it?
Took horses into the mountains
past ravines
groves with mangos not quite ripe
past howling monkeys
and up to the ridge
I could see you
Either way, whatever it was shattered in Cay Caulker
nothing good ever lasts
not in Belize anyway
all rounded down and divided in half
leaning on the collossus to keep itself afloat
you were there
and when I saw your smile
Got up and left my drink at the bar
didn’t want to start trouble with the guy
you came in with
I fell and I stood up, I am still standing
I faced many crisis and traumatic things,
I fought it all and I am still standing
I changed directions many times
I re-located quickly and often as well
Some things were from the past
Some things were new and unexpected
But, one thing stayed steady on solid ground
Never faltering, lessening or falling
My beliefs, my creativity and my purpose
I will fall many more times in rocky days
In a life with unexpected bumps and ravines
I will stand on cliffs I reach and admire beauty
Life is a mixture of all these turns and things
I will always rise and stand, seeking light upon them
Heidi Sands
10/10/24
(C)opyright
Dead planet
Walk, just walk, deserts, mountains, valleys, ravines, and craters give the view
In horrific landscapes, no life exists, oceans, seas, forests, or green flower fields.
Silence the ruler of this planet, the invisible frozen past from thousands of years ago
Destructed civilization, atomic bombs, this is the truth. The Mars is a dead planet
Would you like to look at the satellite images and the photographs of the Mars rovers?
Pyramids are interesting and not natural objects and shapes. A lot more memories
There are pyramids on Earth, all created by the same civilization. Extraterrestrials
This civilization killed itself on Mars, we are the witnesses to their lives of heritage
We must learn from their mistakes. The Earth must always be green. The living Earth.
Home
Our home
In our solar system
Still
Does not exist
One more
Living Earth
as I stare into vast emptiness,
somehow, I feel complete.
I go to the forest, for rest.
the sun's rays peak through the leaves.
caving into myself,
the light intrudes my being.
within you’ll find, there is wealth
beyond what we’re perceiving.
gracious for nature’s transience.
stay and observe the stillness.
illuminating my presence,
through conscious awareness.
the river flow takes me along,
as I paint the night of daydreams.
Vivid hues empower muse to song.
blank canvas, I carve moonlit ravines.
written tempos inscribed in my skin.
etched into absence.
Unswayed heart beats not voided to worldly sin,
but bleeds of passion.
by c. geeplay
The passionate winds blow among
the branches on the plains, while the
river flows among the ravines and
cliffs. The feisty embrace of the
moon's shadow blooms on the horizon,
moving in leaping steps upon
the night’s longing swells,
crusted with the honeyed songs
of birds flapping their wings to
the rustle of the river’s waves.
The hope in the yearning voices
on the shore refuses to vanish
into thin air, as the moon shows
her face, shining quietly in the
evening sky. The leaps of the
hunter is uninterrupted by
the dew that mists the
plants and thorns of the wild
shrubs and flowers, and I stand
there and marvel, as an
evanescent
morning
swoops in.
A hot sweltering sticky humid evening
Heat clings and hangs in the stagnant air
Almost too hot and stifling to bear
Floods of silver wet ovaline beads
Perspire and exude from every opened pore
Trickle and slide in small ravines
Skin soaked and shines and glistens
Under subdued ambient lamp light
Darker varied shades and tones
Paint and cast shadowy patches
Upon contours crevices and folds
The night when chocolate and vanilla
Eclipse-like lovers' lips
Melt and merge into one
Deliciously delectable
Honey sweet tasty and succulent
And perpetually morish
Licking the bowl clean
The dawn breaks
The last remnants of last night's cloak of darkness
Clears and teardrop-sticky dew evaporates
Dried by the stretching rays
Of a warming newly birthed morn
The hen stretches her wings
And clucks
The cockerel croaks
As the stifling heat has now gone
And morn cools down.
Carpet patterns
and the swirlings of grain
in wooden floors were maps
to me of exotic worlds,
portal holes for a child
to enter and explore
places edged on the
furthest reaches
of the fabulous.
Even today, as an old man,
I saw a landscape
in miniature when morning sunlight
came through the window
and crept across
the room, illuminating a map
in the knots and welts of grain
rolled out on the pinewood floor.
I found myself off on tour
swept into the detail
along its ravines
and imagined trails,
into its wild inland,
the unfenced territories whose
vast subterranean caves
well far below what
can be seen, the dank
dormitories of dream.
And then,
above the underworld,
dry plains paused
by rocky outcrops
of doubt, the long silences
that stretch for miles
and curl up in corners
when evening falls.
The star pitted dark hung
with mystery, morse
for the mystic,
until a sober perspective
shrank the sublime
back into a smaller space
to fit ordinary sight
and became
the comforting familiarity
of a well trodden
wooden floor, aged, uneven,
basking in the morning's
honeyed light.
Hush o'er azure stone ridge,
hypnotic wax moon dash,
wispy crescent rustle from,
a piebald furry deer,
nocturnal stealth enshrouded,
silver tint antler scoops,
limp orange leaf detritus,
canopy of maroon ink,
black mist dewdrops spill,
corral Northern Bobwhite quest,
shuddersome elk teeters on,
bituminous coal summit,
cast a pearl oyster glance,
into an uncanny precipice,
enigmatic phenocryst ravines,
spellbound immersive trickle,
species of the dome shape,
muted in clandestine trot,
oe’r mushroom quandary in crossing,
to slink away the eerie stillness
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