coarse sand forms brown rills
hard scree, rock cleft trills
fine clouds frame red kite
string slack; old maid wills
The Dream of a Rill
Up in the highlands a leafy green dell
where day dreamers dream in the quiet still
blissfully dreaming beneath nature’s spell.
Where clusters of daisies cover the hill
and soft sighing zephyrs sway the blue bell
slow dancing in time by a bubbling rill
The rill herself is a wandering stream
And she, like the dreamers, has her own dream
She’ll leave the green dell, and finally flow
beneath the old bridge where children do wade
bypass the tall pines in long serried row
all standing up straight, like scouts on parade
Then winding through banks where the bulrushes grow
mid marsh marigolds that bloom in the shade
She’ll meet with her fate, a strong river free
And join its bold rush to greet the wide sea.
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
The level of the stinky dirty water
Of the creek running near my house
Not falling this year.
In this dry season,
Water not falling from the taps,
the rivers became lean.
Its course somewhere encroached upon
Protests have
not heard, non willing to stop
Earth filled and fenced .
And in the dirty rill
Its water level rather rising
I saw them as ghosts haunting.
More they will haunt when rain comes.
Then the soothing sound of the rain
Will be terrifying to our minds.
old saw
scissored shades of Betsycoed
taste of yester youth's sweet tones
splashing sound of forest water
kissing shining sacred stones
Dreams of swirling druids dancing
in the faery water's rill
flash reflective thoughts of flight
The dragon tears yet spill
The druid hymn of waiting
for greed to die of want
a constant scream of tortured winds
belie the curse of can't
What matters ought to those who fought
and died that I be here
to stand beneath a blazing sky
and gaze upon the Western sea
moments of reflective thought
pondered on expressed and caught
to feed an ever growing need
To dig and rap and plant a seed
That blossoms in another mind
Repeated as the finest kind
to be forever sowing seed
To seed
And time to spend with thee
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