Now the twilight was gone
As we arrived at little Utah inn.
At the edge of the vast prairie.
We rested well savouring the bliss
Of a quiet night away from the city.
Yet early in the morning we woke
To the sound of hooves pounding
Of the dust covered bison which ran
Across the shrubby prairie,
Leaving a large cloud of dust.
Time for breakfast, delicious and tasty.
From our window we could admire
The evergreen red cedars and admired
The tall forest of American Arborvitae.
But my love was fascinated by
The cultivated Saucer Magnolia.
We decided to hire a guide and leave for a park.
We were sure to see birds flying.
Colorful and warbling to our delight.
The Reddish Egret caught our fancy
Though the Sapsucker could compete its song.
But now twilight was descending again
So back to a delicious evening fest.
How we’ll rue the time when
We had to turn back to noisy city unrest.
The gleaners undirt
these profane candy morphs
as they sift through the fields
in springs and falls.
Apiaceous, mud beige
burrowed beasties, them
bow legged, cowboy pulps;
others with flipped birds
sprung up from their hairy
carrot fists, bronxing to the sun.
You would think they
would be tough, those
mutter udders, those gangsta roots,
but they slice nicely into sticks,
lunch box size, far sweeter
than the common orange of their ilk,
far sweeter than their own
shrubby beards would veil.
Perhaps it’s the extra time
under muck that honeys them up,
dirt balls matriculating,
steeped in their element.
On weekends at the soup kitchen,
late May through long past Labor Day,
we pack the sweet gleaned under-chips
into sack lunches with smoked ham hero’s
and Frito's downtown behind the Kroger
where a sunny civil riot takes
place on Saturdays, and everyone
shows up out of their bag
to pick up the sticks, hungry stomachs,
all blood color-red in the gut
all ready to sit their hells
down…and eat.
You Shine of the sun like delighting the senses,
Me the flowing water,beauty enhances.
You twinkling of the stars making darkness glittering,
Me the silent seacoast,waves do flirting.
You the sparking firefly making shrubby cage beautiful,
Me the attracted bug,scenario looks cheerfull.
You beauty of the horizon rising new hopes,
Me the arising thoughts,releasing misery ropes.
You the blowing wind refresing all over,
Me the blooming flowers,turns into spring flavor.
You the tempting rain makes the crust pleasantly smelling,
Mee the dancing peacock, deals with delight feeling.
You the flowing river beautifying the greenry,
Mee the riverbank ,glad to be the part of scenery.
You the soft snow cooling the nature glow.
Me the firm hill on which u gently flow.
You the chilling ocean immense on this sphere..
Mee the static island,compliment becomes rare and fair.!!
I love to march along the Icknield way:
Bretton Heath, Brickklin Covert and Caistor;
Fring Cross, Sedgeford and Swaffham still hold sway.
The sea sings with Terns and Oystercatcher
As we descend to the cold distant shore.
The air is perfumed with sea lavender
And Norfolk’s rich and abundant secret store:
Shrubby sea-blite, sea aster and rock rose.
Rome, come and unleash my manly desire!
Now take away my Icini motherhood
And bring destruction through blood and fire.
Look upon the Torc, a twisted beauty,
Tortured out of gold, silver and art;
And with unbridled terror, our land depart.
shrubby hills
to right
a world of ocean
to left
cranking pedals
smooth my trail,
can't hear anything,
not even conscious.
wind surfaces to the drum
pedals push
and push while the
ocean rocks and rolls
blue is my serenity,
wind is my savior,
pedals are angelic
The banks of the stream are filled with rose hips,
a blossom with tiny delicate tips.
Shrubby, probably a rose of Sharon,
white blossoms fill the bushy bank thereon.
After cutting the lawn, I trim the brush,
culling weeds and vines away from the bush.
Yielding fragrant flowers and testy bees.
In the evening deer nose around the trees.
The treasured petals form a thoroughfare
grown on prickly stems designed to ensnare.
Each budding blossom, like a cherubim,
with pollen nectar for a diadem.
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