A HAIKU TO RESOILING OUR NATION
Seeds of hate cannot
Germinate in soils of love:
Let our soils be so:-
surge into sheltered darkness
sky slithers through canopies
soles slip past red army ants
settled soils call back faintly
seeking upwards for reward
steep and sore our path to climb
success rests on moving clouds
Which is defined among both parts in equal and ample scholar8ng.
In a place that has never been fertilized of who soils has no depths of fertility.
Which courses speaks to generations. Each point meets futuring. The spokes of cantaring where cantrixing differs the inspirations of gathering. She stood guarded as her husband stood there.Inspiration was noted, but to the guarded nature of wedded biss, causes us to notice such differences.
"The buckling irons of the dense forested orchestrated collaborated soundings.The maples of Godbout. The sappy sweet, syrupy
Sweet mentions of mornings, might middays supper be satisfaction lunches
. And the darkness of evening cloak our romantic need for one another."
Written by:
Palmtree Sentuious
_______________________________
Dehydrated
porc
Zucchini
onion garlic
Feta
bread
Duck breast
Cream
Made flavor from the
Cream cheese
that
Mixed with
cucumber
dill
Piped into
Creame de knot
A pastry creame duex
Instead of vanilla
It has a fish stock
Lime
Cilantro
And creame
Filled Choux Pastry.
This one has
Sliced porc and lobster
Madellions
April rain comes hastily,
unexpectedly, like the fleeing rogues of
flaming, crackling farms, clattering on the
roofs of waylaid shelters on
the roads of banishment —
uncompromised,
singing light songs from a
heavy-storming sky band, grey and grieving.
Follow in the footsteps of April rain —
so light, so infrequent, and cautious,
though it rains down thin spikes of
frazzled water, young and ravenous,
for the initiation of roaming soils.
Hush, sand-lung devoured
Dark doorlight on these growing bones.
Her rotten soils flowered
In the firetaps of a hundred homes.
Scratching leaves of Hades
A mother wake as she sleeps
Bang of calling winter breeze
And skull, wailing, weeps.
Yet the care of sweet Persephone
Livens petal into bud.
Forgetful are flowers loved
That she forsake the plea.
In grander form the woundglow throbs
Sealed, golden napalm's artistry.
Yet wonder who we call our gods
The sweetmeat of Gaza street.
But there's the guilty purchased hearse!
Children lost to country lines
The Child lost to moving time
Steeped this blackened curse.
In sickness dawn is sour,
Life's sweetest leaving hour.
Skin's unravelling, another's observe,
Yet the clock heavy strikes the nerve.
To whom now do I serve?
The hum of nature amid the trees
echoes quietly in gentle breeze,
swaying the branches as falling leaves
skim happily over rippled seas.
I would call this paradise on earth,
where peace and tranquility are worth
all the riches and buckets of gold,
more than two hands and both arms could hold.
The papery bark provides a home,
for tiny creatures to work and roam,
using their skills to shelter from rain,
replenishing soils, time and again.
Distant wolves howl out aloud,
a graceful hawk glides past a fleecy cloud,
as sun's reflections shimmer and dance,
and glowing eyes skillfully glance
across the waters, blue as the skies,
while drifting fish are caught by surprise;
and the hum of nature fills the air,
peace and serenity are everywhere.
Paradise on earth, I call this place
surrounded by nature, face to face.
There's so much beauty here to be found,
if we open eyes and look around.
Shades of grey cascades on rainy days
Petrichor reigns after each pitter patter
Radiance of earthy fragrance does flatter
Teardrops down panes.. splitter splatter
Fades to whiffs chiding riffs spit scatter
Forever about weather they do natter
Seems the one thing that does matter
Flowers cowers at showers which batter
Tiffs as petal in fine fettle does shatter
Down trodden by a sodden mad hatter
Raised bed fed on shed drops clatter
Spoils for alluvial soils a pluvial platter
Some veg in tatters others seem fatter
Folks chitter chatter.. prefer the latter
Cumulus nimbus nimbly flitter & flutter
Sunrays grasp after a last gasp stutter
Sliding gliding riding wooden shutter
Rasp of uncouth din off a roof of tin
Staccato rinse & repeat beat does utter
Burgling drains & gurgling in the gutter
Huddles of puddles cuddle and splutter
Parched Earth’s skin softens like butter
Mother Nature's own homegrown nutter
Folks groan have to clear up soaked clutter
Mumble prone to moan but not a tut tutter
Mustn't grumble need the tumble they mutter
Quicker than life can blink, death lobs a bite
To end life's beauty with a startling jab
As swine rootling truffles, it stalks with might
Trapping motley, rich or poor to its web
Amidst pleasures, our finest hope they steal
And cast in vaults where upon we shall slab
And soils are strewn over without repeal
It’s a drab drape on our wound like a scab
Who can halt this dark implacable plight?
Even conjurors’ mourn this scaring blow
With grunts, in grief and so without respite
A lobbed spear from the earth's shady shadow
Would the hand of sorrow and death be nabbed,
Yet their clutch leaves the heart stabbed.
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Hands hold tight to the loose ends of hope
As we toil and crack, night and day,
Hoeing up bits of earth and its fragile retributions.
Our crops and little beads of sweat drip to waste
On the ground’s boiling soils.
Eyeh is another name for a deceased generation.
The ones that sprout stubbornly through restive
Delays get re-greened, losing vibes of communal
Watering, ceremonial baptisms.
Birds build their nests in haste,
When bent cusp-blades sprout secretly at twilights,
Behind ethereal curtains of dawn falling
To the consternation of treacly, bitter syrups of time . . .
Is this continuous planting . . . and delirious season?
Has it come to that —when drunken war mongers
Form weapons from slats of pallid bamboo stationed
At the guard posts of violated yams and their flaccid
Tendrils?
I fear.
Such suzerainty over yellowing crops
Transcends the coats of black dust hiding from the disease
Of identity.
It is still planting season, brethren.
The deafening sounds of cannons shake the stalks yonder.
There's a smug dance of weevils on the graves of tubers.
Born in the shade where the cold roots creep,
a bud stayed small in the soils deep sleep.
Others rose early, all petals and praise,
while it stayed twisted through endless days.
Whispers called it a withered mistake,
a bloom too broken to ever awake.
Yet cracks in the darkness let one truth through,
the rarest flowers bloom out of view.
When dawn at last brushed its quiet face,
it opened slow with a fierce, strange grace.
Not meant for gardens that bloom on time,
its beauty waited, then struck sublime.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
A woman who symbolises burning morality,
Her husband executed in blood thirsty brutality.
A will of a tamil wife that could not be broken,
Flames and fire in Madurai had spoken.
A will of a tamil woman that could not be broken,
The choice of accusation over truth has woken.
A tear that shed red, honest blood,
No fire nor flame could be extinguished by a flood.
A virtue of a tamil heroine, which boils,
Her husband ashes buried beneath the soils.
Kannagi, the tamil woman of truth and balance,
The torch in her hand burned the Madurai palace.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
I Walk With The Stars far from the lesser Creeds
Indeed, the Starseed breeds Greater Faculties
I Am Light Born, Light Forged by the Celestials
I Am Archetype Quintessential,
I Am Omnipotent by The Great Fire that Dwells Within
Upright like Djed Pillars unto Greater Firmaments,
Never So Low to Behold what was Long Foretold
that the Golden Temple within sits in Unmeasurable Gold,
to the High Heavens that Glisten, a Great Flame Has Risen
I Am Blissful, I Am Luminous by the Greater Intuition
Into the Ether where the Currents Of Life Rip
where All Is Wise, where All Is Electric
I Am Eccentric, where the soils toil in Egypt
I Am Israel, I Am a Citadel, Up High like Asclepius
I Am Born in High Hopes on High Roads, I Blaze like a Shooting Star
I Am Ever-Present, Ever-Excellent, Ever like Eagle to Asgard
I Am Ever-Glowing, Ever-Flowing far from the Subpar
I Am VICTORIOUS, I Am ILLUMINED, for I Walk With The Stars
IN GOD’S RAINING GLORY
Without falling rain,
Where in this world would we be
Without God’s waters?
Please God, wet our will’s power,
With your hydrating guidance:-
With wisdom’s wetness,
And sunshine enlightenment,
Let us stream onward:
Frothing inequality,
With hydrating equity:-
In rain glory,
Let us get up and going:
Love’s laboring waits:
With God navigating us,
Let’s wet life with equity:-
In injustice's soils,
Let’s plow and sow justice’s seeds:
Reaping its onement:-
May the fruits of our labors,
Ever flow justice’s juice:-
And indeed God, please
Allow falling snow to freeze
Heated oppression:-
Then, let it just melt away
And be evaporated:-
Where are those green soils
That we used to dig
Waves in every pore
In soft moonlit hours
And plant sapling of choice
Ecstatic earth trembled
Do you remember
How soft earth it was
And that pond in the middle
We would plunge our bucket
And lift it filled with water
The clock yielding
cherry blossoms
Time is a dacoit
The Huns and Vandals
It robs us of our roses
It plunders our jewellery
Destructs our construction
Not just cruelly, ruthlessly
Time itself is ever present
With its indestructible two arrows
Aha, what a dense green it was
And what a tree it yielded
Sonnet under green light
Of the ephemeral glowworms
Barmy blacksmiths, forging Fate
Smack-dab, smashed and working late
Stuck deep in and wrenching wrists
Tattered skin on itchy fists
Spewing salty starless space
Into eyes and all over face
The wall and put your best foot on
A boxy board housing Spawn
Groggy gauges, clicking close
To the time the Boss had chose
Feeling funny, one Smith exits
Others watch him through their slits
Lined looking, between blades
Hanging hazards, shovels and spades
Their brother's bowel blows and boils
As life's liquid bursts and soils
Clothes clamped, stammered sound
Shrieking lumps, lurching around
Weapons washed, in red and green
The first, and last, blacksmith seen.
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