The rocks were warm, hard, embers
of the summer day sun.
The air was calm, balmy, thick and syrupy.
The sea a mirror, shimmering with
gentle sky sparkles and glints.
The girl entered the scene so serenely.
She removed her hat devotedly,
to take it all in,
lithely lingering on the shore.
She became a willing partner,
a participant in the
textural contrasts
of the scene with gentle
white dress caressing
over the rocks so gently.
Her demeanor and blank face expressed
the peacefulness, tranquility and solitude
of the scene,
so welcoming
and engrossing.
The wind whirls
Around the trees
To gather their foliage
Around their base.
Brown and red
With remnants of summer
In a sprinkle of green.
I feel a sudden
Rush of ecstasy
Jumping in a pile of leaves!
I land on my back
In this textural bliss
Hearing them crunch
As they soften
My landing.
The child within
Cheers with delight
Jumping
In a pile of leaves.
Written September 3rd 2022
For the "Fall Flavours" contest
Theme chosen: Jumping In A Pile Of Leaves
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
By Buffs and shrugs experts revive the dead
detect means of two worlds how spread
they call the being extraterrestrial living
looking for water in space with misgiving
Depict art sign's formed by ancient designs
laid there for centuries among pines
having textural and deep meaning
still thou scientists search by screening
Ancient Paradise i call for thou art skewed slantwise
an sought to show us a future advice
tho' myth still exists in thee
from about there i buy my fee
Floating freely on the divine wind blowing from within
a cosmic jack in the box unleashed from it's human tin
my mind shed the constrictions of mortal flesh and skin
as a journey through consciousness did begin.
The morphing, textural layers of realities fabric
woven before me to make something magic
this life so simple, yet complicatingly tragic.
Geometricity hiding behind my eyes
always withinin view yet often out of reach or sight
my place amongst the glittering stars at night
is re-affirmed with a giggled childish delight.
The pyramid beckons from a far out dimension
whispering secrets that it should not mention
hinting and leading all kinds of direction
guiding my mind and it's trailing attention
such clarity of sight from this spiritual ascension.
As individual straw strands weave a single hay bale
the yin needs the yang like male and female
these countless incarnations of my souls glorious tale
a glimpse beneath the godly veil at kingley vale.
©John-Ovan.P.Hull
she was incandesed with rage
and began calling us out our names
BUTTON-DOWN POOT
EXOPHTHALMIC RAG-PIMP
SPLINDED-LIMBED LOOSER
LUMPEN-YUPPIE
SCRAWNY-PICKLED MONKEY MEN
so we had to butt in
little does one know when there drunk
that they hurt innocent people
this was her commitment everyday
to textural atonalism and chromatic adventure
the price we endure by the ones we love
ignorance instilled
patience out the door
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