Black and sticky
Karma filled up
Wears me down
Achy swelling
Universal truth
Virtue uncultivated
State changed
Rebirthed anew
Matters energy
Never ending
Reformed anew
With karmic debt
Repayment due
Suffering, (dis)ease
Attachments galore
Cosmc disconnect
Pooling are drops of vermilion blood,
leaving their immortal mark for keeps.
Expunged restless energy is flowing.
Canine marked skin and a purr flowing,
just shy of breaking the skin for blood.
A sound cradled in a whisper keeps.
Uncultivated hysteria the sunset keeps
takes control of the connection flowing.
The unwilling at the mercy of their blood.
The victim’s tepid blood keeps flowing.
Splendid, sepulchral,
uncultivated yet beautiful!
the last flower of Latium...!
The dahlias were once,
they bloomed once,
now they are churning earth,
in a faraway time
making a living by dying.
Dead, the flowers are dead,
yet the dirt is alive with their progeny.
Uncultivated buttercups
are seeding green pastures,
weeds are building trestle bridges.
Fertile bones are mating in a humming mud
Nothing is too faraway,
to be dead for long.
Soon the heart blooms also.
Follow the red dirt road.
Take it slow, walk it,
this is not an exploration
nor a pilgrimage,
it is a short tour around
the beginning of an idea
and its end.
Move along
past the few rural homesteads,
pass beyond the shacks
and the weather-beaten
tumbledown cabins,
the double and single wide
not so mobile homes
with their rusting trucks.
Hurry past the gypsy encampments.
with their gangs of wild dogs
until that dirt road ends
in a dry long uncultivated field.
This is where the dust
covers the old road maker
and beside his sunbaked bones
see how his maps and plans
are rolled up tight
never to be unrolled again.
Shavuos, a holiday with two different faces
One in an uncultivated desert
The other on a cultivated farm...
On Shavuos itself Jews soar to the highest of heights
But this poem's about the run-up, pre-flight
For it's all about how well you prepare
that determines the outcome when you get there
God whisked Israel from Egypt to Sinai in 45 days
Then gave them the Torah without undue delay
One face of Shavuos is therefore called 'Weeks'
Jews count seven of them, then on Sinai God speaks...
The Festival of First Fruits takes five years to evolve
For the first three, there's no touching a tree
In the fourth year, that fruit tree is holy
In the fifth year, in Jerusalem, Israel partakes, finally
What is the reason for these two different faces
God didn't tell us, He left us no traces
But I think there's a lesson: We reap what we sow
~ The longer we anticipate, the more we grow
Today, of all days
Let's not make a deal
Out of sleep deprivation
There's a bag
Upon the back
That stands ready for invitation
...to spill
Expectations collect
Wanting love to appear
On scattered lines
Were you desiring
A truth bomb
From an uncultivated mind
...to heal
A moment, a pure moment
Where one sees
And desires the perception
Is the acceptance
One must experience
Out of a far fetched inspection
...to reel
Presence
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-24-2022
The wilderness is uncultivated
The forests are untapped
The oceans are pregnant with billions
When I look at how many solutions
That already exist in my choice sphere
I crawl back into my shell
But the next minute, I'm informed of the crisis, in multiples of ten, that has hit the neighbourhood, and aha
I'm forced to step out and get my hands tilling. We need to keep the solutions coming because the challenges are on endless auto-arrival
Wherever you see a need to give a hand, forget the number of hands in the room, send in yours.
Worse than food shortages
is the voidness of dreams
uncultivated field
harvest of unhappiness
Uncultivated;
sensuous and delicate.
White clovers delight
In the beauty of spring.
Green was the theme, mainly green and blue
then came you
in your floral dance and open mouths,
red insect-eating lips. snaky tongues
big, bold, and subjectively pretty,
objectively fleshy,
lushly, lustful, lapping at life.
The sun adopted the new
grey turned greyer next to you.
Blooming bouncing behemoth begonias
yet uncultivated, all hungry to suck the soil,
burst breeding seeds, pollinate, infiltrate,
dominate, habituate, inflate.
Then when the small ape-like manikins
(proto us),
began to populate
they picked you.
Oh man, oh stupid moron twerp,
how could you be so bigoted and intolerant?
For I too saw her every blessed night
dancing in the glade, a youthful dance,
moon rays shining through dark boughs,
as she pirouetted, unshod and skimpily dressed,
deep in the dark green forest,
where no song birds trilled.
She delighted in her freedom,
she asked no one for help,
her food was all that she could find,
from the hedges and the trees.
Wild apples, uncultivated mushrooms,
yummy blackberries, cranberries and hazelnuts,
all depending on the season.
And although emaciated, she was strong,
dancing to the moon, in a silent interlude.
Until some idiot decided she was mad,
others agreed, and in an asylum she was sent:
Only to die. Oh stupid feathered brained man!
Wildflowers are uncultivated vegetation.
In forests and towns growing without cultivation.
Like most they are used in home medication.
Dandelions are nutritious and can ease pain's vexation.
Fever few staves off migraine attacks while,
Low immune is boosted by berries and chamomile.
Our bloating and gas is helped by chamomile tea,
While sore throat pain is helped with a bit of honey.
Eucalyptus oil can help make sinus pain moot.
Retaining water and PMS, try some chaste tree fruit.
Send out for a book on natural cures.
Don't poison yourself with drugs bought in stores.
FRAGRANT ROSE
The fragrance of a rose
is loved by everyone.
Yet few understand its beauty
until their life is done.
They buy roses from flower shops
where all roses look the same
and neglect to visit hillsides
where roses grow in God's name.
Alone and quite forgotten,
uncultivated by men,
the ordinary rose
remains memorable until the end.
People try to control roses
to achieve wealth and fame,
but the rose is like a child,
the product from where it came.
Janet Marie Bingham
The rose, having
no-longer
place to go…
for even, outside the gardens,
the wild well knows
that beauty, uncultivated,
never grows….
One does not use
soil tilled
by a scalpel;
and bodies of
unborn
to fertilize…
such eyes
cannot blossom
(though the shape
of bulbs)
nor ever produce
for the nose
one fragrance
divinely
pleasing….
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