Moving like moonlight
I am the OG silver surfer
Fleshwalkers, Dry Guys, Land Livers,
Have been around for,
What, 300,000 years?
Try 20 million years.
We eat stingrays.
Literally. For breakfast.
I have a 360 degree field of vision.
What's directly in front of me?
Don't ask.
Listen, Humanoids,
I'm delivering this plea
To your nearest post office.
Luckily I found a stamp
With my photo on it.
The plea is:
We are different from the other sharks
(Uhh: other sharks don't use post offices)
And are undeserved of their
Ruthless, roguish, reputation.
Yes, we are younger
Than our arrow-headed brethren
(Just 400 million years younger.)
But our brains are bigger.
Evidenced by our lack of interest
In Walky-Talky interaction.
Check your stats.
Us Real Heads are considered
"Shy" among you. Right.
You wouldn't believe
The number of karaoke
Joints down here.
The moon now
Has dipped down
From the world of air
While the sun has made it's rise.
I'm starting to tan in the shallows
A tad too much for my taste.
Stay safe, sentient skin slickers!
I must be one my way now
At 20-25 miles per hour.
Categories:
walky talky, animal,
Form: Ekphrasis
Sacred native forests
remain enraptured in souls
shadowing mysterious nature's silence.
Or when so deluged and brisk winded,
stormed to rage wild absence of restraint
overpowering more domesticated sounds of commodifying busyness,
diesel fueled 18-wheelers
carrying walky-talky caffeine flying drivers,
warning blares of commerce's trains
for those without bodies and brains
to move away from rumbling dust river of busy tracks.
Native forests
speak sacred wilderness power through all five senses.
I cannot see a sacred forest
singing I Did It My Way,
or My Way Or The HighWay
appropriate anthems in their less bird-songed place, yes,
but not sacred lusty psalms of organic notes
for and from native forests,
where sacred sights
sound naturally right
and smell absent of stinky busy fright,
and taste and feel recycling peace.
Categories:
walky talky, beauty, health, peace, solitude,
Form: Free verse