A reminder from the chicklets…
and what a great simple reminder it is a t this time, when togetherness is needed more than ever. Strange that a message of such beauty and importance, can be seen to be offensive by Facebook!?
and what a great simple reminder it is a t this time, when togetherness is needed more than ever. Strange that a message of such beauty and importance, can be seen to be offensive by Facebook!?
Frogs chanting through the fulcrum of the night. These last four poems have all been written in response to my reading of a wonderful book of poems by Silke Heiss, called Sweet nothings. At the end of these incredible poems, she invites one to write ones own poems of a similar nature. so I have…
Winds roar, clouds billow, rains swirls great dances of the ancient womb, through the waterways and vleis, up the wise mountains and dunes, I can hear the rhythm of the steps, hear the silence of the dance, as the storm skips heartily over the mountains, over the sea, to dance another time in another place.
Waking , stretching, yawning, opening the curtains: Metal grey morning light, shrouded in a gray mist, slowly meandering into fluffy clouds; turning pink, Egyptian geese begin to honk excitedly doves angelic slow low songs, resonate through the colours of dark blue; while squirrels start to dart along the branches of the tree, doves slowly drift…
Shaken by the sound of more ice cracking, into unborn futures of sunken societies. Water seeping , falling into drying earth, cracks appear, trees are struggling. My great tree fights off infestations, looses its leaves, throughs new green shoots in the heat of dispear.
Shyly the sun peaks out between houses, flickering through the huge old tree, warming me, as I sit watching it start its daily journey; growing in the spirit of this hot summers day.
and if I feel a song rizing through the cool mist bringing sustenance to the parched world around my cooled smiling face, then I know that my garden and I are twining into a soul world of song and dance, and I feel the soul rise as the leaves begin to perk up from their…
Walking a rhythm, no shoes on my feet, I begin to pick up thoughts feel the life pulsing upward, as I plant myself perfectly still, feeling wisdom, hearing the breeze whispering through the leaves and I stand at attention drinking in our dwindling natuarl world, seeing a consummate manifestation of the universe rich, but troubled.
The breaze russels the leaves of the great tree, I sit under the tree, listening, looking out at the mirage hovering at the horison, drinking in the mystic rhythms of the tree’s ecosystem in the steamy coolness of the midday sun, as I slowly doze off into infinity.
The tree stands between two house, pushing in on it, causing it to be trimmed further back, having its sides shaved, it is drowning in concrete , leaves fallin in anquish as pests attack, leaving black tears running down ancient growth, slowly blocking this great store of wisdom.
I push on through the undergrowth of a huge tree, slowly opening up the way cutting away dead growth and bringing light to this struggling giant, then just sitting in its great shade, letting my feat and hands feel the energy of the wisdom held in this great tree, hoping that this wisdom is not…
Deap in the organic exitement of life sacred conversations between trees, looking after the equalibrium of their ecosystem, exchaning information organic materials, warnings, elements, whispers of the universe.
The seeds lie before me, etching out our torrid past, different colours and sizes; waiting to explode their wisdom, our histories, waiting to enter the ground feal the sacred waters, blossom into the crops of life, invigorating the tired earth, we eat, see the green, conserve the seed of our ancesters, and envision our little…
and the music is deep inside, moving with a geat current, building into our universe, us two here in isolation being happy creating a cheese cake together and our music grows deep down inside, as we smile and ask for more.
This light and I write deep into the dark of night, while the moon slowly peeps through the silhouetted branches of a tree, slowly I look up catching the near full moon, lighting the moody tree tiredness receedes into the soul of the poem.
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