The landscape is colourless, featureless
What defines it is the sky
The crashing clouds and circulating wind
That flies beyond our human sight and
Cuts the horizon beyond its borders.
Sometimes it changes like the flow of
Time, the universe and everything
Can you see it morphing?
In your deep eyes, those flashes of light
Mean nothing but colour.
What is colour to us?
What is colour to me?
Colour is nothing
For colour only decorates and
Says nothing substantial
Giving it life while
Taking ours away
Like blinking specks of diminishing light.
You are colourless in my eyes.
The land has not escaped
Scraped capered and shorn
Wild and unruly
Shaped by sapien fantasy
In state like a funeral procession
Delayed by man's hand
The noble way of nature
Sequoia pine and verdant brush
Flowers fern and ancient ivy
Not as I am nominally free
Unbounded and unrestrained
As you were meant to be
Chirping sound of insects echoing,
Resonance of such is ever so soothing,
Enhancing the beauty of the surrounding.
Distinctive landscape encompassing,
Illuminating loving-kindness so calming,
Totally immersed in such a surrounding.
Passing clouds fade along the horizon,
Alluring sunset radiates a mystic neon.
Swirling waves crafted a forsaken cave,
Superb scenery of such is indeed a rave.
Expectation of beauty is well surpassed,
Defying Aristotle's logic and his glory past.
To one who’s name is written in the faint perfume upon my neck
Your hands gently tend my landscape with their caress
Each and every flower, you gracefully bedeck
In the richest warmth of your undress
You move your morning breezes into the darkness of my night
Until I no longer know the season or present year
Time is of no essence within my sight
Of warmth or cold, I have no fear
To one who’s name is written on every single line of my heart
In your ink flowing from the radiance of our eternal sun
Your hands tend my landscape in a world apart
Marked on a calendar of none
The cares of life, waft into silent pieces as they come to light
When your morning breeze moves upon my flowers
Each one you tend with your hand’s sight
Forgets these cares of ours
To one who’s name is written in my eyes as my master gardener
My flowers will always seek the ink flowing from our sun
My landscape will be your garden harbor
From your breezes, I will never run
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
of olive trees
opens and closes
like a fan.
Above the olive grove
there is a sunken sky
and a dark shower
of cold stars.
Bulrush and twilight tremble
at the edge of the river.
The grey air ripples.
The olive trees
of captive birds,
shaking their very long
tail feathers in the gloom.
Stare at the landscape, observe the situation,
men and women feeding off each others frustration,
filling their day outta procrastination,
we're all fucking around with no real destination.
No deal out of it, our mind dying of starvation,
waiting for a lucky shot, location, location.
nothing to balance the weight of the equation,
new city, new job, just another bus station.
The landscape brings me back, makes me feel alive,
nothing feels more real than escaping a lie,
remember your roots, look at the other side,
wanna breathe on fresh air till the day I die.
Nothing worth caring - your ego, your pride,
try to get from the world what you can't find inside
clash with the people - love, hate, melt, collide
have the best shot at it, feel the breeze on your ride.
Nothing makes sense on its own that is true,
try to trace the footprints of the ones before you,
our roots are inside us, our trajectory due,
so come through, even if you ain't got a clue.
Yo! You only get on if you try to improve,
you get hurt the worse way when you don't make a move,
we're just blown by the wind - our main choice is to choose
your life ain't worth living with nothing to prove.
Life comes with movement, stick to the groove,
you can shape matter since its concept is loose,
the real power is being whatever you do,
we're all in charge of what's what and who's who.
It's the joy of the hunt not the pain of the kill
it's the run for your freedom not the catch nor the steal,
it's the contraddiction, it's movement being still,
there's nothing to lose so come in for the thrill.
The battle in the dog will be winning the fight,
always something to battle for a man with good sight,
it's not about ideas, there's no left and no right,
it's about living life always ready to bite.
Now this must be the sweetest place
From here to heaven's end;
The field is white and flowering lace,
The birches leap and bend,
The hills, beneath the roving sun,
From green to purple pass,
And little, trifling breezes run
Their fingers through the grass.
So good it is, so gay it is,
So calm it is, and pure.
A one whose eyes may look on this
Must be the happier, sure.
But me--I see it flat and gray
And blurred with misery,
Because a lad a mile away
Has little need of me.
Stretched out over golden landscape,
a heavy blanket of dark indigo
clouds painting the sky.
A glimpse of the towering grey city-scape,
my heart filled with sorrow
as nature softly starts to cry.
A shadow play of rainbow on your cheeks;
Beautiful hair over flows like streams of love;
Breasts are white doves; lips cherry fruits;
A green landscape; your body and mind!