Yo!
You say with a smile 😍
Bright enough to light
Tell million days.
You ride through mountains,
With water on you your back.
And free radical
Compassionate and,
Radical love, on your back.
You are ,
Like a 10,000 sails,
With flames that beat
Love and cheer and
Heart beats.
You light up the day,
Like something I could not say,
You are wise and true.
Like a master of loving stories and
Light.
About rajasthan and the last queen
Raising vibration of enchantment, through and throw.
You rode away!
A trip to Delhi first,
But not before I could remember,
All of the colours of the queen of the sea.
You wrose those vibrations and made
Something that not
All eyes can see,
But through yours are a special brown
All because we met on a
Cockle street with colours bright,
And cheap sandals on our feet.
How fishes save themselves,
If we can true compassion your a man,
I will write to you often and true
Be those mountains in boston view,
To you because you are bright to,
Me too.
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 3:49 PM UTC
Feresco,
Between the light of the nights sky,
Underneath waterfalls, the sky's.
Edging delight.
Are Amber flys which are mole hills.
Harper sits with fright as well,
Under pylons and Oscar night.
Dec 22, 2023
Dec 22, 2023 at 6:00 PM UTC
I've come to a sudden realisation that many think there's nothing I can do about this, about the situation I'm in,
a real sense of a moth at the light.
Very rarely we agree to start the day without a guide, a plan, or a case. Standing tall, knowing we have sunshine on our face, and water in our streams.
Seldomly we say I'm not sure what tomorrow, the day after, month or year will bring, and this is a good place.
Often we listen to people we never meet, about things we are not interested in. Can we plant a tree, cook a soup, or stear a boat instead?
Perhaps we could start saying the words; I don't know what today or tomorrow will bring, and that's great.
Is this a step towards embracing tomorrow for what it is?
Most have a plan for the next;
Day, week, month, year, or decade.
Is this pressing fast forwards on today? missing tomorrow, and the day after, And the precious moments,
in-between...
Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 6:07 PM UTC
I
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken.
II
At the field's end, in the corner missed by the mower,
Where the turf drops off into a grass-hidden culvert,
Haunt of the cat-bird, nesting-place of the field-mouse,
Not too far away from the ever-changing flower-dump,
Among the tin cans, tires, rusted pipes, broken machinery, --
One learned of the eternal;
And in the shrunken face of a dead rat, eaten by rain and ground-beetles
(I found in lying among the rubble of an old coal bin)
And the tom-cat, caught near the pheasant-run,
Its entrails strewn over the half-grown flowers,
Blasted to death by the night watchman.
I suffered for young birds, for young rabbits caught in the mower,
My grief was not excessive.
For to come upon warblers in early May
Was to forget time and death:
How they filled the oriole's elm, a twittering restless cloud, all one morning,
And I watched and watched till my eyes blurred from the bird shapes, --
Cape May, Blackburnian, Cerulean, --
Moving, elusive as fish, fearless,
Hanging, bunched like young fruit, bending the end branches,
Still for a moment,
Then pitching away in half-flight,
Lighter than finches,
While the wrens bickered and sang in the half-green hedgerows,
And the flicker drummed from his dead tree in the chicken-yard.
-- Or to lie naked in sand,
In the silted shallows of a slow river,
********* a shell,
Thinking:
Once I was something like this, mindless,
Or perhaps with another mind, less peculiar;
Or to sink down to the hips in a mossy quagmire;
Or, with skinny knees, to sit astride a wet log,
Believing:
I'll return again,
As a snake or a raucous bird,
Or, with luck, as a lion.
I learned not to fear infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water.
III
The river turns on itself,
The tree retreats into its own shadow.
I feel a weightless change, a moving forward
As of water quickening before a narrowing channel
When banks converge, and the wide river whitens;
Or when two rivers combine, the blue glacial torrent
And the yellowish-green from the mountainy upland, --
At first a swift rippling between rocks,
Then a long running over flat stones
Before descending to the alluvial plane,
To the clay banks, and the wild grapes hanging from the elmtrees.
The slightly trembling water
Dropping a fine yellow silt where the sun stays;
And the ***** bask near the edge,
The weedy edge, alive with small snakes and bloodsuckers, --
I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
IV
The lost self changes,
Turning toward the sea,
A sea-shape turning around, --
An old man with his feet before the fire,
In robes of green, in garments of adieu.
A man faced with his own immensity
Wakes all the waves, all their loose wandering fire.
The murmur of the absolute, the why
Of being born falls on his naked ears.
His spirit moves like monumental wind
That gentles on a sunny blue plateau.
He is the end of things, the final man.
All finite things reveal infinitude:
The mountain with its singular bright shade
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope,
A scent beloved of bees;
Silence of water above a sunken tree :
The pure serene of memory in one man, --
A ripple widening from a single stone
Winding around the waters of the world.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 1:55 PM UTC
Y llew,
Y ddraig ar' blaidd,
Rhwng naws ac saws suriol,
Cadair idris.
Gwen glawiog
Pam clydodd
Diancrwydd, frainc.
Dan lledar e'i felt,
Noson dianc.
Rhag dy fodiau,
BYDLONDEB.
Gwen a fina
wrth tamad
Bur,
O' dy adloniant bywiog.
Nol at y blaidd,
Y llew,
A'r ddraig,
A finau,
Yn hedfan,
Ar adenydd,
Llonydd.
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 6:48 PM UTC
Looking at
empty book shelves ,
Googling motivational reads,
Sweeping through right or left,
Barley,
Hanging on
to the dregs of past days,
Trying to feel,
Some way?
Remembering,
that I've always
Yurned for change,
Is it true , is it right ?
Does the moon always shine,
bright,
Happines washes over,
Like the misty trails
of high up tanks,
Jet oil,
Vapour,
to be
a bore,
Or a sheep,
Or to have worn out souls,
and smelly feet.
Once
I walked a long way,
To save spring time frogs,
From
worn down tyres.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC
wilted spinach,
Washes away.
Guided by fragmented,
Dust.
Narrow Paths,
porcelain plates.
ROUSEVELLTE ,
Tulips intwined.
Golden twang,
Break barking soldiers,
Through gated pits,
Delighted deeds.
Bank on countless queen's,
Breaking vows.
Dealing cards,
With warn out shards.
Warm and cold,
Race of old.
Great,
Day for
Pink mascara.
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 4:51 PM UTC
Multi coloured eyes,
Blue and brown.
Your snout nestled,
Neatly underneath
my folded arms.
Champions sense
for lighting up;
my dim days.
Never interested,
In sheepherding.
Rather lazying,
near river banks.
On warm summer days.
Wagging your patched,
excited tail.
Today a friend gained
Fur covered wings.
Let's hope your love cheers up
some of the angles dust.
Shep RIP 17/05/2020
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 6:40 PM UTC
I gaze upon my windowpane
as the sun utters its goodbyes.
Mixed hues of blue, red, and orange,
grace the stillness of the summer sky.
I lived within these walls,
48 days and counting.
The light beckons, the heat calls
me out from my endless hiding.
The longing for the wind
and a greeting from my neighbor,
feels like fire in the harshest of winters.
But for now all I have is my window,
my paper and a pen--
giving me faith for a brighter tomorrow,
for this too, shall end.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 2:58 PM UTC
As I fill the washing machine;
I think.
What a memorable scene,
As the washing machine fills
So do my eyes.
Like left over dries,
I think,
How you stained my soul.
With a green breathless dream,
I think.
How you stood next to an open fire,
I think
Your soot stained face,
Stained in every perfect place
I think.
When it turns around,
soap suds are seen.
So are my empty dreams.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 12:39 PM UTC