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 Jun 2016
Pauline Morris
Deep within the woods there is the perfect rock
It is under the tallest tree, right next to a small stream
Worn smooth by years and hours of sitting, by the shyest little girl
For when she was there time would stop, she had no need for a clock
She would sit for hours under the great tree's shade
Reading every book she could get her hands on
Although her body remained on that stone
Her mind was far away, the woods around her would fade

She was a detective, solving the hardest case
She was once a Queen and had tea with those She knighted
She rode a dragon and waged war on the wicked mage
She sailed the giant waves of the seven seas
She climbed to the top of Mount Everest
She sat astride the most beautiful mighty wild stallion
She fought a mighty mid evil battle brought the King to his knees

Yes that stone was very smooth
For out in those woods was her escape
The birds singing there sweet songs, the stream babbling all faded to back ground noise
Those books always her mood and mind could soothe
 Jun 2016
Keith Wilson
A  flock  of  wild  geese
have  just  flown  by.

Very  pleasing  
to  the  eye.

I'm  in  the  heart
of  nature  here.

Quite  content
with  little  fear.

Mother  nature  works  away
something  new  turns  up  each  day.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK. 2016.
 Jun 2016
Valsa George
The afternoon was excessively humid
The earth seemed a seething hot furnace
Dark clouds were gathering overhead
Lightning drew florescent patterns in the sky
Thunder boomed and rumbled
A few sparse drops of water hit the window pane
The air grew dark, leaves shivered
Soon the rain pelted down in torrents
Drumming on the corrugated tin roofs

Spreading a dark curtain between the eye and the sky
It poured down in full fury for about an hour
In no time it flooded the ditches and hollows
But its might slackened and it vanished as quickly
As it had come, like a messenger on an urgent errand

The day was dying and I witnessed another rain
The rain of insects into the sequestered freedom of the night
Termites and white ants, sleeping in the hollows
Suddenly emerged from their lairs in thousands
Out of every crack and cranny, every fissure and hole
From under every boulder and brick
Winged termites emerged, fluttering about dreamily
Never knowing they were on their first and last flight
They all flew towards the bright light in the porch
But striking against the concrete ceiling
They fell down one by one, some losing their wings
And creeping on the floor, like wounded warriors
A quivering swarm of insects, a clumsily moving mass

This was the harvesting time for the geckos
In one and two, the lizards emerged from their hide
Flicking their tail, they stood ready for the catch
With their darting sticky tongue, they began
Devouring the insects, hastily cramming their stomachs
Until they could hold no more

When the insects began invading the inner space
I switched off all the lights and went to bed
The cool air and the sonorous but rhythmic chants of the frogs
Put my sleepy eyes into sound slumber
Early morning as I woke up
I saw the porch strewn with filmy wings of the termites
They lay like scattered chaff after the corn has been stored
Also some weak survivors, staggering to their end

I thought, to what bleak fate, the exodus of insects
Had taken off on their wings for their maiden flight!
The other day when it had rained after a dry spell and soon after the rain had stopped, I witnessed winged ants in thousands taking into the sky..... another rain!!
 Jun 2016
CA Guilfoyle
Today the rains came, without any warning
I watched droplets forming, pooling on the ground
the trees dissolving into palest fog
into the quiet of this forest, void of birds
traveling off to some secret world
perhaps to some cavernous mountain hollow
with glorious wings, I dream to follow
through the darkened woods, hidden by ferns
through harrowing clouds to be one with birds
with gorgeous feathers, downy warm
among the flickers, pheasant and crow
to be an evening silhouette in the alpenglow
a skylark winging in a painted sky.
 Jun 2016
Lucrezia M N
Trying to understand this suffering sky,
I wonder why you paint it dark
breaking stares by ravishing storms
and blues at times, cause so do I.
Your true spark there it belongs
wonderful abyss that can’t ever be denied...

Empathy, chemical reaction to my thoughts,
rebel emotions on skin we wrote like
through your fingers drops of soul,
pure water, infinite source of light
love, you and so I did grow fond of.

Rain falls only on this face of mine
reflecting all smiles I make wildly
catching your words like souls in flight,
hearing sounds of precious stones and intensity,
sunbeams transfix my eyes
widening the esteem of immensity...

The sunset with it’s rumble,
whispers of a starry sky,  
warm wind,a striking rainbow,
fluffy clouds to admire,
it’s time…

Go…
I know, this one is so imperfect... but I didn't want to change the way and so the reason I wrote it about 3 years ago...
 Jun 2016
Jeff Stier
Seeing the volcano from below
just another mountain
but this mountain
speaks of the earth disgorging
its molten guts
of lightning arcing
in ten zillion volt flashes
of God's terrifying grace
of geologic upheaval
that happened before anyone knew
anything about God
that happened before anyone knew anything

We were kids on a
long weekend
decrepit jeep pickup
camper shell over the bed
we stopped for an old Indian woman
and her son
hitchhiking
I remember the strange musky smell
of her
sitting by me
on the truck's bench seat
like food I'd never eaten
or a hand-me-down blanket
from the last century

We camped at Green Lake
and green it was
set out the next day
fully unprepared for our climb

But our young limbs
carried us to a precarious summit
the South Sister
nothing but sky all around
and dreams
distant peaks
the sleeping volcanoes
of the Cascade Range
stretching into the vastness
of north and south
Such peace

And here
now
I drown in
a deep web of tangled memories

Vistas I once surveyed
live and breathe in my mind
people I once knew
still whisper in my ear
though they are long dead

How do they live on?
Who tends these grass-grown graves?
Who speaks for these dead?

And where do these memories go
when we die?
 Jun 2016
SøułSurvivør
wraith of white
you wander wild
the hinterland
Valkyrie's child

your breath pants mist
in icy caves
you have made
10, 000 graves

your image is
in winter skies
its crystal glitters
in your eyes

loping through
the cold chill wood
its secrets you
have understood

born to lead
long of fang
through the glaciers
your voice rang

lonely in your Lycan heart
you made the ****
your kindest art

wolf of legend
wolf of lore
you'll reign untamed

forevermore


soulsurvivor
(C) 2/16/2014
Rewritten 6/12/2015
~~~<₩>~~~
 Jun 2016
Tony Luxton
I am a tree - old and knarled.
I shall open my arms,
whisper to my seedlings
just how things might be.
 Jun 2016
CA Guilfoyle
It is summer and soon the Perseid showers
I have gone from my desert home
I wander far from crowded towns
my feet in grassy, bee clover
deep summer, all daisy flowered
green leaves, wild blackberries
await the August sun fire.

Here amid the slowing of mars retrograde
of my love returning home too late
no long goodbye, only the weight
I watch oceans of seaweed sway
at night the phosphorescence
the lonesome of sea stars trailing.
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