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 Mar 2017
SE Reimer
~

rivlets form beneath his feet,
where sun-parched dust
begins to weep, as it has
ten-thousand times before;
water’s endless cycle courses,
to the valleys from the hills;
retracing paths from end to source.
how many lover’s bodies
have been washed anew,
in streams of cleansing flow,
in this flood that ever cleans?
how many runner’s skyward faces
turned to welcome cooling rain;
or young girl’s pretty dresses
river-laundered; or young lips
taste of heavenly wine?
how many farmers bent a knee,
to offer grateful homage
for a gentle early sign, of
this whispered blessing,
awak’ning slumbering seeds?
have you e’re considered this...
these refreshing drops so sweet,
distilled in heaven’s winery,
bear every moment sensory;
a show of nature’s finest.
drops and sprinkles carry
every tear of grief and joy,
humanity has every cried.
a cistern gath’ring mem’ries,
like the tide gathers shells;
awash in collected tears,
caught up in heavenly swell.
oh spring that ever cools,
oh well that ever quenches...
to water we are drawn to go;
our immersion deep,
in rainfall’s drenching flow.
to its sound we drift to sleep;
caress to calm and soothe the aches;
lakeside dip for tired feet;
it's thunderous roar the soul awakes.

~

*post script.

water... so many forms, all around us, yet none is really new... only renewed!
 Mar 2017
traces of being
a bowl-shaped hollow
greystone pool amongst boulders
songbirds bathe and sing


words in the wind
Rites of spring haiku: # 2
 Mar 2017
Pagan Paul
.
(Children's poem)
.
I'd like to sit
still and serenely
But I can't
I'm the Queen Bee.

A Queens work
is never through
there is always
something to do.

I'm laying eggs
and filling cells
and letting out
my secret smells.

I make sure
the hive is clean
and not littered
with perils unseen.

I caught Veroa
the other week
glucoside syrup
fixed me a treat.

But all of this
has its cost,
Oh! How I wish
I was born a wasp.

© Pagan Paul (16/06/16)
About a year ago I did a bee-keeping course. A week or so later a friend challenged me to write a children's poem. A couple of weeks later these two experiences collided in my head and this poem spilled out.
Its educational in so much as children can ask about certain things in the poem and a teacher can then explain them. Thus explaining how bees and hives work and interact, the many secretions beside honey that they produce etc.
Poem was published on www.bee-the-change.org.uk
PPx
 Mar 2017
Keith Wilson
A lone tree stands out
Against the stormy sky

On the far side of
The lawn in our garden

Surrounded by snowdrops
Quite a pretty picture!

Keith Wilson March 2017
 Mar 2017
traces of being
.
pale bright yellow infringes
just beneath shadowed drift
of lingering snow

as if a nascent smoldering flickers
breathlessly gasping for light
penetrating cracks on whiter opaque

wondrously drawn skywards
'neath an unseen sky so far away
revealing an obscure warmth
in blossoming will

tomorrows vanguard
unfolding beneath a blanket
that only grows deeper
over the long winter night 

a darkest silence borne
beyond frozen time layered depths

in the magic of a moment,
the clouds let the wind stir
the fickle sun's yellow paint brush

and like an burgeoning embryo,
a reclusive hope bursts forth
metamorphosis within
an all encasing hidden evolution

the wind whispers an audible sigh;
a sole daffodil peeks out
from enveloping darkness,

  casting out the memory
               a beautiful light hidden within


                         words in the wind


        ... February 28th, 2017 and counting
 Jan 2017
Denel Kessler
Show me
true beauty
how waves
break the shore
into individual grains
yet each contains
the whole
crystalline universe
reflecting light
renouncing midnight

Leave me not
upon the sand
barefoot and stripped
recounting sins
to the weary wind
return my heart
to loving grace
salt-scrubbed chambers
cleansed of hate
tenderly reborn

let love
rise from this
arid ground
clear water drawn
from a deeper well
with cupped hands
tend the seeds
so we may eat
of the bounty
that rightfully belongs

to no one
 Jan 2017
vivian cloudy
I watch the water
beam from the sun
and that is what you call
making love
The Earth is the greatest poet I know.
I pluck at her expression
every so often
merely attempting
to translate her lyrics
into something,
just something
we can all feel and understand
My salutes to you, Earth.
 Jan 2017
Joe Cottonwood
In your bleeding cross-section I count
three centuries of wooden wisdom
since that mother cone dropped
on soil no one owned.
Black bears scratched backs
against your young bark. Ohlone
passed peacefully on their path
to the waters of La Honda Creek.

In my lifetime you groaned.
Your bark filled with beetles.
Woodpeckers drilled, feasted.
Needles, whole limbs,
you shed your clothes,
stood naked. I cut your flesh.  

You walloped the earth, creating a trench
two hundred feet long where you lie.
As you fell in your fury
you destroyed my tomatoes,
smashed the daffodils,
snapped a dogwood.

Better you crush my garden than my house
which did not exist nor any of this town
when you first advanced one tender green.
I want to believe the sawtooth less cruel
than another winter of storms.

All good fathers must fall.
Your children surround you,
waving, blocking the light.
My children count rings,
hands sticky with sap.
First place, Sycamore & Ivy poetry contest 2016
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