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 May 2014
nivek
everything is gently waving
hello hello hello
grown taller and outward
showing off their finery
a land of lush greens
all vying for recognition
gentle world of vegetation
hello hello hello
everything is gently waving
 May 2014
nivek
all manner of flying insects-
appear from nowhere-
but somewhere indeed-
fragile lives lived-
in the fast lane-
no time-
to waste on trifles-
a summers warmth-
will not last past its time
 May 2014
nivek
today the loneliness of the world
blows a forlorn wind not sure
of itself or which way to go
so neither going this way or that
scrubs around waiting for dusk
to fall- night to reign and hide all
the cold blank staring faces bourn
on the wind that has nowhere to go
 May 2014
Kuzhur Wilson
After the morning walk,
While returning,
Bought two bananas from the tea shop

While eating it,
Tried sketching the person
Who cultivated it, in my imagination

Where would the farmer
Who grew the bananas
That I am eating now, be?

Will he be sleeping
Or farming?

Will he be

While thinking about the farmer,
Remembered father, who was an agriculturist himself

Pity!

It was necessary to buy a banana
For this ungrateful seed
To remember its own cultivator!
Translation : Anitha Varma
Not just the
red
wheel
           barrow
but rain, white
chickens.

(c) C J Heyworth
A poem which changed life utterly for me is the when-published untitled short observation by William Carlos Williams nowadays often referred to as The Red Wheelbarrow.
It and the two words That vase at the close of Philip Larkin's Home Is So Sad turned me away from the dense undergrowth of so much British poetry studied in schools for chiefly examination purposes and towards simplicity and the significance of close observation.
 May 2014
Spike Milligan
If you're attacked by a Lion
Find fresh underpants to try on
Lay on the ground quite still
Pretend you are very ill
Keep like that day after day
Perhaps the lion will go away
 May 2014
Kurt Kanawa
endless
summer
trance of the cool breeze
careless
summer
dance of the  palm trees
you can
catch us
singing
beside
bonfires
or maybe
  surfing
the late
sunset
whilst
drinking
homemade
cocktails and listening
to the whistles of purple orchids
you can meet us by the golden shore
on sands that can't wait to get into your
toes and tell old stories about heroes
and  beautiful  women of  the land
who had hips that could rock the
molten lava out of mauna kea
you can enjoy the moment with us
leave your  worries and  your cameras
and lose yourself to the gentle swing of your
hammock and to the wishful kissing of the ocean
and to  the warm  blackness  that sings you to
sleep  to good vibrations that radiate out of
the strumming of my thumb that lullabies
the little brown child i carry in my arms
who the world named ukulele
"Like a river flows surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes some things are meant to be"
 May 2014
nivek
a solitary sparrow
sings for all as all else
is silent
within that tiny breast
a heart beats for the joy
cradling the whole Universe
 May 2014
Emily Dickinson
204

A slash of Blue—
A sweep of Gray—
Some scarlet patches on the way,
Compose an Evening Sky—
A little purple—slipped between—
Some Ruby Trousers hurried on—
A Wave of Gold—
A Bank of Day—
This just makes out the Morning Sky.
 May 2014
Robert Herrick
When a daffodil I see,
Hanging down his head towards me,
Guess I may what I must be:
First, I shall decline my head;
Secondly, I shall be dead;
Lastly, safely buried.
 May 2014
betterdays
swallomp, swallomp
HE the,  
smallsmiled, muckfrumper
swiped at his scnocklezogger

HE, must be comin down
with a squiffsquizzley...
he hoped not....

HE just HATED visiting the
Tristlings they POKED
cold, fizzfiginflers in awkward places,
like under your
spiztigwungle
and down your
floppleplagger
and then, gives you,
two mattmuttertrogs,
to have instead of dinner
and says....
you should feel prankyfilck,
by coddleslidiggetty.

but in the meantime....
no more,
squiggl-ing, dibbl-ing,
pivbabl-ong or tonggypaffle.

HE, the smallsmiled, muckfrumper,
tapped his stotching,
three times,
spun on the toes of his
zibdinkers
and wished for
luck and good health.
it was too good a stonkploffli
day to have a, mickering,
sqiffsquizzley.

swomple, swomple,swomp...
gibberish inspired from and
taken in part from Gobblefonk..so kudos and thanks. but for the most part i changed or developed the language
of the BFG.. one of Rhoald Dhals creation's.
I must admit I have not yet read the book... I just used the words i liked the sound of... attributing meanings arbitarily...
i wrote this as some bedtime fun for my boy tod...
but do hope you all enjoy as well.
i do believe i will call my version of the dialect
Zadifas
 May 2014
betterdays
an hour ago
  as we lay your coffin
          in the red brown earth
a mob of kangaroos
        bounded  by
                down in the vale
at the bottom of the hill.

amazing in their strength
and synchronicity
               the thunderous noise
a more than, fitting goodbye

the world itself ... resonated
with one last joyous round
of applause..and then a quiet

                   goodbye
sue, whom we buried today,
was both an actress and teacher of the theatrical arts.
an unexpected.... but amazing
final farewell.
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