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This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be over-run.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation; while from hillock-eaves
The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun
Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.

Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;
Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
And here the lost hours the lost hours renew
While I still lead my shadow o’er the grass,
Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.
memineI Feb 2015
just know
  eyes do
souls aside
  try lips
leave thoughts
   tears ***
dream better
   take breaths

love life
    drink water
read voices
   say thoughts
see beauty
play kind

worry don't
   great small
look *****
   feel alive
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
Stomped earth with broad feet
Fastening fresh saplings into
Whole forests
Eight feet by eight feet, the grid
Through winter month's
To early spring
Line of tree planters, twenty
Sometimes less, sometimes more
On Shasta, on Lassen, on Trinity Alps
Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines
In Mendocino, in Eureka
Planting baby giants, Redwoods
Sequoias in Sequoia National and Klamath
Young men with ***-dads
Knew some old ones too
Women as well, though few
If you could bear the snow, the rain
If you could bear back-breaking pain
The glory is yours
As was once mine
Go plant your line
To be eternally in
Mother Nature's good graces
And kinship known by campfire
In my early twenties, I worked in reforestation. Though weathering most inclement days, as saplings must be planted in the wet season, it was a most fulfilling time in my life. I planted whole forests all over Northern California. The men and women I worked with were so deeply dedicated, and all pulled together to make camping out in that brutal weather tolerable. Some of my best memories are there in those young forests. I often wonder how those thousands of trees I planted, fair today.
cmy Oct 2016
Dark clouds hurtling by
Showing sketches in the sky
Winds storm and thunder
w y n n e Nov 2016
Duwag ka pero salamat
Salamat dahil hindi mo ako hinayaang mahulog sa isang panandaliang saya
Hindi mo ko hinayaang mahulog sa isang panaginip lang
Sa mga matatamis na salita na hanggang salita lamang
Sa mga makahulugang tingin na hanggang tingin lang
Sa mga masasayang kwentuhan na hanggang ala-ala na lang
Mga salita, tingin at kwentuhan na hindi kayang ipadama ng mga yakap at haplos
Dahil duwag ka
Dahil andyan ka at andito ako
Pinagdugtong lang ng isang pisong tumatawid sa libo-libong distansyang mahirap sundan
Dahil hindi natin kayang tawirin dahil duwag ka...at duwag ako
Oo, duwag din ako
Duwag ako katulad mo
Nakakahilo ang pagitan nating di natin kayang bitawan ng pangakong baka balang-araw ay magdikit din ang daliri at mabatid kung may kuryente bang dadantay sa umaasam na puso...dahil duwag ka at duwag ako
Duwag tayong dalawang pumaroon sa espayong walang kasiguraduhan
Pero napakatapang nating hinarap ang katotohanang nakakabit sa dalawa nating mga paa
Na andyan ka at nandito ako
Itong paang nagpipigil sa ating lumutang sa ligayang hatid ng mapangahas na damdamin;
Hatid ng masarap na pantasyang hawak ko ang mga pisngi mo o na malaya kong natititigan ang mga mata mo
Lagi tayong nakamulat at hindi kayang pumikit ng matagalan
Dahil duwag ka at duwag ako
At ito ay isang pekeng pangarap
The Camel’s **** is an **** lump
  Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the **** we get
  From having too little to do.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
  We get the ****—
  Cameelious ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head
  And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
  At our bath and our boots and our toys!

And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know there is one for you)
  When we get the ****—
  Cameelious ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
  Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large *** and a shovel also,
  And dig till you gently perspire.

And then you will find that the sun and the wind
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
  Have lifted the ****—
  The horrible ****—
The **** that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo,
If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
  We all get ****—
  Cameelious ****—
Kiddies and grown-ups too!
Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang),
In height and cold, the splendour of the hills?
But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease
To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine,
To sit a star upon the sparkling spire;
And come, for Love is of the valley, come,
For Love is of the valley, come thou down
And find him; by the happy threshold, he,
Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize,
Or red with spirted purple of the vats,
Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk
With Death and Morning on the silver horns,
Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine,
Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice,
That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls
To roll the torrent out of dusky doors:
But follow; let the torrent dance thee down
To find him in the valley; let the wild
Lean-headed Eagles yelp alone, and leave
The monstrous ledges there to *****, and spill
Their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke,
That like a broken purpose waste in air:
So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales
Await thee; azure pillars of the hearth
Arise to thee; the children call, and I
Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound,
Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;
Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.
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