Miss Ciano you didn't do so well
Perhaps you can help us with this cloud?
We have to tame it Miss Ciano,
Go to the mountain and immerse ourselves
Let the thunder out and let it pass

Death is all part of life Miss Ciano
The last bit
You know that
You can always sit and watch the sea
If we went to Conwy we would see the sea
In Conwy
I do enjoy your daily offerings

Band- aid  doesn't fix bullet holes
people **** each other.

People reached for the weapon
and pulled the trigger
people **** each other.  Why?

http://www.vox.com/2015/6/23/8833529/mental-illness-mass-shootings

autumn harvest;
fruit-fly up my nose--
             compost must be full!

sunset, sunrise hikes ~
Trillium on Blood mountain ~
true love song blooms


yogasutra song
hiking appalachee trails
with two i love


Rhodedendrons clap,
lush applause to Springer's call--
water in the sky



a tuskless walrus
   chases me up the ladder--
crowds smile through glass*








.

From his explosions,
Our sun spreads antimatter
Into the cosmos
And orbits around the core
Of the immense Milky Way
To make a low-speed cyclone.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

it felt good to leave the tourists behind
---with their cast-iron grated stairs
and photo-flashing-falls,
question-comments cookie-cut---
embrace the woods:
soaking wet approach,
brinks of shivers in the dripping wind,
an old, broken filter
   slurping bubbles from a cardboard tired puddle;
whisperlite stove finally working,
the first cous-cous dinner warms our little white dog
   dreaming on my rising falling chest
   pressed by sleeping bag and snort and sigh;
we sleep our psoas sore--
unknowing we have just begun...
haven't yet begun!
yet bodied abject pain to shock our senseless raw
   with scoured glimmer-vasts of love beneath
a frozen fly on Frosty Mountain
zippered hail in midnight breath,
i *** in numbness gusts--
i bite my smile ice,
whoop the sleeting world for we are here at last.

Cerulean blue, the mad rippling
how I crave water, sometimes even green
in spring the melting of me
smooth ****** skipping
blue pools swimming
to feel an ocean inside
the storm clouds collide
unhinged from fire's dream
a torrent, a waterfall
of holy water
evaporating into
steam.

Bangshi looked at the rolling gold before him.

Not a day would be without two square meals this year,
the surplus produce would earn him good money.

It was then his eyes fell on the thin little girl.

She belonged to somewhere else
always seeking something from the sky
showing little but her ribs jutting from dark skin
and if she ever swam her limbs in the wind
she would run up to the pond
to catch the reflections changing with the hourly light.

Her home wouldn’t see harvest this year
as her father had been ill for months
that could only mean starvation for the family.

Bangshi followed her eye to the sky
autumn blue without a speck of cloud
but for a spot of rain gathering in a corner of his eye.

What if instead of selling the surplus
he shared it with Malini’s family?