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Jim Davis  Apr 2017
Touching
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Birkenau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Austin Bauer  Apr 2017
Sequoias
Austin Bauer Apr 2017
I long for myself
and for those I love
and for those I lead
to be like the
wild sequoias.

Let our reach
be high and vertical.
Let our roots
be firm and intertwined.
Let us be
strategically planted
in deep reservoirs.
Let our bark
be thick and resilient.
Let our seeds
be released
and germinated
when the fire comes.

Yes, let us be
an enduring grove,
outliving difficult
seasons and enjoying
the plentiful.
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
Reforestation
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.
Adrien Jul 2014
Quiero pintar tu cuerpo con mis dedos, de mil lineas y puntos
Para capturar los mil verdes que toma tu mirada
Segun el tiempo, segun la hora.
Para guardar conmigo el sabor de tus suspiros,
Y el de tu oreja,
El de tus labios,
Y el de tu lengua.

Quiero cojer estos tesoros inaprensibles,
Estas gemas inalcansables;
Como de mis dedos la arena,
El polvo de oro que se escapa;
Nubes suaves y edulcoradas,
Por cual viento invisble llevadas.

Quiero pintar tu cuerpo con mis dedos, de mil lineas y puntos.
Para mostrar al mundo y a la faz del Sol
Lo que puede brillar una pequeña flor,
Como puede cambiar un miserable en hombre mejor.

Quiero ser tu siervo, alimentar tu fuego
Proteger de mis brazos tu belleza
Y hacerte sonreir para que sea dia
Quiero estar a tu lado poque estoy enfermo
Y eres la prescripcion que me hizo el cielo
Quiero robar el nectar a tus labios
Y tocar tu piel para estar con Dios
Quiero ser tu sombra para seguirte por donde estes
Quiero ser tu alfombra para que me toques con tus pies
Quiero ser la orilla a la que vaya tu barco
Quiero pintar tu cuerpo.

Quiero oler, quiero tocar, quiero sumergirme alli dentro de la corriente pacifica casi magica, de té y de menta, de miel y de lima, con los ojos bien abiertos para sentirme vivir y la boca y cada poro del cuero espeso que cubre mi cuerpo debil.
Quiero vivir toda mi vida en este instante, en el que mis pelos se levantan, en el que mis entrañas sobresaltan y mis pupilas se dilatan, cuando me miras y lees en mi alma, y juegas con ella, cuando paseas y bostezas en el jardin secreto de mi sueño cuando posas tus pies sobre mi boca sobre mi letra cuando caminas sobre mi, sobre mi poesia como sobre un camino que no lleva a ninguna parte, para no irse del pais solo recorerlo no salir del museo porque tu eres mi galeria de arte.
Quiero tocar, quiero oler, quiero sumerjirme, dejar de orar, de pintar puntos y lineas, quiero alcanzarte.
Estoy movido por esta fuerza salvaje que late en tus pupilas,
Esta misma que mueve el insecto  hasta la flor prominente, es lo que hace sudar y empapa los páramos cada noche como para bautizarlos y lo que mueve los sequoias a tratar de tocar los cielos por miles de años ; la excitacion y efervenscia en las ramas de los bosques cuando llega el alba, las alabanzas y los cantos de hadas vestidas de plumas cuando viene la luz, el susurro del insecto y de monstruos minisculos que musitan llega la luz, llega el color
Tu eres mi luz , tu eres mi calor cuando me atrapas en el abismo verde de tus ocelos dulces que quiero oler, quiero tocar.
Quiero sumerjirme en las galaxias celadon de tus fanales que percibo a veces en el cielo, quiero con la boca y las venas abiertas impregnarme de la clorofila que moja tus ojos es lo que mi cuerpo pide, mi cuerpo suplica, el eucalypto a mi garganta a mis pulmones el aire puro, el aire limpio, quiero oler tu haliento, estar penetrado de calor, y de fuego por un instante que me mires como el pajaro secreto que toca su nido por un instante y por un instante solo, cuando se ilumina la noche por un fragmento de segundo y que desaparece, quiero volar contigo quiero parar el tiempo porque cuando me miras vivo. Quiero tocar quiero oler quiero estar contigo, porque eres mi luz, mi ilucion y mi dia, la mas bella creacion que hizo jehova.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2020
either... desperately seek constipation
         via
pretend (ing) to spill more ink
than - by any stretch of the imagination /
by a needle ***** too - blood
given: it's not exactly paper that's
wasted...
                times are dire...
we need toilet paper
                               and not newspapers:
or at least let's pretend
we would like some coal -
   otherwise this neon insomnia will
bury me in a brrr of brittle cold...
                      but that's just that...
nothing new to write so a morning
with a ms. amherst of sorts -
             as you do... when nothing's new...
so as i see it...
i either sit here and waste a perfectly
good wintry morning...
pretending to ooze out an aflation...
   clearly i'm not: brain-fudge-fidgety
yes... custard for thought and
oozing nuggety gravy too, yes...
          all that's missing is a rubric /
slanting linear of some verbiage
baggage (un)like a rhetorician invoking
tautology...
   the air should be refreshing
since it rained all night...
       yes... come to think of it...
these legs will give me more ease
by being put to use than these fingers -
i should have them broken
and this "piano" dropped on
  a fat head of a cow - or something of
the sort...
besides... from the white tower
of havering-atte-bower...
        to that luminous tower past chigwell
i'm guessing in the direction of woodford
or i suppose wanstead...
but no... it couldn't be the galleon &
heronwood
hospital...
   but it just might...
               a little / more an odd pilgrimage
to... circa 1999's summer
with the flooding of memory of "someone"...
at least a walk that will span
the horizon of what i can see...
  mind you...
       there's something else...
i don't know why i'm invoking a direct
addressee with these words...
   mind i... at first the name seemed appropriate...
that these were: aspen trees...
they weren't aspen... they're not...
and sure as **** i know what an acorn is...
and an acorn nor an oak they ain't either...
unless you were to walk
down... parkway just by Raphael Park...
on the corner...
   this contender to...
   sierra redwoods...
                        yep... north h'american big
trees...
          sequoias...
   in havering-county park...
         oh i'm guessing circa two dozen...
           i even hoped to stick a jelly-gum
to a piece of paper and onto each of these
trees to give them quasi nicks'...
sequoias... in essex, england...
               i'm not mistaken
                               but still dumbfounded
one of those 'huh?!' moments that's
beside awe: awe is not necessary...
              that much is certain...
   this had to be written anything had
to be written and better still no ink no paper
just enough electricity to
compete with a coffee-mill's worth
of 3 cups / and the kettle that boiled
three cups of water...
   come to think of it... probably less.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Aug 2018
I am terribly near sighted
Consciously and subconsciously
I see not what I have saw
And
I hear not what I have heard
Sometimes,
In fact most of the time,
I don’t even feel
What I should have felt

But the mirror of life
It keeps a record of every little thing
And I relive in my dreams
All that I have missed

And much much more:

All I ever need
Is just a little hint of life:

Your lovely little smile
I failed to respond to during the day
Would haunt me
With what would seem like
A whole lifetime of sweet champagne
And
Kisses of cherries and grapes
With a scent of longing that
Fills me to the core with
Twinges that burst throughout
My entire being
Shining brightly from
Every single particle of my
Soul

The little chirps and calls of crickets
That alternate between the oblivious
Moon upon a bed of restless stars
And the wizened sun
Would always take me to a land
Unlived, untouched, unruined
A vast nonexistence
A vast ruin full of life
Where I have never been so alone
Yet so fulfilled, so joyful, and so
Free

And

The dreamless gale that
Would raise me up to mountains
From which I can finally gaze down
With sure and confident eyes
Upon the whole of life
And
See, sense, and feel
Every scenery and every being
With the purest of colours
Rowing down the crimson rivers
In a canary boat caressed by
A forest of ocean blue sequoias
Blanketed with a soup of
Violet stars
Into the heart of the universe

Where everything that have lived
Or could have lived
Never went away

Where nothing is ever gone
But just lost
So momentarily
Like a wandering child
Let out into the world
Seemingly defenselessly
Yet, perfectly safe
Under the hidden watch of
The mother

Where everything I love
Love me just as much
And so much more

Where I am never just me
But a child
A poet
A painter
A musician
An ancient pilgrim

Where I can fall into stars
And float up to the edge
Of the sky
Swim in the air without my feet
Ever touching the ground

Where I am finally
Held by you
The one person
I love most unyieldingly
In a death grip of never letting go.
I Love you through My Dreams
Jan 27, 2018, 6:15 PM
By: Yue Yitkbel ****

Used to be a personal favorite so I wanted to publish it, but since I haven't heard back from anyone, and I don't like it as much as anymore  I'll just post them.

(I wish I can pin posts here:
I think these are better poems of mine:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2646158/the-threads-between-every-you-and-me/
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2618377/the-metamorphosis-of-a-bee/
radiating
street lamps
ionized the
indigo blue
haze charging
the night air

sparking the
city’s eclectic
currents coursing
through the
abandoned raceways
and empty streets

energizing the
phantoms of
the city’s
restive spirits

the ghosts of past
Great Falls Fests came
jitterbugging back
to life

transparent
veils lifting
and falling
with it, a voltaic
indigo blue
billowed out of the
abandoned stadium
pouring smoking
oboe moans
into the cavity
of the great gorge

“I was one of the last
to perform at
Hinchliffe Stadium”
Duke proclaimed
with his usual  
distinguished air

“it was also one of my
last concerts”, he added
with a tinge of
sorrow in his voice

“the band was rockin
the Art Deco tiles,
splintering and shattering
into bits of earth toned graffiti
the last vestiges of
a bygone Jazz Age
dissolving into the
disco fizz of the
Seventies”

the indigo mood
clamoured off
the rocks absorbing
the sonorous waves
like a stand of
hallowed
sequoias

“I’m trying to
remember what
my last tune
was that night.

was it Caravan?
or a Prelude to
a Kiss?  No no
too mellow
we always ended
on an upper
a real crowd pleaser,
I recall the boys swung
a medley before the grand finale
that medley included
Mood Indigo, Caravan,
Sophisticated Ladies,
Prelude to a Kiss.
We opened with Kinda Dukish
Rockin and Rhythm
we closed with
Satin Doll
Yes I’m quite sure
I waltzed them
off the floor
that night with
Satin Doll”

Duke ran his
fingers through
his processed hair.
He grabbed my shoulders
raised his baggy eyelids
And looked me straight
In the eye

“Yes, we followed
Tito Puente, he killed it
we upped our game
He was just starting out
But at this time Silk City
was going Caribe
Juan Tizol was
out of his mind that night,
I thought him and Babs
we're gunna jump ship
and join the Salsa Circus
Yeah El Rex and Celia Cruz
were that good

El Rex had the place
jumpin and jivin
it was a glimpse of the old days
livin in the here and now
just like the old days
I couldn't compete with that
so I waltzed them off
the floor with Satin Doll
a little cheek to cheek swoon
maybe some guys got lucky that night
and maybe some girls fell in love
Yeah Paterson was changing,
the ***** Leagues long gone
the last ****** Auto Races
crossed the final finish line weeks before
when the raceways in the stadium
replaced the raceways to the factories
we knew it was coming to an end
and with it all the good paying
jobs, whatta shame
just like me and the boys
watching El Rex
the Duke was dethroned by a King
just like Silk City
we had our day in the sun too
a Satin Doll Sun
Those were some good times,
sometimes”

Duke scratched
his head,
and he looked down into
the swirling noise
of the Great Falls
“on a night like this
the mood indigo
takes you into the
darkest hues of blues”

fragment from
Silk City PIT 6:
The Great Falls

Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins
Mood Indigo




Oakland
3/30/13
jbm

(FRAGMENT WORK IN PROGRESS)

Part 6 of extended poem Silk City PIT.  PIT is an acronym for Point In Time.  PIT is an annual census American cities conduct to count the homeless population.  Hope and Labor is the city motto of Paterson NJ, nick named The Silk City.
(FRAGMENT WORK IN PROGRESS)

Part 6 of extended poem Silk City PIT.  PIT is an acronym for Point In Time.  PIT is an annual census American cities conduct to count the homeless population.  Hope and Labor is the city motto of Paterson NJ, nick named The Silk City.
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Megan Hardie Feb 2013
Cal-i-fornia (verb) the state of being golden.
                                                                                                                                                    
Can you see the way the sand sparkles on the shore?
Golden shards of glass, or broken dreams.
Who possesses the Midas touch now?
The crushed gates of Atlantis on our shores.
Aphroditic bronze goddess of the sea,
Hair blown by the breeze.
Sea air & salty &
more than anyone could need, or was used to.
                                                                                                                                         Giant sequoias stand
                                                                                                                     As mighty and proud protectors
                                                                                                                             Behemoths of lifetimes past.
                                                                                                                                 Explosion of seeds inside
                                                                                                                           Fireworks waiting to explode
                                                                                                                      Pinecones, little grenades of life.
Ghost towns reminiscent of the Wild West
Mining camps from the Gold rush days.
Tumbleweeds & reptiles & powder fine dust.
Some say the earth is red from the natives’ blood spilt, and sunk in,
Reality – Oxidation turns iron in the dirt to rust.
So that’s why Mars is red.
                                                                                                                          After a bad storm in San Diego
                                                                                                    Dollars lie broken & shattered on the shore
                                                                                                               A bankruptcy of marine proportions!
                                                                                                                                       Just go see for yourself,
                                                                                                                              The sand dollar apocalypse.
                                                                                                                              We were echinoderms too.
Life gone dormant, and violent beginnings.
As if Calliope’s harp needed to be retuned,
Sun god, Apollo & Helios with his chariot in the sky
When did we become so heliocentric?                                            
                                                                                                                         Solitary white cross on the hill.
                                                                           Never did anything to harm anyone, yet they fear you so
                                                                                          Enough to try to remove you from our presence.
                                                                                              Mount Soledad, or their SOLEs-are-DeAD.    
- You know San Onofre is a power plant right?
- Radiation, is that a problem?
- Only if you want to have kids or stay cancer free.                        
- 25 foot sea wall -- To keep the waves out, or the kraken in?
- 4,000 tons of nuclear waste, who’s gonna get rid of that?
Ghostly tendrils of death
Blown fifty miles down the coast.
They call it SONGS, how quaint.
A symphony of catastrophe.
The greatest arias of death and destruction.
Vivian  Oct 2014
d-cay
Vivian Oct 2014
rivers of salt; saccharine silicon and
iridescent nightmares;
kids carve their names into trees
because their concept of forever is
three summers forward;
entropy demands a tithe, a
forfeiture of lives; decimate your herds
and still
no, it is not enough.
know it is not enough.

don't keep your sweet little mouth
open too long; sugar attracts flies,
and pretty soon your
teeth will be teeming
with maggots and rot,
streptococcus sanguis
cheerfully wearing down your enamel
like you wore down my inhibitions.
"it'll be fun," you said, dropping
one hundred milligrams
on your tongue, firmly grasping the back
of my neck, and applying your lips to mine.
one hundred milligrams
slide down my throat, and despite myself,
I laugh, because even when I'm scared
I want to be with you.

the Black Angel is God On Earth; she is
lonely beyond belief, and I give her a hug.
people forget that monsters have
feelings too, and
God?
God is the biggest monster of them all.

God is entropy, and she is
unimpressed by the pyramids
on your dollar bills; she will devour
the stars and the planets and newborn
babies swaddled in blankets,
and she yet hungers:
redwoods and sequoias and aloe vera,
microchips and inkjets and MacBooks.

we are crowded around the bonfire,
s'mores and cheap liquor, your hand on
my thigh; the heavens have
opened up, drenching us
in starlight: I have never felt more
beautiful. you raise my wrist to your
mouth, placing a gentle kiss on my
scaphoid and my lunate; you swipe
your tongue across supple flesh
before clamping down with your teeth;
I am seeing stars and feeling lovely
and I am so, so enamored with you and
so, so happy you are here.
HAD TO DO IT ONE TIME FOR #NATIONAL #POETRY #DAY
Catrina Sparrow Dec 2012
i remember you
you wore your smile the way a traveler wears a pack
it was everything

your eyes were bright with adventure
glaciers tucked into the folds of the rockies
blue
i'm blue too

i thought i lost you
four years ago today
the phone rang like funeral bells
i answered like a murderer expecting to find a detective at the door

the hospital still makes me sick
i can't forget it
all of your friends who always seemed as strong as sequoias
strewn across the floor
faces painted with snot smears and tear stains

i thought i lost you
under sagging soil and a painted headstone
there in the pines above the river valley
laughter traded for the footsteps of the saddest parade
i tried to say goodbye

but i found you
there in your sisters smile
and in the movie theater aisle
and parked in a little rusty black truck in front of my parents house

i find you everywhere
while i giggle
and sing
and tell the people i love how much i do love them
you're there

doing the chicken dance behind the arresting officer

thanks for reminding me to smile
for G-baby. shine on, you crazy diamond.

— The End —