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ugh..
someone please help I forgot difference between animals and humans
I'll delete when I'll find the difference
                  ~Aliza Jennifer~
Blair May 29
Isn’t it sweet?
This light, smoky scent,
and humming birds
of orange or blue,
singing for their kids
a lullaby to sleep.

Looks like the clouds are being cruel,
by scolding us humans
and raining upon us,
wetting the dusty land.
“Aw, my poor ants!”
Here, they hide in their holes.
While some snails joined them too.

I remember hearing woodpeckers,
Did they go to have some snacks?
And some tea?
I wonder.

It’s quite,
even in this heavy rain,
Only the tapping is audible,
like tingling glasses
Quite pretty, I say..

The sun, sure is playing games,
Or is it his pride?
Nevermind.

The leaves certainly are having fun,
and there you see a peacock!
“My my as pretty as he is!”
Who’d want to cage him?
That’s cruel for god sake!

Surely the green vine up there,
Is glaring at me;
Am I his prey tonight?

Oh, how the moon is up,
as always, bright.
Now the bats I hear,
vigorously flying,
must they also be trying.

The leaves appear to be greeting me,
“Gee, my pleasure!”
They be hailing,
for all this water.

The soil seems to have slept
beneath my feet,
must be comfy, with all the moist.
Be sure to sleep tight.

The wind is dancing,
and the music is grandly being played
by the trees
and wet trunks.

The kids must be awake
by now
I see,
Mr. woodpecker is having some wine,
and there is the arrogant peacock,
performing in the spotlight.

All in a mood,
under the moon,
having a blast,
inviting me in
with an open heart.

I sit up at the top with Mr.Vine.
He’s still having thoughts for me,
but my apologies,
you’ll be sleeping an empty stomach tonight.

There I notice,
this little beetle
in search for his honey
climbing up the branch,
with all his might,
joining us in.

And my god, those ants are working hard,
carrying the berries I dropped,
for their desert at twilight.

Dear me, Mrs. snail!
Where is your husband?
Or is he taking the role of wife tonight?
Well, nothing to be disrupted in your sleep.
“Haha, she is lazy enough to even care!”
So like me.

There, there, you Ladybug,
small enough to be even noticed,
but beautiful enough by her red polish.
And the butterflies seems to have vanished in the dizzy air,
guess, they aren’t in the mood to mate
on this rainy day.

Tick- Tick
Aw, my time’s up,
I wonder what more lives would be there
enjoying their daily life
Smiling at every moment.
How warm
Wish I’d visit them again
They’d greet me with just as much as love.
wait...
“ Gah I forgot to beware Mr.Vine of those eagles above!”
Isn't it beautiful to just get drown in the nature?
Ira Desmond May 22
Whales were,
above all else,
deliberate

about the pace
with which they
moved through the world,
conscientious,
perhaps to a fault,
about the economy of movement
required to propel
such incredible mass over such
enormous, empty spans
of open ocean.

Here is a humpback whale
resting, face-down
staring into the cerulean
abyss, alone
but singing, perhaps for
enjoyment, perhaps out of
boredom, or perhaps due to
loneliness and longing.

She twists
and turns a single eye up toward
the surface, her iris catching  
sunbeams and contracting,
as she gauges
the gargantuan effort she must exert
in order to gain her next breath.
In this case, she concludes that, yes,
the effort will be worth it.

But what you must know about
whales is that
on rare occasion,
they would cast these concerns
of intentionality and efficiency aside,
and choose to
activate the entirety of their being,
from the sinews to the soul,
and propel themselves,
heedlessly and at top speed
toward, through, and past the surface of the ocean,
as though they were attempting to
fully take flight,
to escape, with finality,
the cold confines of their known existence,
the omnipresent, furrowed gaze of the void below.

But invariably,
and in spite of their best efforts,
the whales would be pulled
back downward,
by forces they could not
fully comprehend,
sure as the tides would fall shortly after
the moon passed overhead.

Yes, the physical impact of colliding
with the surface of the ocean
would be painful for the whales,
but what hurt
so much more than that
was having to return
to the stark, lonely calculus
of whether or not
to keep going.
Elliott G May 9
Glistening snow-white tips
Polished, sanded, draped with
the finest of tapestry silks.
Blessed with splendor, splendid splits
Crevasses, curves both shallow and steep
deep slopes stretching from mountain peaks.

Lustrous caves lurking, smirking as black crows write their prose
nose-deep in the blinding snow, with their ***** little paws.
Puffin, stay wary of blizzards and storms
deafening. Creaking floorboards of ice sheets
slip from beneath its tiny red toes
no edge to cling to, nor air to latch onto with its wings
a red stain left at the bottom of the pit.

Blizzards' lay a new layer of fresh snow
covering the deep scars of warmth
carved into the mounds of ice
splashed with red paint
Stained for millennia to come
Melancholy; the artist behind the painting.

Hollow breaks in serial layers of ice
Seeping black, oozing onto the ocean floor
Not floating, bloating, or staying,
Drowning.

Inside,
etched into the lining, a thousand silent words
Melting with each new sunrise,
in which ray's they bathe
Wash from meaning
drop.
by.

drop.
Norman Crane May 1
what if people had hearts,
and cared for one another deeply,
everyone doing his part
to improve his neighbour's condition completely,
without reward or remuneration,
only love for the entire human population?

what if cows had wings,
and buzzed above abattoirs like bees,
*******—as nectar—the skins
off the bodies of humans, fallen to their knees,
in repentance and commiseration
with the suffering of all living things?
How can animal rights be defended,
not defending the rights of the unborn children...
How can the rights of the unborn children be defended,
not defending the poor or the hungry children...
Oh, the right, oh, the left...
Conservative jerks will call me names like a "leftist",
And on the leftist side, they will accuse me of being a rightist.
I am not a prophet in my country.

1.2.2021
Translation.
Mark Apr 7
Fearful cows. Proud buckets. Sequestered and barbed.
Three freckles. A constellating of anchors.
Violating space.
The long road travelled and the long road ahead.
Each length, perfect reflection of the other.
You are travelling as a mirror. Roving.
Violating time.
Swallowing hours. Draped. A shroud of volition.
The sky is still crying. The sea is angry.
You hear it sometimes, underneath the wind’s wails.
It can hear you. Sometimes. But always it sees.
Violating mind.
What it sees sends sun to sky and turns rain to
tears of joy, collected in proud buckets, that
drizzle down, dousing the faces of fearful cows.
Hus J Apr 7
On the bridge
Orion glazing
Announcing his presence
Proudly and unafraid of excessive exposure
Targeting his next preys
“I’m right here, animals run”.

The air runs stale
“I see, hide-and-seek that is”.

The forest howling, extending vigorously
Acting tough to shelter her animal friends

“Come on, salvation is here,”
A land of green brutally taking shape in crimson red.

“My friends, don’t cry, drink my blood and take my flesh to fertile the land of home”.

Years after decades
Those eyes guard by the night
Conditioned to withdraw from his sight

“We breathe close by Apollo, living is imaginable”.
Juliana Apr 6
Freeze Yellow Iguanas
Bees Tease Warts
Ears Tarnish Antarctica
Orange Monkeys Groove
Alpacas Knit Ascots
Nannies Babysit Anteaters
Teachers Tolerate Yaks’ Lazyness
Armadillos Merge Armys
Music Includes Axolotls
Newts Free Lizards
Not All Sloths Annihilate
Insects Dance Knowingly
Dainty Arms Require Elephants
Bathe Rabbits Biweekly
Dorky Iridescent Yellowfish
Tamborine Bearing Anglerfish
Unicorns Float Occasionally
Flinching Antelope Quake
Warthogs Torture Hamsters
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