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My vine bends low with purple grapes
A bountiful harvest so fine
Clusters so large - flavor so sweet
Stems from daily growth divine

An ancient wall stands high and long
With stones added one by one
Erected not in rush or haste
But with daily growth was done

The canyons deep, rugged and steep
Carved by rivers - rapid or slow
Their rugged walls truly attest
To the strength of the daily flow

I look about, and glean this truth
From the things I hear and see
Listen close - I’ll share it with you
Daily growth is prosperity
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This poem started with the concept of "consistency", but not a lot rhymes with that, so it just wasn't working out. I've always been amazed at how much can be accomplished by taking consistent action each day.

When I look around my garden I see this truth also. I never see my peaches or grapes or tomatoes grow in one day - because each day's growth is so small. But over a season, this amounts to hundreds and hundreds of pounds of bountiful fruit for my family!

Faith in Daily Growth allows me to take on projects that are many years long - knowing that the consistent building will add up to monumental results.
an undulating reverie
hangs heavy in the silence
past canyons abundant with sunlight
and dreams made out of cotton

there, beyond the intoxicating haze,
you stood.

my lips uttered no words
that the universe could decipher
but the midnight tide understood
what i truly meant

now, if only you could, ma chérie

but the scrupulous colloquy is bound to break
and the stratosphere rewinds again
past divine oculists and obstinate facsimiles
and beyond the desolate valleys
where no sunshine dares to embark

and what’s left in the end
at the very edge of such a disenchanting,
morose fantasy

is you, and me,
and an undulating reverie.
AJ Jul 2016
Ran the world's belt to step outside
And breathe crisp air so fine,
To mount the seas of emerald green
And kiss soils poured with wine.

Stepped upon a thousand grains of sand
Buried deep within the crystal snow,
To find some clarity in a looking glass
But where it lies I'll never know.

Treaded on rocks to touch the sun
And stroke the moon's white face,
To pray for time and not for sin
And bask in silence's grace.

Past the icy peaks and tumbling rocks
Where avalanches bring news today,
It's hard to keep spinning with the world
When there's no path to walk the way.

Too much has come and passed before,
Yet too little has been seen
On riverbeds and meadows of green
And mountaintops with lustrous sheen.

In canyon creeks I'll lay my head
To rest through this quiet night.
Though the wild is dark to open eyes,
The songs it sings will bathe me in light;

It whispers,
Carry me up these stairs
Hold me against your arms
Let me down on the ground made of clouds
In the way marked up above.
donia kashkooli Jun 2016
back when summertime
sadness was hip.
beating hearts felt like butterflies
trapped in a plastic water
bottle trying their hardest
to get out and bodies of water
that were frighteningly black but as clear as
broken glass and
worn down cowboy boots
and perfectly fragmented
scarlet and burnt orange
and crushed
beer cans by the firepit
and isolation and
inescapable infatuation.
the world was so beautiful and
almost ethereal but it wasn't
familiar. like it had been
taken apart and put back
together differently than before.

-*z. vega
summer 2012
- Jun 2016
My shirts are ragged and I
Drink too much on many occasions and I
Often reek of cigarettes and untold lies and I
Can't seem to keep myself steady for more than a minute but

Can write a love poem that'll make you go to pieces
And I
Will calculate the distance to the stars and find out how to launch you there
And I
Won't rest until I see it completed.

Sure, I
Can't control a sentence for more than a few words and I
Barely know my thoughts and I
Am a rambling, insecure mess and I
Don't know where I came from, but

Can help you find a home here amongst the shadows,
And bellow out your name so it infinitely echoes
Written to be spoken word. I don't know if this is a love poem or not, I mean...
I wrote this to be more of a song I think
Allesha Eman May 2016
The smell of inspiration
The desire to keep your pace
The rain in your hair
Coloured in rocks
You in your natural habitat
Walls of canyon stone
The rush of the waterfalls
The pain of the drop
As every senseless breath is gone
You can feel yourself drown
In the beauty of nothingness
In silence and peace
On this loud earth
Where the water falls
JM McCann Mar 2015
I first would like to apologize for getting rather mad,
calling you a stupid *****
and saying it was a “hit and run” to the police,
also in hindsight spitting at you was not cool.
I feel bad about it now,
and it will haunt me for a while,
or at least until something else comes up.

You shattered my wings,
granted they were glass wings and
when you’re throwing yourself through the narrowest possible canyons
getting hit is almost certain still, it *****
the wind out of you, even if just for a second.

I love jumping through
canyons daring gravity to do its worst, but I was playing by the rules,
respecting nature
or at least I planned on not breezing by the sides as much.
I guess its habit now, to risk getting shattered for
the freedom of movement in a restricted space.

I swear when I hit the ground I was ready to walk away
I was intact.
to continue on my way and saying “yeah I’m fine”,
learn nothing and find smaller canyons.
but when I saw the bird you hit, my brain
sprinted for the worst.
That knocked the wind out of me.
Instantly I thought it was completely ******,
and while I still do have my wings,
you shattered part of my glass illusion.
Thank god for repair shops.

You see you own the skies your kind controls
the canyons walls, make them zig then zag that way.
Sure their are bigger gods,
but they only show up from time to time. I’m part of the skies
but my only possible responsibility is to not
hit the birds.
The rules say I need to act like you,
but the rulers let us fly our own ways.
The bigger gods understand or just don’t care.

So next time just know that the rules
are not the ones in physics textbooks, those are
often confusing and require years worth of reading,
of understanding billions of acceptions of knowing what
the hell centripetal force is, and being able to solve painful
multi variable calculus problems
the way physics actually works is what happens when
the winds take glass
and you, being a god got careless and broke the laws of physics.
So I'm a very passionate cyclist and this was my first crash of any note whatsoever with a car, any feedback is more than welcome
JM McCann Mar 2015
The carpet all around me
my little island lonely to no one.
Little flourishes in the carpet  twisting back on each other
and back again,
rolling endlessly this way then having a change of heart
and bending back the other way.
Flowing freely on its canvas.
The stunning flowers, looking surprised as
I focus on it.

I sit, a lethargic tiger, my picture of myself.
The television perched ready
for the next greatest thing.
My head, static on my shoulder,
a boulder resting on itself.
The gentle hum of air conditioner.
With great effort
I gaze slowly out the window,
up past the air conditioner,  
past the base of the metal frame
where the tree idly stands.  
My eyes lift past them, to the heavens
The clouds content where they are, slowly pulled along.
A greater force heaving, making gentle progress.

The edges of my chair start to form.
My arm resting on the soft fuzzy border,
my stomach hazy in deep territory,
my toes out beyond the border.
In a disjointed synchrony I make my way to
the fridge. The blank door swung open
rotting milk, and a once great fish.

The milk fading, a gentle
fade, not hurrying, but the milk, not taking its time.
A  tad yellowish but still white.

The milk a long fierce journey,
perhaps having bounced around the world,
for it to be as is now.
through turbulent oceans, did it see the endlessly taunting
of the ocean? What did I miss?! Did it see the gentle waves
thrash mercilessly? Did it see the infinities of life?
Did it see the octopi dying for the young ones?
Did it see storm clouds change course for their safe passage?
Did it see nature play its hand?
Even if it saw nothing at all,
I envy the milk with the hint of yellow!
Doorways without doors the milks unknown voyage.
It of course could have easily just came from
a farm down the road in a truck with a billion
other containers of milk, on a well traveled path,
the only question, why?

I sigh knowing, the best I’ll get is “an answer” trying
to sell me some more milk. Though the best questions
should never be properly answered.

No answers in the fridge, and I’m still hungry.

The smell of the fish overpowers me.
The smell of the ocean, of the seas of
what we did to them!
Of how the same fish, epitomizing
turned noses, once part of something grander than us.
We have seen the tops of the world,
flew down rivers and
cut through the skies,
held enough power to send a man
to the moon and back in the palm of our hands,
yet never been to the places that the fish has been.
We have clear lines and boundaries, yet
No walls separate what we haven’t seen.
No limits.

A  school flows by,
barrel rolls and flips, each individual
showing off amiable bubbles.
A collective direction, no agreements
just space, the sandy floor free of motion.
The floor free quiet, a gentle bed.
Taking their time, a place
to be but never of the essence.
A lump in the distance,
a dip behind them. Slowly becoming
something more, something grander.
A mast starts to form a gift from above
no gentle giveaway.
A hellish panic.
The alarms bell ringing panicked
sailors, a vault flows by. Nobody looks twice. The
earth slowly swallowing the meal, as
if to enjoy each taste and make it last.
The fish intrigued.
Ignorant of the history. Wooden ruins, choral
the dead ship alive!

A shadow crosses the sun.
A sleek shark shows its hand.
The school flees the table.
The shark chases demanding to be payed.
Flying towards the old gift they dive into
the maze.
Only coral in the doorway to the left.
He keeps pursuing.
The group scatters.
Pretenses over
some failing.
Sharp teeth cut indifferently.
New respect for the fragility of water.
Not just joy when they swim now, but a heartbroken celebration
flying along the streams with a learnt respect.
Celebrating each other.

My shadow, catches me off guard, flees up
the wall and up past the celling.
I watch it go and
stumble and look down to see what caused me
to see only my feet and the floor. Oak wood strips
make the floor solid. Endless minuscule canyons
carved below me. Wavy sand dunes and craters sit atop the canyons.  
Rivers flowing separating sides.
Rocks calaborating, blocking paths,
creating treasures.  

Surely somewhere down there a couple holding hands,
a dingo eyeing its next meal watching intently,
solely focused on the ****.  
Perhaps a number of tourists, impressed with the landscape,
snapping pictures of the stone valley.
All wondering at the rocks, meticulously placed.
Tourists cooling off in the rivers.
  Maybe just maybe though
a pair of strangers bump into each other on a
narrow trail, and instead of passing by,
both of them will leave all the better for it.
To defy nature and prove to the landscape, that
people can exist in your world and respect
your customs but play by different rules.
That we have made progress! Not just in phones
but in the barren glory of canyons.
Maybe then the stranger will bump into
the tourists and offer out a hand.

Then the couple will make love,
the tourists will take more photos,
the dingo will eye more food,
the drumbeat will likely stay the same
but maybe just maybe though
the stranger will start something
and help out another stranger,
New music to all who will listen.
Lost completely but with no need to be found.
Any feed back is always welcome! Hope this does something.

— The End —