a shy sunrise over the hills the quietness of frozen earth dead leaves blessed with crystal delicate magic pine trees, white fir trees, like untouchable heights of my garden the cherry tree dreaming of cherries and the birds in the sky and my heart cracked opened by the crisp wonder of a winter spirit
After all these years when i step into the land of rye i can still hear summer its most authentic heartbeat roar of the machine takes over from the rasping scythe cutting through stalks when the grains are harvested to the barn they'll be no more painful stubble at the feet after many years the summer is still so **** hot i like it just as before the season of mellow mango scent and pleasant earthly aroma of barley though all beings are a little deflated no one wishes to light the flame at the moment i miss the dense woods in the distance because that's where cool breezes are born i appreciate the hospitality of the cotton and corn they keep bringing the joy of maturity flowers are exceptionally generous they keep painting the landscape standing on the fresh verdant ground let the rainstorm clean my dusty soul summer is the season of zeal i will extract the poetic fragrance on every lush green plant so that folks longing for a peaceful mind can get a peaceful lyrical feeling across this summer i especially like the other side of the water where i can dance with the shy lotus this summer i've gathered a bowlful of poems to read with you.
Trees are tall their leaves fall, We look them up and down and see beauty, The vision of growth and strength in the overpowering Branches, There are funny little shaped trunks, They are claimed they are hugged, They are drawn and sawn, Trees are our friends when we let them be, Trees contain the destruction, In mother nature's grace, We love the trees all the same because they give us space.
Longing for the land of my lineage I am dying here, in Beggar Country Here, where fools act the wise Pseudo Intellectualism steadily on the rise Where the disease celebritism has took hold Forced out the tried and true for the shiny yet old Where the idiom The more things that change, the more remains the same Is unquestionably fact I long for Ireland I long to go back
Give me land that's green And rolling countryside Give me tide to rival hell's fury And people that mean well, amid gales so dreary I miss fog Like that kicked up by the mire
Give me land that's hungry Give me people that's tired
Leaf litter sheep **** verdant verges flowers that smell foreign but aren’t wet earth telling truth moves to concrete and tarmac who lie often and heat is turned to memory steps from animal tracks to animals tracked have tumble drier breeze mocking those prior flowers **** smoked appreciatively to thank the peace as if laws don’t exist and the lick of car exhaust to recall poison and then home