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Neon Robinson Nov 2021
This clade of “tree”
if  you can believe that
! That this is   what   the
...      silversword alliance technically are.
It's closely related              tarweed...

The first **** wasn’t lonely for long and had
multiple terrains to colonize.
& tall tales take solidified liquid form
from the something
making water like fire
or air we can’t see floating like ice.
Pushed in a away a tsunami
seem small as they cross over the ocean.

Only they roar
louder then anything heard, but a drip
silenced lost lost
to deaf ears
empty troughs of the dunes  
soft sand triumphing over the oceans.

The four subclades within the crossing times
sowed their alliance,
silversword are the tall tales
detail of long ago seemingly insignificant kept
life form, form life , forms
forms life

we know because it’s indistinguishable from the rest.  

probabilities estimates Vertical
no horizontal or dashed lines.
Bound by the ' it was', see.
we are to the way we
were. Read the possible
probability of a tale, A tale  

of a tall tale. Told.
Origination, will, times. They tell,
seconds per island
complex (from left-to-right:
Kaua‘i, O‘ahu, Maui Nui, Hawai‘i).
I love trees

science is so stern its silly
DogKeep Mar 8
my desire
from curtain fires
to life on lillypads

put ******* liars
on washing wire
for peace in cleaner hands
the end of ends
amends my friends
i'll sleep when life is calming

on river beds
i'll rest my head
with frogs forever charming
Steve Page Feb 17
Think twice before you take
Take only what you need
Use everything you take
Take full charge of your greed
Rules of a sustainable life.
David R Oct 2021
near the water, 'n verdant rushes,
on a summer evening late,
hiding 'neath the dog-rose bushes
where pond-skaters feed and mate,
on the slithery grassy *****
above the bank of sand
there I saw Joy and Hope
sitting hand in hand

ere the golden crimson sun
had disappeared 'neath the waters
ere the twilight had begun
ere daylight sought its quarters
I heard the sound of echo'd laughter
as ripples in the water
as a melody from hereafter
sound of Joy and Hope that sought her

gone were the works of man,
steel and concrete temple,
gone were the ordered plans
of buildings regimental,
gone were the pinks and greys
of black 'n urban roadways,
all i saw was light of day
aflame with gold, salmon sun-ray
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
Steve Page Sep 2021
Earth, it’s so good to speak with you again.  Come and rest here with me.

- Okay, but I don’t feel this is helping.

Why do you say that?

- I knew you’d say that.  Always with a question.

That’s because I think you have the answer.

- [SIGH] This is not helping because - nothing - changes.  If anything, it’s getting worse – in fact I know it is - You know it is.  And the disease is spreading faster.


- Yes, DISEASE!  How else would you describe it?  The illness, the infection – the dis-order.

And what order would you seek to restore?

- What?

You said ‘disorder’ – that suggests that there was order that has been disrupted.

- Yes.  That’s obvious.

When was this?

- When was what?

When was this order?  When did the disruption start?

- We’ve been through this before.

Well, let’s walk through it again.  Perhaps it will help.

- [SIGH]

- [INTAKE OF BREATH] Okay.  You win.  I’m not sure when the disorder began, but I know we started fit and healthy.  When things were smaller, less crowded, less rushed and less - well, less – I don’t know how to describe it.  Less complicated.

What made it complicated?

- [Quietly] Choice.

What was that?

- CHOICE!  You gave them CHOICE.  You let them CHOOSE to do this to me.

- It’s like you knew they would ***** this up and that I’d pay the price.  It’s like I’m just a pawn.  It felt so good back in the garden, life was simpler.  There was balance.  You were there, you must remember how my eco system was just right – you loved your walks in the cool of the day.

You know I still love you.

- You’ve got a funny way of showing it.

You know I’ll make good on my promise.  That I will make you new.  This is a season. 

- But you left me in their hands. You gave them authority over me, to do with me whatever they wanted.  Couldn’t you guess how this would go.  The abuse, the neglect, the greed!

There are those who still take their stewardship seriously.  My people are still active.

- Not active enough!  Not re-using, re-cycling, re-pairing enough to off-set the stench I have to inhale, the filth I have to absorb, the poison!

I hear your frustration, your groans, your pain.  Redemption will come.

- And what happens til then?

Until then, I have placed your fate in the hands of my children, that’s true enough.  Let’s hope that they appreciate the gift that you are and that they grow up quick enough to turn the tide.

- They’d better hurry up.  I can’t take much more of this.

You and me both.
Romans 8:19-23 "...the whole of creation has been groaning..."
Steve Page Aug 2021
I see a solitary windmill on the horizon.
I can't see its stem, but its petals are clear enough.
Moving apace.
Chased by winds unseen.

And as I watch, they seem to slow,
as if the wind has waned.
And I expect I told you so's will rejoin the fray,
damning the whole enterprise.

But I see the intent as worthy of patience,
worth my invested expectation.
I see the petals power on
and they slowly turn again.

turn, turn
     turn, turn
          pure, power-ballad, turn
I'm out of London this week, enjoying West Yorkshires vistas.
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
[begin transmission]

Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box

suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices

it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days

swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting ****, rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain

one day we'll settle here
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination

[end transmission]
Svetoslav May 2021
Absorbing Sun's caring embrace
and the water's life,
the trees mix them into oxygen for the man,
for he has planted the seeds
which marked their beginning — organisms vital for wildlife and shelter.

The man now receives their appreciation
with the maturing of the fruit.
To eat it is honoring its purpose and time,
for it grew only for you, as a gift.
Earth's hospitality was never meant for granted,
but be returned to the cycle.

It spins like our planet in space,
around a warm core and a cold shell.
Stars there align to the call of energy
designed to dance in gray,
and to portray protons and electrons
in a chemical reaction,
beginning of the first light — pressed lighter igniting candles.
sergiodib Mar 2021
Cycling, without haste,
Along narrow country roads.
On the edge, undisturbed waste.

Riding, alongside ancient springs
That hatch dry stones and tires.
In his nest of tear strips a blackbird sings.

Eventually, I get to the point of no return.
Where past and future merge.
And no more does the sun burn.
Homunculus Jan 2021
**** if I know.
I scarcely understand much anymore.
I am but a puddle of coherent reminiscences
oozing across the floor into decoherence and
diffusing into maximum entropy.

We are in Hell:
all is Maya,
all is Mara,
all is Dukkha.
Yet, we are slaves
who love our chains.

And I am a lifeless, fetal,
**** economicus,
mortifying de rigeur
in the ossified skull of a
long forgotten **** sapien.

If only those kinship instincts could've
survived the havoc we've wrought.
Look at what we've done.
Look at what we do.

**** for money.
**** for oil.
**** for land.
**** for 'justice.'
**** for God
**** for 'the cause'
**** for the sake of killing,
and pave over what's left.

Leave a few trees and bushes for our
dystopic terrarium.
'Our Synthetic Environment,'
old Murray[1] called it.

Now, walk into the forest.
Be there. Stay there.
Do you feel it?
Any of this nonsense we call

is it that you feel something more. . .  
More true?
To a point where our heated debates
appear as no more than frivolous diatribes?

When do we stop all this narrative solipsism
and get to the ******* point?
None of this is real.
Our thoughts are not our own.
Have they ever been?

The Spectacle [2] reigns supreme
as we idle spectators
speculate idly upon it.

Borges's fable of the cartographers [3]
has reached its apotheosis,
and we are its unwilling
and unwitting victims. . . .
A bit too much wine is the culprit here, I suspect.

1: Murray Bookchin, radical social theorist and major figure in the ecology movement.
2: "In societies where modern conditions of production prevail, all of life presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation." - Guy Debord, Society of the Spectacle, 1967
3: The Borges story, credited fictionally as a quotation from "Suárez Miranda, Viajes de varones prudentes, Libro IV, Cap. XLV, Lérida, 1658", imagines an empire where the science of cartography becomes so exact that only a map on the same scale as the empire itself will suffice. [source: Wikipedia]
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