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Susy Kamber Oct 2020
The sound of the leaves written primarily by trees.
As such was the beauty heard plainly with ease.
Up mountains, round rivers.
A song for the birds.
For the people that fly there.
Across valleys was heard.
Now what be the mention of this, you may wonder,
Alone to unravel the blur from down under.
A song can be sung from the language of trees.
I heard in the sky and then carried to thee.
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
in my backyard
with alluring flowers
wild flowers, purple haze
green, with a shade of russet

Nature at it's very best,
the visual perception,
of my garden
to the mind and soul
a great aesthetic rapture!

This is my pagoda
I come here to meditate,
in the spectre
of beautiful  aura
and to be at peace with nature,

Amidst my temple
a spliff I shall spark
with a profound  purpose,
to bless my mind
and to bless my soul
with sagacity,
from the universe!
Art is a hell of a *******
drug, I tell you
it surreptitiously creeps
into you in a way that is
utterly indecipherable,

and lures you deep;
deep into it as the void above...

For the eye loves
what it sees,
and what's been seen
by the eye
is rather fascinating to the soul,

Amidst all these
Overwhelming emotions,
a harmonic converge
between the eye and the soul
is created,

Fostering a sui generis ecstatic rhapsody!
I stand here;
outside my balcony
amidst darkness
in the company
of loneliness

My soul impertaburbly
trapped between forlornness
and peacefulness

Yin and Yang perhaps,

Forlorn because the soul,
wounded and damaged perniciously by loneliness..

And peace;
because the herb...
well the herb heals
to some extent

My vessel the arena

On a forbidden course
Yang battles Yin
the odds are in his favor
THC to Yin is like aconite to wolves;

And so he weakens with every hit

The melee ends
like it was destined to
tranquil and pure bliss prevail

At that moment;
the wind starts to sing her song

Calling, whistling to his lover
the king of the night
she whistles a beautiful song
that sounds of a gentle breeze
zephyr like pushing aside clouds that
guard his majesty;
grandiosely his image is revealed
in the nightlife

Observe they all gather under the nightsky;
far away from each other
all in different worlds
but it's this energy that coheres them here

The wind starts to sing
the song of halcyon,
ogling at the moon
in veneration and exhilaration
selenophiles danced away into the night.
Sweet juice dripping down your chin
tasting real tomatoes for the first time
Food will never be the same
much less momma's garden.

Butterflies flutter in chaotic, wonderous traffic
and bees make plants vibrate
sweet and bitter scents tantalize the senses
hands eager to get *****.

Momma will show you the ropes
you won't understand much of her words
but you watch her between adventures
chasing faeries between the rows.
Dried pods rattled in the breeze,
such a hollow sound,
echoing deep emotions
and driving a sigh from my lips
as I stretch in the dim glow
of early morning.
I pull on my old white shirt,
a dingy color
much like the lightening sky.
Stained and torn jeans follow,
the jagged edge of a rip
rubbing against my callused fingers
reminding me of work ahead.
I frown at the sight of my boots,
crusted with mud,
a chore that lies ahead
and a longing for a day without shoes.
I feel the flakes of dirt
when they stick to my feet
as I take to the kitchen
grabbing coffee and biscuits.
Breakfast in the field,
lungs soaking in the cool air,
watching the moon as it tried to hold on.
A losing fight
much like my own.
The moon peeked between skeletons
of plants past.
The song of death sang once again
as the breeze cut it’s path.
I swallowed coffee
letting the bitter taste
and hot water
replace bitter
and burning memories.
The sun was soon to rise though
and I had life to live.
Like a switch,
my hat slipping on my head
tucked away any distraction,
and I was whole again.
I gave a last glance to the moon,
tipped my hat
to the light that fought the dark.
previously published in the HoCo Poetry Project. link here:
By the parking lot you sit
just behind the village stores
tall, white fence box
flaking paint.

Sun streams in between slats
casting lines across the dirt floor
stopping a few inches in
dark mystery.

Bending down to peer inside
slipping fingers and hands to reach
searching by touch, EW
crawling bug

Once I climbed up the side of one
but there was just a big metal box
I dropped down inside
locked doors.

Some I could climb, and some not
what was being hidden inside the shed?
Eager and curious for adventure, knowledge.
Never enough.

— The End —