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Äŧül 1d
It ain't anything new,
Indians been doin' that
Since eternity.
Smearing the mud walls,
And the roofs of farm huts,
With cow dung,
For insulation.
My HP Poem #1778
©Atul Kaushal
Genetic DIY in my realm,
Glow, little glow worm, glow puppy or guppy or
maiden hair, modded to the max-men can
imagine, when agreeing to believe.

imagined shall be impossible for them"
or the sense
that makes,

conveyed in words di
gestated long long long ago
ere toungues was tangled
and us and es and ds and hs and bvs

umlauts and tildes and tittles and jots
attempted to say it all after
it is written is/was
different than it is/was said, it is common

filth is now
called clean, in greek

with homophony rhymes and rhythms
'idin' aitches and gees us commoners
miss, out on the edges of the
fusion, with which,
those wild tongues was tamed, in time,
write the message, make it plain

in the school of the prophets, thems' the rules,
publish precizision bits of insight into knowables
the knowledge of our
mob, told and re-told, told and retold, told and re
one moment.
A glimpse of a gleam of a photonic
spec, seen proper,
it was a germ-cell mod, in a word.

Spat, rather than spoken. A message at the level

where you nowgno this is possible -- a flick
of a gene switch on the ladder like
structure bhering message-engers up and down,

instructing structures to form frames on which you
may sublimate and recompose, upon a grain
of pre-pearl material,

pending loosing of that pen-ultimate lie.

Look, who's tellin' what to whom?
Like, Do Not Lose The Thread of History,

which happens to need re-tying,
from time to time,
like a shoe, yes, child, like a shoe.

Worthy to tie my own shoe, at two---
you d'man! Ex-clam, pure pearl polished

Big Boy, tied yo'own shoe,

Momma gonna buy you a diamond farm,

just over that hill,
you go see, someday, you will

Find a Diamond Farm, where the reality
of what coud be,
began to gestate, wait, diamonds are not for

Diamonds are for grinding gritty silicon to the
finest dust,

to force a sneeze, re
leasing, loosing, letting go, all the lies you knew,

to chew
well, raw liver-level, nasty tastin' pre-
digested crap from alchemical rantings
a guy said he seen
after some spit from a perfect stranger
got rubbed in to his eye,
pearly friction feels this way,
can't scratch it, gotta gum it,
roll it round
and round, like Redman,
or cow cud, a chaw,
a chew

someunsame, somesamesame sniffles,
in my realm,

swallow the final chawn and un spat lie,
and gasp at first glimpse of next.
In blow my own horn celebration of my Diamond Farm now saying at least the first line has been read twenty thousand times. In his lifetiem, some famous guys never have a single line read twenty thousand times, i'm jazzed, in an old hermit way.
Reif Airen Sep 9
I am a little scarecrow, standing in the farm all day
Made out of straws,twigs and hay
When the crows come, I made them go away
To protect them farm where I stay.

I am here all along
All day and all night long
Guarding the farm, firm and strong
While listening to the bird's song.

The crows that flies within the farm
Keeps on landing in my arms
Preventing them to do any harm
By using all of my charms.

For my job is a hard one
Always under the sun
But once I get my job done
It feels fulfilling and fun.

This is me
This is what I'm meant to be
Come to the farm and you'll see
Or you can also play with me.
Account Changed. Reposted
shamamama Sep 12
So What Exactly is Permaculture?

may not look like much to you
the messy garden,
a **** might look ready to pull out, you see it
cover the kale,
however it serves as a magnet for the beneficials,
the ones keeping vigilance
over  caterpillars
who love eating
dark leafy greens

penned from Bill Mollison (cocreating with David Holmgren)
the genius behind the word and the
understanding of “permanent agricultural system” hence permaculture
harmonious integration of landscape
and people
with sustainability at root of it

coining the term, after spending time in nature
and wanting to mimic nature  on the farm
it's all about relationship
it's all about respect
“Care of earth-and all life systems,
care of people
setting limits to population and consumption,
cooperation, not competition is the very basis of  existing
life systems and their survival”

why is that tree towering over that funny looking bean?
she is madre de cacao
mother of chocolate, planted over the cacao
trees giving shade and protection as chocolate grows
sweetly in shadow of mama glyrcidia

we welcome worms,
we welcome toads,
wasps do sting, but carry off caterpillars
even centipedes as long as they live in the garden
(please don't come in the house)

How did that small hill get there?
oh, the hugelkultur?
the place where we buried bent spoons,
broken buckets, rotten 2 x 4s,  piles of sticks,
and tennis shoes that flap,
cardboard, large logs,
pillows with no life, and the like, then
covered with soil and planted trees atop
We threw and grew it there

When we mulch, how muchling the chickens love the mulching
They kick and the spray all the mulch away,
Till bare naked sits the soil around the new tree
So, we love the coconut fronds we layer on top of
our pile, leaflets bind round their ankles –no more
kung fu chicken kicking straw

Community plantings,
as seen in forests layerings, moss and ferns at the bottom,
seem to naturally come when conditions just right
just the right moisture and temp,
invites next layers of herbs, low plants,
small trees then large trees
then the overstory
forest garden

Thank you  Mr. Mollison
For your observations and sharings
May you rest in the garden of peace
Bill Mollison passed away Sept. 24, nearly 3 years ago. Homage to his genius, and love of nature and humanity
Osiria Melody Aug 16
Younger was I, perhaps, a tender age of nine
I can't quite remember, but young enough
to spread out my creative wings and fly in my imagination

Young enough to dwell in clouds of unknown lands and creatures born from my own mind
To notice reality's snap when my name is spoken aloud like the delicate crunch of leaves on a fall afternoon

Children are remnants of finite innocence

I was a child, when life was filled with simple moments
The kind of moments that remain freshly baked into your mind, never going stale

I recalled a fond memory of my uncle and I, when we drew beautiful farm animals
A summer morning, when the sky yawned a delicate yellow-orange and the sun stretched its light

Farm animals, such splendid creatures, a marvel to our eyes that reign superior beauty
He drew a hyperealistic horse with such fluidity that the page flowed with intricate detail and ebbed with subtle additions

In awe, I oggled at his work, amazed at the wonderful ability that he had to breathe life into a drawing
A man around his age approached us like a sheep that had wandered away from its flock

Unamused, he furrowed his brows at my uncle's creation and bleated, "Imagination is only for children."
Unperturbed, my uncle's earnest eyes leveled his and calmly stated, "I drew a horse."
The sheep man turned around to return to his flock, oblivious

Wanderer Jul 18
Her eyes lit up as we drove into the farm
a gorgeous landscape of flowers and horses
a crowd of inviting people
who said they loved her
but hurt her
every day
I could see the frustration
as they told her no
to the simplest of things
because she was female
and watched as her younger male cousin
was always put on a pedestal
for all his "hard work"

This is the place she called home
because although it wasn't perfect
And it wasn't painless
It did hurt less than
The way "mom and dad" did
It didn't cut as deep
As the shards of broken glass
scattered through the kitchen did
It felt like love
compared to living with two
that despised each other
It may not have been everyone's joy
but it was paradise to her
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