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Adorable forests ...

from my mountains ...
here ...
where i do live ...
where i used to write ...
sending you my words ...
send you the words...
my words ...
wrapped in love ...
drenched within my heart ...
to you there ...
at your place ...
where you used ...
with your heart ...
to read my feelings ...
through my words ...
which it created ...
only for you ...

O the  most beautiful lady ...
who ever ...
my eyes saw ...
and took me away ...
from my mountains ...
to her place ...

to you sweetheart ...
and for you ...
writing ...
and singing ...
into my adorable forests ...


hazem al ...
Kyle Mouat Feb 17
A belly full of tasteful food,
With a tankard filled with good drink,
As well as the smell of sweet tobacco
Is calming to the mind of any man;

A fire with a kind flame,
A book filled with adventure,
As friends tell cheerful tales
Can fill his life with enjoyment;

The cool wind upon his back,
The fresh air entering the lungs,
As the rain falls from up high
Offers a relaxed feeling for most;

The sound of calm streams
As well as the mighty rivers,
And the sight of the forests
Is enough to bring a man's soul peace;

The green leaves that are on the trees
That grow to tremendous heights,
With roots deep within the skin of earth
Brings much amazement and wonder;

When the sun has fully sunk
A sky full of stars is revealed
With a moon that shines bright
Brings tears to the eyes;

Home is where the heart is
And mine is within the mountains,
For having experienced their beauty
I pity any man who's never seen them.
clmathew Nov 2020
Ancient forests
started on October 9th, 2020
revised on November 30th, 2020

Translation of a Chinese poem by **** Wei:
"I know no good way
to live and I can't
stop getting lost in my
thoughts, my ancient forests."

I think getting lost
in ancient forests
sounds lovely.

I get lost in my head
in old familiar battlefields
and imagined future apocalypses.

But an ancient forest
with cool, shaded layers of trees
doesn't sound so bad

I guess it is the lost part
that is the problem.
Maybe the ancient forests
wouldn't be so bad
if the poet knew where he was.

Feet touching the earth
anchoring this self
to this exact spot
the soul a beacon
to the world's gps system.

I am here.

I am not lost.

I am.
**** Wei was a Chinese poet who lived from 699 to 759 during the Tang dynasty. This translation of the poem is from The Overstory, by Richard Powers, on page 41.

Cradled in the forests
Evergreen
The trees and the tender vines
For the nature’s basket
Produce prime
Stunted growth
In the urban confines
Smog and smoke
A breath of sigh
Burdened shoulders
The trees and tender vines
Sustenance
They pray
Manvinder Singh Jul 2020
gently i descend the heavens,
on a feathery whiff
silky mane fluttering.

approaching planet
deep blue
or, is it
some shade of grey?

landed on
umm... helipad?

i fill my lungs
with the air perfumed
Β Β cough cough
-- maybe not.

so much for
mama' s tall tales!

kicking a hoof,
leap i go
into the nearest forest
or, whatever is left of it.
many dappled shadows
played on the forest's floor
as light winds did blow
Tangerine May 2020
π‘”π“π‘œπ“Œπ’Ύπ“ƒπ‘” π‘’π“‚π’·π‘’π“‡π“ˆ
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝒢𝒸𝓀𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 π‘œπ’» π’·π“Šπ“‡π“ƒπ’Ύπ“ƒπ‘” π“Œπ‘œπ‘œπ’Ή
𝒢𝓃 π‘œπ“Œπ“ π’½π‘œπ‘œπ“‰π“ˆ
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒢𝓃 π“ˆπ“‚π’Ύπ“π‘’π“ˆ
π’Έπ‘œπ“ƒπ“‰π‘’π“ƒπ“‰
kyle dionysus Apr 2020
Where have I been? I’ve been climbing mountains, not metaphoric mountains, but real ground, rocky, tree and shrub bearing mountains. I’ve been sitting in the middle of forests, listening to what my senses tell me. For nature is all I need.

Why don’t I write anymore?
Let me ask you this, what is the point in writing?

Whatever I write has already been written. There are so many different languages and writings in this world already. So is there really a point in writing, when these words will be redundant and forgotten?

Instead I’m more fascinated by reading these different writings across the world that I can relate to. At times translations can be troublesome but it is worth the knowledge gained.

Maybe if I have something to share with the world that hasn’t already been shared, I’ll write again.
For Eshan ;)
Grace Mar 2020
Why
Why is it
That when I see
any
other
girl
I think, β€œoh! She’s so pretty!”

Why is it
I describe
Other people’s eyes
As
oceans
forests
streams
But mine are just ***** dishwater?

Why is it
I must change my hair
Damage it
Color it
In order for it to make me happy?

Why is it
That I am
my own
worst
critic?
I believe everyone is beautiful, why can’t I believe it about myself?
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