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Kitt Sep 5
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.

Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.

With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold

We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?

But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.

And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
I send my roots into the earth,
accepting the sacred duty.
The gentle, yielding, firm,
and fertile ground of the mother.
I will water her.
I will protect her.
I accept responsibility
for this ground.
I yield to this process.
Enveloped by life. By time.
I yield to the watching.
I accept what it brings.
I choose to love
what comes before me,
so that what blooms
when I wither away,
may always be love.
God is spoken
From a potent Thing
we smoking Trees

Gaia birthed the bloom
breathed the boom
in the canopies,

In the wind flew the bees
and grew the pleasantries

Prana pushing
thunder through

sQuishing lemon trees  
like a hundred new

Whisps of mists
and heavy deeds
Sit with honeydew

The gist of this
the lemon breeze
(We) Going tunnel view

Fits and Shakes,
seeking remedies
digging under you

Might be
dicking under you

Might be
Torn asunder true

Pirate borne to plunder you....
Sweat means gold,

what's been found
with lemon -ease?

I've been told
What in our eyes
is what we ever see's

7 seas,
more like 7 deeds,
filled with deadly feeds

Demons like to pleade
with ready rease,

Virus, the life that
spread disease

(it alters our sense
and what we please)


no te comas
la verdad
del diablo,

today to trust
Might feel bad, but
none brought low

There's an easy in
WE  Strong Standin',
N0ne brought low

and now we win
amen, a man
none start south

Its begun...

Light as
Potent as my prayers
**** the make-believe
I can't wear it, ah

Dark is
Ever reaching
What do you receive?
What you carrying hah?

(Is) an even preaching :
What we choose to be
*I can bear it ; hah

Come  and help me unweave
those who have been so deceived

Those stuck in in the mud of ...
sputtering " how can it be ?"

**** the you or me, mentality
When Neurons Fire free
and Serotonins drained in me

You Might find Saraswati
sweetly swathing me

In glowing rivers,

poured off the moon
With Omens looming soon

With Omens looming soon
I been choking on my doom.

with Both eyes open

and a heart awoken ,
poorly stoking gloom

Too blind to see hope
but stoked, still
mocking roving

Vroom : im off to tokin soon.
****t this blunt be totaled soon

I Might be total loon
an inverted magic man

who most often enwomb
those caught on the moon

Those stuck in the tune
For those who hear
this earworm, this tea room sloom.

This is for Those muted in zoom:

I've found traction in heaps
Breaking as hard and often

As the risen yeast
When you pass on the least

My Passion is to find
the passion of peace

its Stuck In the  grasp
Fashioned with the sap

of my last energies...
This is for the wynd
Davina E Solomon Jun 2021
In Parsley, a Levantine munificence accreted together in Tabbouleh,
herbage that covers fractured bedrock in a poultice of healing.

Secreted within, lie igneous outpourings of bloodied tomatoes,
those solid affections that had welled through an ocean floor

as Neptune quelled Gaia's contractions, her waters seeking to burst
beneath the wrinkled surface of a salty sea. She, an underbelly of sky,
pregnant in the overwhelm of magma, sweating out her heart in fire,
muted like a moon of Neptune, in his retrograde soliloquies, yet mirroring

hers in icy resurfacings of skin. The God of the Sea,  boils an amnion  
to hazy mists, how deep will his trident plunge to dislodge those Trojan ships

of deceptions ? Yet, Triton blows a conch for Gaia, not for man's duelling
and his warring tribes. He soothes her feverish gnashing of thighs

labouring continents. Some fires burn in water, like desultory heartbeats
moving the pace of rocks through the ocean floor, spiriting away

to stranger places still, marking maps of memories in the beauty of
a stillborn magma. The limestone they say is no blood relation to such

alien fructification, those oceanic intruders, bleeding still, spilling
secrets in reds and purples. The acid tears spilled in lemons merely

neutralised in syllables, sedimented to a community of  limestone,
that possess no archaic remnants reminiscing through dead bones,

an age of glory. Now beauty lies in herbage over once raucous magma
and traces of a salty sea, freshness of life trailing her veins, in fragrance of Parsley
This poem was written in a way to thread together themes of Roman myths, the moon of Neptune and NASA's proposed Trident mission to Triton, the Jonestown/Lebanon County Volcanic field and a levantine salad. It is specifically based on the Geology of the volcanic field ara located in Southeastern Pennsylvania. Do read the synthesis of it all at
-elixir- May 2021
Your arms reach out
for my lost breaths,
as you breathe into me
the soul of  Gaia,
the colossal womb
of rebirth.

I'm alive again

as her soul embraces me,
as I convince the lost
to grow out again,
with the rains
from heaven.
Davina E Solomon Mar 2021
The clouds fell from their lofty perch onto her belly / wrapped in layers of time this Matryoshka/ flouncy in snowflakes / cold startles the birds / the trains are stillborn / marshes float on ice / and nights look like silence //

She fashions a snowman / they speak in parables of time / is it shaped like a sisal string or a potter’s wheel / does it appear like a falling star / disappear like a glacier / is it syllabic conversations at dusk / or chimneys brewing clouds into sky / while fires roast limbs of arthritic trees //

Her sundial is circular / like the lunacy of seasons / His, fractalizes into uncertain snowflakes / transformed by an arrow flung far to an unknown distance / Gaia awakens in ****** spring / a forced maturity squinting at trains that furrow the land / bleeding in cherry blossoms / wealthy as the emerald leaves she wears to a country gala //

The snowman computes time / stray facts the winter wind whispered into his ear / as he melts into January’s cloak / like tears shed for sparkling fractals lost forever / The Earth believes in the manner of faith , he will resurrect on her sundial / as she kisses time into momentary stillness, turns water into ice //
My niece is besotted with Elsa from Frozen. She wears the dress over or under everything and can’t do without her crown. In the sequel to the film, Olaf the snowman gets lost in the enchanted forest where Gale, the wind spirit makes him so dizzy that he suffers an existential crisis. He concludes through his ordeal that he is yet to grow up and when he does, everything will make sense. It is easy to grow up in real life, we seem to have our paths laid out for us that we imitate in the manner of our forebears and peers. Yet, we still think about the meaning of our existence. Olaf believes it is in the soaking up of facts, to learn more and then add to this by further inquiry and action. I wonder if the measure of a successful existence is connected to how we view time..

The fact that we still think about the meaning of life is the reason they have an Olaf in a Children’s animation film. Are the answers readily available, for all that life throws at us, so we may clarify the turbid, find clarity, see the invisible ? Today’s poem is to ponder the truths held in a snow covered land, trying to make sense of time.
Spicy Digits Jan 2021
I wear my sensible shoes
I wear my sensible shoes
Please and thank you's bow all day
I press the lift button to level five
I brought salad for lunch again today
Salad for lunch.

I wear nothing but my skin tonight
I wear nothing but my skin
I let my chest kiss the night air
Lyrical, stillness, chaos, staccato
My feet and my fingers twist and turn,
Twist and turn.
olivia Jan 2021
Gaea has possessed my body
and claimed my heart

her flame flickers on my tongue
and winds howl through my soul

she sets storms through my mind and
tornadoes in my throat

i feel the rain in my hands
and her waves in my veins

but i do not ask her to leave
not when I've just begun to
J Dec 2020
it's raining again.
It's been raining a lot lately.
I rush outside with jars usually,
tonight I sit under
and I fill myself up.
my hair clings to my neck
my face
my soul.
I close my eyes,
dipping myself in and out of
the sky's tears
in hopes that she'll never recognize
the difference if I were
to be extracting tears of my own.
There will soon be no distinction
between me and the wet.
catching a breath, I peer up
I blink so much I'm surprised I can find the clouds
They shield Gaia from the cold
I count the stars, though I mistake
the majority of raindrops for the plasma.
So I tilt down,
face to Hell
my hair curtains around me
as if a cat had torn them into nothing but
clumpy pieces of string,
and recognize the puddle of a person,
through blurry sockets,
that I can no longer hide from.
I'm in a weird writing mood. I don't write many long things anymore, though, as we see
Andrea Lee Bolt Dec 2020
The tadpole begins to frog
She surrenders
expanding bones

"Am I the water
Or is it the other way around?"

Suddenly ****** into the one with everything

"Am I dead
Or is it the other way around?"

Try to become itself
or allow it to be revealed

The trees suddenly make sense to her
they've been watching her
calling her home
she longs to be held by them again
If only she could reach

Hop Hop
above the leaves
at ease

The other side of wave
while always in the middle of one

And. Then. She’s born again.
Life transitions, heavy stuff mayne.
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