Only grass and mud
The two foxes have now gone
Leaving fresh paw-prints
Dance, my son
Dance in the grass
The pavement is constricting
It leaves you numb to true feeling
So dance in the grass
Dance in the grass
Be snazzy
Be jazzy
Create your own craze
The grass sings to your bare feet
True joy for days
The pavement is for those
Who follow the path
But those who invent their path
Dance in the grass
The pavement walkers will stare
But when you’re dancing you don’t care
A tango
A waltz
A rhythm your own
The grass understands
The pavement can’t atone
Barefoot and fancy free
Dancing in the grass
What a sight to see
Follow your own path and go your own way. And while you're at it, feel free to dance a little.
Bethie 6d
can you hear the birds in the morning
singing their worship songs
can you see the sunrise light stream in
that makes the shadows long
can you feel the grass blades underfoot
as you run without a care
can you taste the coolness of the brooke
getting droplets in your hair
can you hear me tell you that you're free
can you see my words are true
can you feel my love spark flames of light
not for me, oh no, for you
Aa Harvey Jul 6
Every Colour of the Rainbow.

Yellow is your hair, like the sun that shines upon me,
Orange is the taste, of your juicy lips.

Red is the radiance, of your lipstick,
Green are the fields, in which we sit.

Blue is how I feel, when I am without you.
Purple was the colour, of the dress you wore the day…

You walked out of my world, now the Navy I must run to,
To make me try, to forget about my pain.

The Rainbow Girl, in my head will always be with me,
Whenever this Son and the dark rain shall meet.

(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
the grass will never know
the joy of flowing in the wind.
It's too stubborn to let go.
It's too arrogant to know
that the earth holds it,
not the other way round.
junky junky on my head
I have good bread
Today beautiful day
I'm on my way

Pretty Clouds in the sky
My friend saying its all right
It's only true

junky junky on my head
I have good bread
Today beautiful day
I'm on my way

Great Rocket in the sky
And cosmos in my mind
Great world today
Great making way

Great trees
And great grass
Great cheese
no only now just

junky junky on my head
I have good bread
Today beautiful day
Im on my way

It's only true

Issan Op Jun 27
tall grass, broken glass
tall grass, broken glass

Shredded soles
Along the slate shoals
Shredded souls
Oh, where my heart goes

Tall grass, broken glass
Thorns aplenty
and dust to ash
Rotted bodies
Of water and trash
Thorns serrated-
sulks in the grass with-
broken glass, ash to ash

Still the rivers flows
Over rocks and stones
And washes away,
every smitten day

Begotten mud forms
Compressed into stone
or primordial bones
with a spirit on loan

We will have our tall grass
We will make our broken glass
And as the mountains burn to the ground we'll shrug and state "ash to ash."
I cut my hand on some slate
Wass Jun 26
Hot, quiet and still days of June.
The air hangs and lingers,
Heat swirling creating bright
Beads of dew, popping up from your
Skin like little flowers or the
Tall grasses that curl towards the sun.
Here I am.
Sitting on my roof, questioning life.
Coming to terms with the truth.
I am a mistake.
A big mistake.
And everybody knows.
The result of an affair.
I shouldn’t have been born.
I didn’t ask to be made.
I didn’t ask to be born.
I wasn’t in control, and if I was I wouldn’t have been chosen to be born.
It was not my fault. It isn’t my fault.
I can tell you blame me though.
So here I sit on my roof, staring at my lawn as deer pass by quietly.
In this fragment of time.
I can be in control.
I can watch the grass below me, and watch the clouds dance and turn, or I could jump off the room and scream.
For now, I just sit and type my years of sorrows in hopes to reach someone.
For now, I am in control.
For now.
Wass Jun 18
Swathes of swollen, rolling hills
With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends.
Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air.
Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.
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