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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
Trout Aug 31
My papers are such a mess
Finding rulers in my chest
The putrid animosity, the Gorsuch of my truth, what is forgiven
Is pastly driven
What is unwritten
Is girly rhythm

The pain of a winter pole
Spending dollars at home
Telling whiskey that she is a lonesome
A gift is a friend for a child
Telling you what you like
All my statements are subject to new drafts
A cornmeal, a *******, a snake
everything is so messy,
i feel this aching pain when i'm at home, and when i'm out with friends i feel lonely.
my mind feels like my bedroom, a right off.
sure, you can tell me to clean it and i can try,
i can want to clean it but no matter how many times i shove that ***** laundry back into a pile; and no matter how many times i throw everything out,
it all comes back out sooner than later. i crave a tidy life, i tidy mind and a tidy room, but it's so hard to keep up with.
i would rather let sleep cradle me in it's gentle arms for the rest of the day, and do it tomorrow.
though, tomorrow never comes and thus my room and my mind stay the same.
a vicious, but comforting cycle.
i like it when things stay the same, i like it more than i should.
all i've had my whole life is change,
now i find comfort in static, i find comfort in knowing what's going to happen tomorrow.
i find comfort having routine even though the cycle i'm in is destructive and makes me hate myself, it's hurtfully comforting.
that doesn't make any sense but here's something that might,
feeling something is better than feeling nothing
negative or positive
maybe that's why i stick around you.
you don't help me clean, if anything you make even more of a mess, but that keeps the routine going.
i'll clean tomorrow. then turns into tomorrow. then tomorrow. then tomorrow. then...
Siyana Aug 9
The way he looked at me,
I could tell.
This man was heartless.
Sadistic as well.
He pulled my hand,
And in the heat
I looked down to see
Bruises on my knees...
He touched himself
when there was blood on my skirt
wanted more,
I copped the hurt..
Then a passerby starts to see
But he turns his head to smile at me.
The same man who once
Ripped my clothes to shreds
His crooked smile,
In the moment I could tell
This man was heartless
Sadistic as well...
This poem is thought to be of a girl and her abusive father... It is not a true story, but is based on events that occur every day in our world.
Meghan Jul 26
I may be a mess but that’s ok
I’m just a rough draft
My stanzas may be uneven
My rhyme scheme nonexistent
But I carry the seeds of a masterpiece

These scattered scribblings will someday mature into defined and refined lines
My tiny wriggling tadpoles of thought will grow legs and a voice
They will explore territory they never dreamed existed

This writer’s block will topple off the edge of my desk and fall to the floor with a clatter

My words will burst through the dam,
First in awkward little leaks
But then in strong, steady streams
That leap forward into unfamiliar territory
With a laugh and a gleeful scream

These nattering notes will resolve themselves into chords and phrases
A motif will leap out of the disordered madness
Stumbling steps will lead to confident strides
And the audience will be satisfied

But for now I remain unfinished
s i r Jun 9
Stare. Stay on me for a bit
Linger your sight on my lips.
Can you feel yourself
coming closer?
Snake your hands around
my waist.
I place mine on your cheek
your neck.
Ready to pull ourselves closer.
Look at me still.
Close your eyes
and I close mine.
Kiss me
Kiss me slow
Take your
Stops now
There is
the heat

We breathe

And it's over
The time stopping properties of a first kiss
I need a sense of familiarity
One that could anchor my body to the ground
'cause things have been strange lately
And lately the faces and places register as strangers in my brain

Only the voices retained their familiarity,
convinced me that they are the only one to trust
'cause anyone that can hold me easily
Can let go just as fast
Stephanie D May 27
You only want me flawed
To do what you cannot -
Accept your own mess
Love yourself to the best

It's a selfish desire
Dire wolves to be fed
I am earth, not your soul
Never plastic, I'm flesh

Unbound by blinding lights
Strong emotions, distress
Insecurities, true
But no fear I confess

My weak flesh is now new
Muscles, stronger, I said
"Bullet-proof, self-preserved
To feel nothing, I guess"
May 27th, 2019
kl May 17
If I speak only for the trees to hear, do I make a sound?
Will my words fall to the soil to be captured by their roots and transpired?
If you breathe in deep, will you consume the essence of my mind?

Or does it just get lost in space, never to be heard or known?
Thoughts and words that get planted with the trees but are never grown.

If I rip off the ivy will my tangled mind come unbound?
And will you then see my fears, my dreams and my longing to be desired?
Would you be wary of the wind throw and slough that you may find?

Or would you seek the new growth within the fallen and the blown?
A wilderness is chaos but it has beauty to be shown:

There is life in abundance between the canopy and the ground.
Stand there in stillness, listen to their story, and wisdom will be acquired.
Perhaps I will weave you a tale too, if I feel so inclined.

But, for now, you will find my thoughts in the snow, reflected and sown-
seeds in the air, evaporated and inhaled by some unknown.

In the sweet solitude of the woods will my musings be found?
I know that a tree listens and there's no effort for solace required,
So lets speak to the trees and hope our hearts and minds beat in kind.
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