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We are the Tree Poet
connection at The Source
communication via collaboration
triggers imagination

Food flows down the train
not to be sent back again
We receive when you do
all debts paid in gratitude

Blue rice is nice
while what you truly desire
always tastes best
We have access to all resources

Let us feed you

-The Trees
We love to sit with trees and connect our consciousness to theirs. We collaborate like surrendering to being a vessel only they have all our memories at our disposal so these words mean much to our being yet feel almost like in this case We are the paint not the painter. The Trees have all the wisdom We could ever need and are here ready to love you.
The Blossoms from the Pear-less Trees
blow like Snow in this spring breeze
glistening in the sunlight
smiling as their in flight
not a care about where they land
becoming one again with our Mother
this life
one adventure after another
We live on a ranch in the Sierra Nevadas, We very much enjoy sitting and allowing Mother Earth to put on a performance for us. As we began to write this the Blossoms at that moment didn't look like Snow. I had noticed it earlier but when We sat down the Wind wasn't blowing. Once we put pen to paper and wrote "Snow in the spring breeze" it's as if Mother Earth heard us. Send a big gust a wind and it was like winter on a warm sunny day. Synchronicity is what we call it. Moments coming together to create an art piece that disappears as quickly as it was birthed. Thanks for reading.
Earthen Heart Nov 2020
My Mother:

I ground my feet into Her
Gaze up at Her mountain peaks, tree tops and blue skies
Taste Her springs, swim in Her seas
Feel Her Love embrace me in the air that I breathe
Caressing my body, filling my lungs.
Her light brings life
Her dark brings depths of emotion
She blinds me yet helps me see so clearly
She inspires,
Fulfills my heart’s desires
Which is simply to feel Her
Underneath and all around me.
sheilakijawaani Nov 2020
Pearl of the Indus,
January fades into February.
February slumbers in march on your lap,
I wonder what’s with the November criminals.
The waves of silence that
Hit our ears and eyes in October;
Did they get engulfed by the November criminals?
Late into the Maytime
January faded into February.
The flowers napped happily
As February bloomed it to march.
I understand if the flowers were stolen by the November criminals
But must they shroud the heavens too?
The little child wails along with sky and above
When the other children
Set them to fire.
November criminals;
What do you see in those November flower pots?
That you miss in march’s pots.
Do they have to crackle to bring joy in you?
Do they have to combust to bring life around you?
When they often take them away from you.
if you move with the moon every year,
why conceal it with your fog every night
during the five-day strike?
November criminals,
I’m afraid you can’t be contained.
The customs are bigger than the laws in our land.
Hopefully, you pass as a man-made disaster…
ju Oct 2020
Rain is dramatic, but short lived-
storms half-hearted.
Sun shines strong and low
through art-work cloud, and
finger-print-blooms rock and sway
on a whispering green-leaf sea.

October 2020 is the hot-sweet-tea
left outside my room, after the row I caused
when I was 15.
Rebecca Oct 2020
Love your Mother, because she loves you.
She brings you rainbows with radiant hues.
She brings you purples, reds, greens, and blues
on every flower petal, drenched in dew.

Celebrate your Mother, for her hand, is the sun.
Her gown is the wind that birds glide upon.
Her hair is babies breathe, free and undone;
growing wild in the fields where violets do run.

Blanket your Mother with adoration and time,
give her the space and peace of mind.
Her womb is a melon succulent and divine,
a grape that drips off an emerald vine.

Nurture your Mother, for the nature she holds,
never let her be compromised, bought, or sold.
Her pollen is life's one true mold.
Her soil is richer than diamonds and gold.
Battery Sep 2020
a single perambulator idles on the cobbled stone
It's filled with dusty, Fractured bones
yearning, yearning mother earth
cries out for those she gave birth
wishing to envelop her kin once again
From time now, until the end.

mangled gangly trunks spin round,
growing limbs throughout the town
they advance in such peculiar ways
knocking bones from where they lay
so they could rest where Mother meant
vines covered up the corpses, and they wept
yeah. This would be my current mind frame
Angel Nov 2019
The pink sky in this gloomy evening
made your heart feel something
That orange ball of fiery in the sky made you presumptuous
Then it all faded to grey
Clarifying your uneasiness
of what’s at bay
Too fast for your mood fluctuations
Even though it matches
This weather is too much a part of your madness
Everything from the sky
To the rivers flowing
To the air & the soil you neglect
by wearing shoes
How are you going to be the true you
If the one thing that’s tryna help you
Is dying cause of you
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