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Did you hear about the stark raven?
A conspiracy they got to know.
Heard of the lonely crow?
****** killed what was alone.
The orphan doe?
A stag that grew antlers.
Hog runt of the litter?
Boar of the bog - grew tusks & got a bit bigger.
The tiniest elephant?
Trunk like a trumpet, ivory like horns.
The smallest hummingbird?
Sharp as a dragon in precision, quick as a griffin.
As for the prairie dog?
Town; coteries & clans a̲r̲e̲ the wards.
Of the marmot?
A burrow whispers of whistles.
The tortoise galápagos?
Variability shines spectrums of different rays -
Amid waves, like amber will age.
The Axolotl?
Regenerative & able to metamorph -
Like a phoenix.

Adaptation is their wisdom.
Robert Ippaso Jul 26
At first light trudging through the Arctic Snow,
Is it for thrill or just a Facebook photo show?
As the Arctic wind buffets our flushed face,
The long-awaited walk soon becomes a shambles of a race.
Hands morph to splintered wood, eyebrows deftly freeze,
And yet the brochure promised we’d do this trek with ease.
Soldier on, embrace the frigid grind,
Pray aloud that inner fortitude to find,
Not a sound outside our laden breath,
Every move made with fractured hapless stealth.
But coupled to the cold a streaming sweat,
A larger wager would I not have surely bet,
That a saunter on the glistening Arctic Tundra
Would at most develop the art of soothing Mantra.

Then a booming voice disturbs this quiet introspection,
As the guide engages in frantic group inspection,
His walkie talkie comes suddenly to life,
Stern commands soon wailing shrill with strife.
Bears ahead with teenage cubs in tow,
Keep down, stay low,
Curb the chatter, pretend you’re but a stone,
Form a line, don’t venture out alone;
Rifle’s cocked, don't turn around,
Polar bears don't run - they bound.
Now move backwards, avoid their steely gaze,
Take full advantage of this soaring Polar haze.

Maybe minutes, but seemingly an age,
As we shuffle blindly stage by stumbling stage;
Our Dunkirk - the waiting rubber boats,
Ecstatic for anything that somehow runs and floats.
Back to the ship, sodden and quite sore,
Not to mention frozen to the epicenter of our core,
We huddle around cups of steaming tea,
Sharing stories of all we had to fear and see.
You may well ask, was this the fateful end,
Did we to natures will forlornly yield and bend?

It's true the thought did rather cross our minds,
Fearful of more unscripted scrapes and woeful binds,
However, a good sleep and liquid strength galore,
Did somewhat mollify that sorry shameful score.
For as dawn broke early the next day,
To a person did we in seeming chorus say:
Off we trudge as more adventure waits,
To experience all that Nature's majesty creates,
Our only thought one of craving more,
And so we went, still frozen to our core.
A little story from our recent Arctic trip
After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.
Close to nature, close to God.
The rainbow in the sky says goodbye,
pure nature, forever kind,
shining bright like silver, refined.

Rivers of solitude running free,
children asking for food, silently.
Yet the breeze still sings with grace
on the vine leaf’s sacred face.

Close to nature  and to you, my brother
to love all things, one after another,
with nobility from the heart’s deep tide.
The earth smells of eternity wide,
and the sun is a wine without time inside.

Gratitude in the smile we show,
nature full of charm and glow.
The fog descends, calm and clear,
like a mantle blessing all that is near.

Days of rain and shining skies,
close to nature, where life applies.
The Douro whispers ancient lore,
and birds pray for friends they adore.

God embraces the whole wide land,
all people, but Douro first, my land
Flowers, bees, and honey in season,
all pulsing in the heart of creation’s reason.

In the silence of the my  lovely field,
I feel God crucified, revealed.

The soul is a root that sings and feels
in the earth, in the sky  where forever heals.


Victor Marques
Samuel E Jul 25
Dandelion seeds grow
to fly away with the wind—
and see the sky once.
I have this image in my head of a dandelion seed in the sky. So, yeah.
Sara Brummer Jul 25
Night spreads its dark wings
on a faint path upwards.
Steps climb toward the dark.
The secret cave of the heart
reveals its magic to the dreamer.
Its sapphire mist veils the fikir’s
lamp within.

Along the path the ancient oak’s
strudy branches remain still.
This mountain is a place of silence
where worldly sounds fade to
ghostly whispers.

Here one enters the mist alone
far from the stirring of moonlit
wings. Searching among a thousand
clouds in the half-lightof the unanswered
question : where is eternity along the path
unknown and the courage to search
beyond reality ?
Lee Jul 25
I wanna go camping,
I wanna bring my lizard.
I wanna smoke tons of ****,
As my joints swell in a blizzard.
I never want to explain myself,
To anyone ever again.
I want someone to truly need me,
To truly be my friend.
So Jul 25
I walk through the forest
A single set of footprints
Imprinted in the wet mud

A solitary bird
Swoops beside me
Before flying towards it's family

A lone squirrel
Runs up the tree I rest beside
Hoarding it's nuts for its winter nap

A single slug
Chasing a leaf blowing in the wind
Which I carefully place infront of it

Ants march all together
Supporting eachother through the water
Together they all march
I wish I was one too
So I'd never again walk by myself
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