The bee, sea; all wonders to me
   paint the prairie in a wondrous revery;
The views, few; belonging, they do
   as pastures review the aching truce!

Fight,
   like light,
a fashion-less delight:
   the bees stream in dateless melody ...

See,
   like thee,
a phrase-less tree;
   the bees beam in everlasting reveres ...

Zani Jul 9

In the garden out the back
Is where I've been cleaning
Out all my daemons
Even though they might relapse
It finds the anecdote
To illustrate the reason

In the garden out the back
Where I grow my wise decisions
Abundance growing to the brim
With all that medicine therein
You'll find the crystal mind

Nel giardino dietro a cà
Dove non c'è niente
Che può preoccuparmi
Io trovai felicità
Facendo cose che sono
Poco educate

Nel giardino dietro a cà
Come sana decisione
Lasciai perdere eredità
Quel che ci lascia sparirà
Qui cresce libertà

In the garden out the back
Is where I've been breathing
All my good intention
If there's something that you lack
You'll find it growing
In the fascets of redemption

In the garden out the back
You will feel no inhibitions
They are not needed anymore
Our remedy grows out the floor
Reveal this truth to find
Abundance growing to the brim
With all the medicine therein
You'll find the crystal mind

Words to accompany an accordion piece written in 2016.
All we need comes from The Earth and working in harmony with her <3
Ahimsa
Vexren4000 Jun 19

The backroads of forgotten city blocks,
Places preserved by the lack of people,
Places that appear almost as if they are better off,
Without the humans who forged them,
The stone returning to the land,
The Plants taking back their land,
Staking a place in this cold world,
A place where humans once ruled,
Now dictated by the rising sun,
And the hum of nature.

Zenith Jun 9

Growth—
it is nature's course to grow.
Everything around us:
the trees, the flowers, the plants,
every thing that has life
is destined to grow.
And we humans shall grow too.
Because even after devastation,
life comes back again to grow in it's place.
So though the world be cruel
and though some may be monstrous,
the world will heal itself
with the help of those that are good.
And from the turmoil that runs rampant,
we will all grow.

written while finally feeling better on june 8th
Mason Jay Jun 5

people say
I should be
grateful,
because I don't
have to move
all the time.

but to float
place to place,
too quick
to take root,
is better than
the strength
required to
rip out years
and years of
deep roots of
love and
dependency
that have
reached through
cold earth
to draw from
the waters of
love and
companionship

they attempted to
transplant me,
but my roots
are withered and
I can't find it
inside me to bloom.

ellie May 17

You grab my hand and we walk
Along cracked pavement.
Moss shoots through the spaces in the cement
Gasping for air,
And we stroll around the green
To let it breathe.
You lead me to a park
In your neighborhood,
It is small and smells of
Rubber and woodchips and children.
We sit on adjacent swings and
Exist next to each other silently.

Aizen Knaik May 17

I have sought many of the past lives,
Witnessed ages of the Earth’s passerby;
From when I was a little sapling,
Until vines and twigs turned wrinkling-
I am a linden tree and this is the story,
I’d tell in the form of poetry.

Many and many a year ago,
When mountains ceaselessly echo
And the birds chirped harmoniously,
Zephyr mutters silence and serenity;
Clouds clover sky in gleaming azure,
Meadow teeming with verdant grandeur.

The sound of the raging sea wave
Reverberates through the mighty cave;
Sun-kissed sand wallow all day,
Pristine and bright as the sun’s ray;
In the boggy soil I stand firm,
Watching the pendulous vine squirm.

Butterflies fluttering in great splendor,
Hovering and sipping nectars galore;
Screeching seagulls can be heard-
From a distant they form herd;
A group of mackerel rapidly swim,
Dwelling into the never-ending stream.

Those were the days when green
is all there is to be seen;
Before the rise of the civilization,
When humans value appreciation.

Blazing red lights swallowed,
Then ashes and dust followed;
Streams and riverbanks silently cry,
As fishes and clams gradually die;
Birds started singing in sorrow-
The broken melody of tomorrow.

This is the story that I’d be telling-
To my children and their sapling;
I am a linden tree, blessed and forsaken,
Whose memories and land they’ve taken.

This poem wouldn't be made possible without tears, dedication and pure heart. Just read through.
Geo May 4

there is a plant in my room that,
with no rhyme or reason,
withers and droops and snaps
whatever the season.
at times when there is plenty of sun
streaming through,
enough for its buds to open
and leaves to unfurl
they remain closed tight
against the light
i do too.

there is a plant in my room that,
when oxygen is inhaled and
carbon dioxide absorbed,
it picks up its branches and tries
to let the warmth reach its skin,
to bring back its colour and bloom a little.
but the light does not warm any deeper
than a layer or two
and when the exchange is over and left
it droops again
i try too.

there is a plant in my room that
can sometimes forget its water
and its dirt that keeps it grounded.
though it knows that
its roots will shrivel,
and its petals will fall,
that the watering can will gather dust
and its tray will fill up stagnant
till the sheer weight of negligence
can tip over its pot and scatter its soil
i forget too.

there is a plant in my room that
knows one day the sun will stop streaming
and warmth won’t reach.
that no buds nor leaves will remain to hold tight.
that gaseous exchanges cease.
that layers will shed and bare branches.
that roots will disintegrate,
and that water will evaporate.
it knows one day it won’t find its way back
after tipping over one last time.
that its soil will find other
weeds to keep alive
and it will decompose.
and i will too,
for there is a plant in my room that
dies when i do

With Social Networks,
Everything that was once  private
Becomes  public.
I see people how people  sleep.
I observe what others eat.
I see how others pray.
I watch people
Document their travels.
I can see people chronicling their death.
If I want to
I can even watch them fuck.
After a while,
The activities of Humanity
Cease to interest me
I'd rather just sit there
And gaze
At one of my house plants
Instead.

I was listening to Nirvana MTV Unplugged  in New York while writing this poem
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