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dk 19h
I long for cobbled stone roads
Dim lit stone stairs climbing with ivy
Up buildings built by Romans
adorned with flowers and intricacies
Details honed by Craftsman
Delicately drafting
the landscapes we live in
Unlike the concrete utilitarian steel and glass pillars and highways
Their plight on our journeys in life
To benefit the productivity
but detriment the soul
To capitalize no matter what the cost
Leaving me longing to nap
in a park with Parisians
For fresh baked baguettes on a bench with a bottle of burgundy
For mosaics made of glass in cathedrals built centuries ago
Over billboards and neon lights,
the flashing and screaming
products for purchase
Let me get my dinner after the people have had their naps.
Let it be an occasion
not a necessity to get by
Let's walk the city after 10
while the sky is still bright
Waiting for the dim street lights
to light our way back
To another day of walking
cobble ****** streets
my father sat in a pool
of mid-morning sunshine
on the raised patio
overlooking the garden
an open book in his lap
the dog asleep at his side
the lightest of clouds
decorating the horizon
and a whisper of leaves
his only distraction

as i rushed to the kitchen
for a hastily made
better-than-nothing version
of a flat white
that i wouldn't even enjoy
only ten minutes to spare
before yet another meeting
i paused for a moment
to take in this scene
resplendent as he was
peacefully present
behind the radiance
of diaphanous lace
breeze-rippled curtains
suffused with sunlight

a pertinent reminder
of something which
i didn't have time
to consider
Dylan Mar 2023
Shades of saffron over the Black Hills,
droplets of evening blot the pines,
a whirring zephyr bathes the grassland
as horizon crawls from your eyes.

Pasque adorns the endless plateaux,
while sunset colors the sky.
Bison wander in scarlet twilight
through an ocean of durum and rye.
As the morning sunlight rises,
In the East, behind my back,
To start this day, lighting everything,
The warm rays, touch along their way.
A few hours later, the dark nimbus cumulus clouds,
Start to cover the sky, blocking  the sunlight rays,
From my eyes, after a few rounds of thunder,
Raindrops start falling to the ground,
Nothing in its path stays dry, as the wind,
Starts blowing the falling moisture around.
The darkness continues to increase,
Looking towards, Schooley’s woods,
The white and yellow honeysuckle, I could normally see,
Across Maxwell’s creek, hiding in darkness, the only,
Light for a landmark, a lone light on, Schaubert’s bridge,
As I look downstream taking a peek.
The rain will slowly fade,
The sun will light the rest of the day,
The water in the creek will flow under the bridge,
Downstream on its, way.

The Original: Tom Maxwell  copyright 5/19/22 AD
2:00 pm
Bardo Feb 2022
At a funeral recently, a cremation along with my young niece
Whose a Vegan and very environmentally conscious
I was telling her "I wouldn't like to be cremated, it's too much like 'going to hell' to me"
Then she says she'd like to be cremated herself, that it'd be her preferred choice, that it'd be the most environmentally friendly way to go
I said to her "Would you not like to be buried in one of those nice wicker basket type coffins that the environmental people like
I thought that's the kind of thing you'd be into"
She said No! I wouldn't like them, the thought of worms and other creepy crawlies crawling in on top of me, all over me Ugh! I couldn't bear that.

Oh I said, No! just give me a nice quiet church graveyard, lovely and peaceful
With the yew trees nice and shady and the birds singing softly, somewhere lovely and quiet way out in the country
It'd be so relaxing
"Well", she said,"you won't know, sure you'll be dead".
"My soul it'll be reposing", I corrected her cheerily.

Then I said "Y'know I think I saw this TV programme  once where you could have music playing in your coffin
Something over in America, could only be in America LoL
I went on dreamily, "Y'know I think I'm getting younger as I grow older
I've put away all my old Black Sabbath records
Now I've started listening to Taylor Swift instead, she has some great songs that girl, great videos too
I think I'll have Taylor Swift singing to me in my coffin
I'll go boppin' into the next world, the next life with Taylor, hand in hand
I could even put some posters of her up on the inside of my coffin.

Look! I said to my niece pointing to a few hairs on the front of my head
I think my quiff it's starting to grow back again. Elvis here I come!!!
Graves and funerals and the Sabbs LoL. Death is a part of Life, it comes to us all eventually.
Warrior Poet Jan 2022
The fire lit is bright,
As a lamp within the abyss;
It ignites the contents
Of the wooden chamber;

Smoke slowly escapes the contraption,
Designed to guide its flow;
Into the bags of flesh
That only fresh air have called home;

It swirls inside with no escape
Before it is slowly & gently removed;
Smoke now escapes into the air,
Dispersing, never to be seen again;

Inside the little fire dies
Leaving behind a pile of ash;
Fresh air is again acquainted
Into the passage of which air flows;

The taste that is left behind
Is a burning that cannot be quenched;
Calmness now sweeps over
Bringing a cool feeling;

Thoughts were much clearer
Than the mist that was once breathed;
Now they are scattered,
Similar to the smoke that had left;

Fearing that this feeling is but a dream
and praying that it will last;
But no sadness shall be felt
When the pipe is no longer lit;
For all things must conclude
And the briefness of existence celebrated.
Deep Oct 2021
The mystic Sadhu
chants cryptic
I hear
the Hammssss of his voice,
He is lost in his world
Like I'm with mine,
Above me, the bridge
clanked gleefully
announcing the arrival of her lover;
Shimmering in white, honking
it moves slowly like a big serpent,
Ending the tryst
with a flickering red light.

Several mounds, smoldering woods,
and one body stuck to
the trunk of the bridge
swirled in me the fear of
leaving this world early,
leaving all that I strived to
achieve, and leaving all of
it in the middle.

Buses pass on the next bridge
A hand came out
and aimed the stream with
something, probably a coin,
to compensate for wrongdoings,
Coin-collectors waiting like a
starving lion in a zoo
pounced on these throwings,
aiming the spot  
with a magnet like
a trained ninja in nocturnal warfares,
After a few unsuccessful attempts
A boy yelled in joy
"Har Har Gange".

The Ganges was like this
from the beginning,
She was moderate in demands
offering so much
at the cost of a penny,
Throw a coin and
you are absolved from all your sins.
The scene that I described is a Ghat where most of the GangaAsnans performed near Allahabad.
Enjoying moments alone,
Having fun by yourself,
Just entertaining, your mind,
Not thinking of, anyone else,
Your enjoying personal time,
Exploring spontaneous thoughts,
That appear, in your mind.
Not worrying about your troubles,
Keeping visions, on positive signs,
Searching, through your stuff,
Seeing what treasures,
You may find.
A period of relaxation,
Forgetting, all your binds,
While keeping your lips, wet
With a glass of your favorite wine

The Original : Tom Maxwell 6/14/AD 2:45 PM
Hex May 2021
Slipping free from yester's time,
A Feather trapses yond the way,
On wind it floats, a step, sublime,
Dipping and ducking flakes of grey,
Those forged by winter, the sun's decay,
Plates of ivory, why must they hack?
Torn soil, a relic of why you turn away,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Sea, so fair, shimmering as a chime,
As the wind you switch, and you sway,
And your blues shine like a dime,
But if he drifts beyond the bay,
Will waters claim him, as they say?
Or shall he wash back, with the wrack?
To you, O Sea, he mustn't stray,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Mount, your peak, the rigorous climb,
At your summit, scores kneel and pray,
Your caps glow white, with a grass bed of lime,
If you were where the feather must stay,
Shall your perils bring him fray?
Must he lie in caves of black?
Nay, a feather must fly, and outward he must splay,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.

O Feather, O Feather, where will you spend your days?
Here I must halt on the trail of your track,
Seize the wind, O Feather, the world is your prey,
Soar away, O Feather, and don't float back.
A tale of independence.
Warrior Poet Feb 2021
A belly full of tasteful food,
With a tankard filled with good drink,
As well as the smell of sweet tobacco
Is calming to the mind of any man;

A fire with a kind flame,
A book filled with adventure,
As friends tell cheerful tales
Can fill his life with enjoyment;

The cool wind upon his back,
The fresh air entering the lungs,
As the rain falls from up high
Offers a relaxed feeling for most;

The sound of calm streams
As well as the mighty rivers,
And the sight of the forests
Is enough to bring a man's soul peace;

The green leaves that are on the trees
That grow to tremendous heights,
With roots deep within the skin of earth
Brings much amazement and wonder;

When the sun has fully sunk
A sky full of stars is revealed
With a moon that shines bright
Brings tears to the eyes;

Home is where the heart is
And mine is within the mountains,
For having experienced their beauty
I pity any man who's never seen them.
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