#commune
My neighbour's hand is on my porch.
The porch that's on my neighbour's land.
My seat is in my planet's sun,
its fun, to play out in the heat.
This summer home upon the roof
the proof you need not be alone.
The garden's through my landlord's study.
My landlord, who's my buddy's buddy.
I've got the time to call and chat
but that I need not do, in fact.
I live five paces from my friends
no calls nor sends, I see their faces.
Our little city, above the street,
up thirty feet the world is pretty.
I do not crave the land below
I'm high up on my magic meadow.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:21 AM UTC
Once upon a time,
we lived in Shangri-log
It was hollow and cozy
and safe from the fog
We built us a kitchen,
out of sticks and stuff
We built benches and shelter
and swept away the duff
We were working on the hill,
early that spring
Away from our log,
when the bear gave a ring
He raided all of our salty snacks,
and even some of our liquor stash!
And all he left was a big bear mess,
and a pile of.. I'll let you guess...
So we learned our lesson, no more storing food
We cleaned up camp and life was good
But we had to return to our toil
Spreading horse ****
amending soil
The next time we returned
to our big round squat
Something was wrong,
but we didn't know what..
We decided not to worry
and we had a party
We were lit up all night
and the sky was starry...
As the sun was coming up,
the time for sleep rolled around
But as we laid down to rest,
we heard a startling sound...
Beep! Beep! Beep! Filled the air!
And a churning of trees!
They were clearing the area,
We needed to flee!
We snatched up some things,
hid the rest in a stump
Our buddy was collapsing
his tent on the run
We got to the commune,
but no sleep would be found...
We all were uneasy about
bulldozers on ground
At the end of the day,
When the workers were gone
We dashed up the hill,
to check on our zone
Our camp was untouched,
Our things were all fine
But the brush had been cleared
all under the power lines...
And since our log was exposed, it was time to go
(I think we can take a hint, dontcha know...)
We cleaned everything up,
Tore everything down
Well almost everything,
Our old bed's still around
The years have gone by,
The brush has regrown..
It's hard not to wish we could live in our old home...
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
The demos of France rise to light,
To silence the cavernous glut of king.
Paris glows a bright hot white,
As the echoes of torment sing.
The people gather all their might,
To snap the golden chain.
The masters of the people’s plight,
Claw back to save their reign.
As thunder cracks to end the slight,
Paris glows a deep dark red.
The fall of this great sight,
Fills our hearts with dread.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
a commune back home not hippie
buy 300, no 500 acres great land
in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon
built great big house wraparound porch
beset by rocking chair by the sea yet
in the woods at end of road all brown dirt
growing gardens, herb and vegetable
pulling weeds but keeping good green ****
brewing beer by own hand
group work but not always group think
friends lovers writers growers givers
all come to stay
making great pots of stew and strange brews
awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland
telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run
at night over bottles on beaches by fires
we worry these are funeral pyres
for our great little social experiment
fear of leaving loving womb
of isolated salt fish by sea commune
real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair
where here instead guitars, ukes
silly screaming little buddhas recite poems
by gleaming eye fireside
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC