#sightseeing
I
When the firecat bristled over Oklahoma,
The green lushy bushes trembled and thrilled.
II
Did he try to find a tree in that night?-
When the valley candle converged upon its image.
III
I look at the dead tree
But I know
A green bud is finding its way out
From beneath the ground.
IV
The glossy leaves
Are bangles of an armed tree.
It fires out the life when the wind blows.
V
The green algae in the sea bed
Shimmers blue in the moonlight.
It's the ritual to summon the Sun.
VI
The barren winter is soon ending.
The green is shedding its weary skin.
VII
I look at the green leaf,
The green tree,
The green hill,
The green in my mind
And the green in yours.
Are they the same green?
Let me change my lens!
VIII
The forest green welcomes me,
May that forest forever stay in our blind spot.
May its green stay green
And not dusty of some underdeveloped road track.
IX
Outside the window:
The Golden Oriole and a Great Coucal
Sit on the faraway tree.
They came to see the Drongo's air dive.
Ahead of the blue-green endless sky, a swallow prepares for its 'better' dive.
The trees gossip on swallow's act,
And in the greener shade
A stream hums with airy beats.
X
When I see a dry tree
I lend it some of my green.
'I have seen you in glory;
it shall return.'
XI
Watching the green frames,
Change throughout the seasons
Is alike a flower blooming.
The winter night wilts it
And the spring morn teems it.
XII
It is the color of life.
A state of calm tranquil.
The trees in the hills
Moving in unison
Marks how alive the wind is.
XIII
While the valley candle kept burning
And flashing on the firecats fury;
I borrowed his lens of green.
It was broken.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 6:41 AM UTC
the cold bites back, and the wind does not exist in
sunny california. difference? between
cloudy and gloomy. it's wet and there's ice,
and i'm dressed in nothing but jeans, blue wool, crocs,
admiring a closed loan shop, no street tacos yet,
but a pizza shop firing up their stoves, ovens,
the yeast and olive oil pressed into bowls of
dough, to form nothing but endless
platters and platters of margaritas, pepperoni,
a side of breadsticks.
a man curls up like a kitten seeking warmth on a
bus bench, waiting for the great big fireball to
embrace everything again.
but it is winter, creeping into the shadows,
into my blankets, into nighttime when the rain begins
to clean up when no one else is awake
the moon smiles fondly, and the insomniacs
find solace in the peace of night, when their time
is in no one else's hands but their own,
not in the hands of their mother, warm by
observing the rest of the world
from their perch like a ****** of crows
waiting for the next fallen fry or crumb that
falls in their line of sight
there’s a woman walking, in her mid thirties
and holding a bag of tomatoes, i think
it's not coincidence; she looks like an aunt or
grandma i've seen at church, and there’s a
man probably in his twenties who trails after her
not far like a son
May 4, 2025
May 4, 2025 at 11:33 PM UTC
Beneath the Eiffel's iron lace,
A tabby cat prowls with feline grace,
Past Arc de Triomphe, she sets her pace,
On moonlit nights down the Champs Élysées.
Prowling around cafés and bustling streets, She slips into wine-soaked conversations, Witnessing love's soft declarations,
While dodging bikes and hurried feet.
Her whiskers twitch at fresh baguettes,
As dawn breaks on the Seine's calm flow, Lounging, watching artists come and go,
From her sun-kissed, with a view parapet.
Notre Dame's gargoyles watch her pass,
Through shadows of restored spires,
In all its reverent wonder, to be admired
As pigeons scatter on morning mass.
Up to Montmartre's charm and winding ways,
She naps peacefully on warm window sills,
As church bells toll from sacred hills,
Lost in the wonders of her Parisian days.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 10:23 PM UTC
Dear wide, comforting
McMurdo Sound.
The beautiful nowhere.
Perennial comforts high above.
Here is cold Ross Dependency.
Here is Erebus.
Surface landmarks:
hawk moth mirage
--malevolent trick
of the polar light.
Orphans of the sky.
First impressions in the snow.
Mountain tomb, angels sing.
Coffins full of ice.
They say the smell of kerosene
never leaves you,
and that on a clear day you can
still see the debris.
Feb 5, 2024
Feb 5, 2024 at 9:09 AM UTC
the water so green
the cloud so white
the sky so blue
no rambling tour guides
no scattered ruins
here
every blade of grass
every blooming flower
every towering tree
is original
and pure
here
nothing is ugly or even unattractive
everywhere is bright and transparent
there's no place to hide
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC
Welcome abroad Thameslink.
Grab a camera a wink at
Shaftsbury’s bootylicious dancers.
Pen in gear and know the answers to
the parade of pub quizzes.
Let your strands of raw seismic frizzes scream
on bonds lightening Thames RIB.
The Louis Vuitton wallet ‘on fleek’ for that crib inside
the Shards slender diamond belly.
Feet stay in groove with that Kidston welly against
the roaring mud at the wireless festival.
Pre dem soulful struts of de Notting hill carnival spicy
spirits, nani wines and **** kisses.
Safari hunt watch out for those hisses on
centre stage of the primeval in the zoo.
Grab my hand and come on boo steady
your bags and steady your feet on the thrilling
ride of Oxford street.
Reminisce its entirety and say goodbye.
As we take in our final view on the London eye.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:19 AM UTC
She took me sight seeing
The city of her heart-
My hand clinched tight in hers.
A celebration of eyes held tight.
Our smiles bright,
Navigating the twist & turns of the street.
Champagne & beige buildings.
The wind snapping between our faces.
It was beautiful
Seeing colors and shapes this way.
A moment filled with pedestrian eyes.
Our steps the very throb of the city.
Of all the streets
There was one rough patch.
Of all the buildings, all the pretty lights.
This one rough patch in the center of the street was my favorite.
Though she hated it.
It was my favorite part.
To be honest I don't know what or why I was drawn to it.
To me it just felt real.
Night or day
It reminded me of home
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
The mileage added up to just a grand
Not a lot for 20 days,
No crossing of a dateline
Or a continent’s divide.
But still that world seemed somewhat foreign
and I saw streams of amazing things,
That were echoes of my teenage self,
As different now as I was then.
A hazy forest, dark and damp
Where the mist turned into fairy snow
And we walked on in muddy shoes
To learn the mysteries of falling water.
A midas treasure of wave-borne findings
Spilling from a cavernous hall
Pieces of so many lives found
Floating on the morning tide.
Stories of a Nippon sailor’s life
From things that got thrown overboard
Images of fishing boats
In round glass ***** and floats of cork.
Carve the circle with a line
That led to a reunion of
The ones that I grew up beside
But never quite was welcomed in.
A rounding up of recollections
Shared at tables set for eight
Where those left out still don’t fit in
And bonhomie was the music played.
To the ocean of my childhood days
Waves that tell me who I am
And fill up all the empty spaces
City life drained out of me.
A shining tower with ninety steps
That wound around like pizza slices
And tripped me up to taste my blood
As balsa airplanes spiraled to the ground.
No time for wounding on the schedule
Shedding blood but never tears
The leader of the band played on
Admiring a Tsunami boat
Come all the way from far Japan
With cargo of the local fish
Still swimming in the unspilled sea.
A miracle born from true disaster.
Another beach, not like my own
A warmer, calmer span of sand
With jutting rocks in shallow surf
That dare you out to climb them.
Drawn once more to city lights
And the grassy slope where mother lies
There were other gardens to enjoy and
And contrivances with just two wheels.
How quickly we grew shuttered in-
Just two days in big city life,
The restaurants and funny shows
Still told us it was time to go.
Longing for the beauty of the Gorge
We were met by smoke and blackened stumps
And exits blocked to waterfalls, ravaged
By the fires of hell, and ugly now for 50 years.
A teenage boy with fireworks and no sense
Destroyed the loveliest drive on earth
And bragged to all his awestruck friends
That all the news stories were about him.
With fingers crossed at Mount Rainier,
The sunny weather turned to slush and
Fell two inches in an hour. I ate fresh snow
Off branches as we hiked, and froze my tongue.
We wore the heavy coats we almost didn’t bring
And cheered when sunshine took the snow away
And we could walk in forests once again
On trails we never knew were there.
A wonderland of cast off parts and metal bits
Became giraffes, seahorses and other marvels
In the hands of a roadside welding artist
Who sold a giant piece to my home town.
A visit with a sister who shared my youth but not my soul
Who grew one way and I another
Leaving not a thing in common for us
Except the love that comes from blood.
No way to avoid the final city
Hellish place of one way streets
Endless detours and construction
Pay all you own to park two hours.
Yet there was the comedy and
Segways once again to ride.
A troll under a hulking bridge and
Poor Rapunzel in the tower.
Passing up the tourist musts,
Visited in journeys past, we saw
The small and quirky things
That make a foreign city yours.
Twenty days, almost no rain
Unheard of in that rainy clime
A lot of sun, some cloudy skies
A bit of snow to frost the cake.
Twenty days to drive a circle
On the map of who I am
And where I came from
To bring it all back here with me.
To this place so vastly different
I wonder how I found a way
To fit inside this giant tumbler
And plant a seed that actually grew
A would-artist long ago
I wonder how I mixed the paint
To make a life so changed, in colors
Blended from Seattle’s soils.
Painted on a Portland canvas
With a brush of Longview bristles
Wetted with Pacific water
To present my image to the world.
ljm
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC