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"aquifers" poems
Beneath my covers in the dark of night, I felt pulled tight.  My pajamas and underthings finding all the wrong places. At my time of change, I was gifted a bed. I felt freedom. A space of my own, finally alone. The eldest, released from the pack. Revelation of delight, naked under soft sheets. I felt the coolness. My skin alive, fresh from a warm bath. Feet wrapped safe, deep within layers. The Dreams came then... I felt their calling. Whispers beckoning me into flight, to float above, observe my simple beauty Gently slipping towards the galaxy, I felt no weight. Nebula's Helix, Saturn and Orion, their colors became the pallet of My mind. Able to soar with the eagles, into the depths of the oceans. The whales called for me to follow. Walking within the beam of light, I felt warmth. Crystalline aquifers quenched my thirst. Grounding  me to the center of our Earth. Of an age now, that comfort has settled in, I feel whole within. Naked with my soul. The sheets still cool after a long warm bath. Copyright © May 2015 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
Revelation of Delight
a malignant cancer spreads in prime agricultural land the Santos Company gas wells ever expand the waterways and aquifers sullied with material not healthy the corporate entity aspiring to be more wealthy campaigners outside fences at drilling locations wanting to stop the company's sick infiltration the fight to preserve the family farm has been unheeded company profitability must be well seeded a state government not listening to scientist's info seemingly it is more interested in the gas field's revenue flow as time goes by the waterways and land will become sicker all in the name of the Santos brands noxious sticker
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Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
Noxious Sticker
⊙~⊙~⊙~⊙~⊙ *Beneath my covers in the dark of night, I felt pulled tight.   My pajamas and underthings finding all the wrong places. At my time of change, I was gifted a bed. I felt freedom. A space of my own, finally alone. The eldest, released from the pack. Revelation of delight, naked under soft sheets. I felt the coolness. My skin alive, fresh from a warm bath. Feet wrapped safe, deep within layers. The Dreams came then... I felt their calling. Whispers beckoning me into flight, to float above, observe my simple beauty Gently slipping towards the galaxy, I felt no weight. Nebula's Helix, Saturn and Orion, their colors became the pallet of My mind. Able to soar with the eagles, into the depths of the oceans. The whales called for me to follow. Walking within the beam of light, I felt warmth. Crystalline aquifers quenched my thirst. Grounding  me to the center of our Earth. Of an age now, that comfort has settled in, I feel whole within. Naked with my soul. The sheets still cool after a long warm bath.* ⊙~⊙~⊙~⊙~⊙ Copyright © May 2015 Christi Michaels. All Rights Reserved Revelation of Delight
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May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
Revelation of Delight
If I may presume to summarize the concept, "Eminent Domain," The Big P People own the Right of Way And the little p people Have temporary possession of the  opportunity To get out of the Way, Or to be smashed under the wheels Of Big P Progress. Appropriate compensation will be paid, Of Course, And living spaces provided To the little p people, While the Big P People thunder by on their new highways, Overpasses, airports, causeways, and thoroughfares. Reclamation will be done over the torn earth To re-bury the unearthed little p people's dead, To restore damaged aquifers, To "replace" trees and grasses "just as before," Never mind the pipelines, The concrete roadways, The railroads, And the power lines.... Eminent Domain... Rhymes with Capitalist Gain,   And little p people's pain....
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Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
Eminent Domain
What putrefaction oozes up from hell To poison aquifers of decency And common sense? The crops of reason smell And do not nourish the constituency. What polar vortex drops from unknown heights To freeze the congregations of the heart? The steeples topple, enmity ignites And malice rips tranquility apart. The times devolve. Security and peace, Once real estate on which a home could rise, Shrugs off its immigrants, revokes its lease And shows indifference to human cries. A Lucifer of arrogant display Has come to sweep benevolence away.
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Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Demise: A Warning
L'heure verte The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide. At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement. Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
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Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
L'heure verte
L'heure verte The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide. At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement. Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
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. Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour, The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.
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Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 2:09 PM UTC
Rua ( Red )
Red, Rua, roselet, Hair of vine and scarlet Grapes, drown me in your drink Of lips, of wine, ruby, flesh of passion Fruit and horn of plenty, Earthen rust of pebbled clay Draw me in as the water seeping Into ancient aquifers, laden, hidden Under the vastness of Sahara Sands. I am a cloud of dream Drifting, itching, edging along your rounded Hills. Your ******* burn as I steam, Your ears are for nesting doves And your eyes, the sky is waiting, warring With ocean, for its colour,  The wandering sun is a stranger As it falls, ending each day, faded As the gaseous giant of faint Antares, Eclipsed by your heavenly Form, your Vulcan flame Of light.
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Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
Rua ( Red )
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
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Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
What May Come
shadows shift like wax-paper making silhouettes upon the snow swords like words are swallowed will we ever let it go in silent trust i echo wisdom deep, profound, beautiful the space, poignant and versatile musical, rhythmic and free love is improvising again making the most of where she stands and even where she can’t for she loves to be in over her head which is what i still sometimes don’t get who is in charge of your destiny do you believe in such things why are we made from a symphony and where can we listen to our memories and justice is a bargain that we may not always expect so give thanks for an abundance of free water while we are still blessed to have access to this resource as we are the source of our own happiness and waterfalls and aquifers embody the cascading shower of our breath
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Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:03 AM UTC
blueberries in the snow
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
What May Come
Under the umbrella of your love A seedling sprouted Roots were found Aquifers were tapped Winds were attenuated Weather was buffered It was all simplified The meandering river of life made sense Under the umbrella of your love A little sapling stepped into his shoes And became a man
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Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
Populous tremuloides
things are getting interesting. the sky has elaborate paintings, I'm back dating and my smile feels settled. it no longer teeters, on the fence to appear... worried to offend someone. a smile. its just me. since I can truly claim it I can just smile. Im happy in happenstance, the shift of the feet, quickly aligning to please only me. I can smile because I see, the beauty of the beast. the beauty of you. like I had sat there with you for centuries. like your smell was what I knew it would be. like hey here's me…     please try not to categorize me. I fall through sieves and flow with the sea, with the bits of We then permeate the pools and the aquifers. no box deep enough for her. expansion always necessary. now its just getting interesting. your smell got me, yes, though I could forget it easily. not subconsciously, there we are One. Earthly, here I could forget you easily. and be free to explore the outside of entrapment, of attachment. just be me. and still love you. expansion. trust what I see. patience. just be the real me. less options now.
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Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 4:19 AM UTC
mere entertainment
1. Out of control growth of government and related debt spending 2. The explosion of global viral pandemics and superbugs 3. The collapse of abundant underground water aquifers 4. The collapse of a failed medic system that no one can afford 5. The chemical destruction of croplands and the coming food collapse
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Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Disasters Looming In Our Future
What did I ever do to deserve a world where avocados are underripe while they're overripe, pens cede before their ink is spent, rivers run dry, aquifers deplete? What choice do I have but to opt out of the technocratic misery, overlorded by the Slither Circle, to make my sways of the sun replete? My country has a Military Complex that fought wars over bananas. My country prints Monsters on Money, a desecrated spell to spill nature's blood and use it in every commodity: the ink, the encasements, the coatings, the stains, the sealants, the wrappers, even the food and medicine. What did I do? I ate. I wrote. I used.
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Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 9:39 AM UTC
Mandela (Apple in Hellworld)
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
What May Come
take me to the river and let the water rush in torrents from the tear ducts of the source the spring gurgling up with a frigid message ground water from aquifers of secrets and the memories that you swear to me don't exist anymore yet play in the crystal clear blackness of your eyes when your pupils disappear and blend into the river of your mahogany irises. walk me to the water with the lead around me and the bit of your attraction burrowing between my teeth as i bite down and grind my molars to the pollen that leaves a yellow green sheen on the surface of your watering hole pull me as i fight raging against the magnetic force that shackles me to you and leads me to the light at the end of the tunnel even though i'm lost. you can lead a horse to water just like you can tie me to you sew me into the secret place of your heart and incorporate me into the intricate web of your ecosystem fed by the endless supply of that water which digs its claws into the sides of my throat and coats my stomach with a poison that i welcome. you can lead a horse to water but you can't make me drink you can move the mountain and dry up snow drifts that drip and melt into a band of wild horses running downhill to tread upon my ticky-tacky heart but if i drink then i'm surely lost the sutures between us cut out to reveal the nascent pink scar puckered at the edges that represents our connection how easily it can be torn asunder and leave me bleeding on the banks of your shore while you float away one with the waves.
0
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
Untitled
take me to the river and let the water rush in torrents from the tear ducts of the source the spring gurgling up with a frigid message ground water from aquifers of secrets and the memories that you swear to me don't exist anymore yet play in the crystal clear blackness of your eyes when your pupils disappear and blend into the river of your mahogany irises. walk me to the water with the lead around me and the bit of your attraction burrowing between my teeth as i bite down and grind my molars to the pollen that leaves a yellow green sheen on the surface of your watering hole pull me as i fight raging against the magnetic force that shackles me to you and leads me to the light at the end of the tunnel even though i'm lost. you can lead a horse to water just like you can tie me to you sew me into the secret place of your heart and incorporate me into the intricate web of your ecosystem fed by the endless supply of that water which digs its claws into the sides of my throat and coats my stomach with a poison that i welcome. you can lead a horse to water but you can't make me drink you can move the mountain and dry up snow drifts that drip and melt into a band of wild horses running downhill to tread upon my ticky-tacky heart but if i drink then i'm surely lost the sutures between us cut out to reveal the nascent pink scar puckered at the edges that represents our connection how easily it can be torn asunder and leave me bleeding on the banks of your shore while you float away one with the waves.
Continue reading...
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We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
What May Come
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
What May Come
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
What May Come
We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung. I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
What May Come
. We met at night and our love Grew in the eves— And then, I had to leave her. It was like a new emotion, An uncovered degree of cold And far winds moaned, shuffled air Became scarce and mythic as aquifers Under desert, like no bird had ever flown Nor sung.  I longed to see her in dream Her burning red hair, like my steadfast Flame— alight, a swoon of dance Of newness and of peace, In the death of night.
0
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 11:01 PM UTC
What May Come