"dale" poems
5am, I sit alone my mind feeling so bright
is it early morning or the middle of the night.
The wind still howls winters tune
and trees are dancing in the dale.
I yearn for sun and summers warmth
but all I get is cold and hail.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
The days start dark and keep me hidden
as if to say that it's forbidden,
to laugh and sing and have the fun
I get from walking in the sun.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
I long to see the flowers smile,
the shadows form on my sundial.
The smell of grass that's freshly mown,
the shoots from seeds so freshly sown.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
Smiling children everywhere
running around without a care.
Winter woollens stashed away
and let's forget those rainy days.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
Take away this winters cold
it only makes me feel old.
Bring the sun and bring the light
and take away this awful night.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
Early morning sun please shine,
and as I sit with glass of wine.
I'll try to not let my mind splinter
and forget all about the winter.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.
So comeback Mr Sunshine please
and take away this cold disease.
Once again to see you glow
and throw your warmth through my window.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moonè’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.
7.9k
Honest,
that meaningless word left dangling before children,
a damoclean sword held fast in a gordian knot tied with scarlet thread,
finer than the spider's that once tied men's souls to an angry American God,
birthed in Transylvania,
over the woods, and through the dale, no lie
There is a tale of lies told in Nobel houses, never reachin' ground,
Down here, we situations manifested to, vain, again, stem the tide,
We flounder, fish out of water, why are we sent if
wait
he hears, he listens, haps he knows, and
how such as we came
to be here,
Welcome and see, dare ye ask me in? Might I ply you with lies
and you, believe 'em?
I could make a mindless robot out of your parts, but
that would take forever and
that's not how
Wisdom's child would tend to be, for first,
You must believe a lie and I, amusing as can be,
can't tell lies.
Discernment, fine points, per-spicacity per se, the only way.
Good luck (Luc, said luck in many tongues, is said Lose- as in Luc-ifer.
It means light, as in light, regular old granted light.)
Lightifier, good, take some, good light, for the travail, in the night.
You see, not so long ago, for me, five years before I'as born,
my momma moved to town.
What was that like, I axed my old uncle, while back,
movin' t'town, in 1943?
Well, he says,
We had electricity.
USA, 1943, some folks still was poor, and all the good men
was gone to war.
Cities, it was different,
if the movies got it right, Bowry Boys, n'em.
In the desert we did, okeh, in town, though,
we had electricity.
He was ten back then. He'd been huntin' rabbit's,
to buy Christmas presents from Sears and Roebucks,
since he was five.
C'mon, I say. No lie, he say,
BLM or some gover'ment
whatsajigger, was payin' 2 cents a pair fer jack rabbit ears.
'Said he bought Christmas presents for his mom and dad,
and my mom, with his first rabbit money, at five.
Shootin' with a single-shot 22, 12 cents a box,
Jack Rabbits, 2 cents a head.
Three Christmas presents, plus postage, $2.56.
Do the math, I think, and go -
Five years old, at ten, he moves to town, 1943,
we had electricity. That's all.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire,
Woods and Groves, are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcom thee, and wish thee long.
6.1k
*I stopped by for a cigarette and to hear a story
He always told the tale of one eyed molly
She lost her eye
In a fight with a dog
The moral of the story was
Never trust something
Just because it may look harmless,
Even act harmless
But this day he told me another tale
The one of old Lumberjack Dale*
He was large like an ogre
Chopped too many trees to know of
Was stupid according to my uncle
This gave me quite a chuckle
He left off, on a normal morning
Hiked up the mountain
To where the clear dirt’s mourning
Held his axe and began to swing
The trees didn't have a prayer
He thought he was king
One fell down
He yelled "TIMBER"
Another smacked the ground
He Yelled "TIMBER"
Then another
and
Another
Birds were scattering
Squirrels were flying
The sounds were of a madman grunting through fire
"TIMBER"
The fifth hit the ground
The lumberjack ogre
Had to sit down
He swung one too many times, on this here day
The mountain swung back with a black bear, ok?
Protecting her cubs she wrestled the big man
Teeth in his arm and his axe in his hand
He squinted his eyes and flung the weapon
Missing the giant bear standing about 6' 11"
The mountain whispered to the lumberjack
"Leave and never come back"
He had ****** his pants and ran for the shack
"TIMBER"
The old black bear followed
Protecting her land
And the ones she adored
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
A life in poetry, A love in art
Set forth on a path that extends forever.
Though the closest reaches climb high
Over mountain and dale, through ravine and shadow,
The path goes on and as it does, descends into light:
So much light, more light than one can resolve.
It blurs the boundaries of the great valley
Splashes of green, the wonderful glare of richness
A river runs through the valley and nourishes the fruit
The sweetest fruit. It nourishes the body,
Nourishes the soul: renews, enriches, grows, sustains.
The path extends to the horizon. And beyond.
As it grows from the foothills it branches
Forming a fractal road of possibility.
Like roots growing from the mountain,
There appears nothing more natural in the world.
As the paths go on, they passes through diverse landscapes
Some places they make sharp changes in direction,
Some places they pass through further patches of shadow,
Some places they grow wider, Some places they get rocky,
But nowhere does the path narrow, beyond the first stretch,
Where the paths split, and over the mountains rejoin.
Beyond that there is always enough room for two
To walk astride.
Side by Side in Sunlight.
Hand in Hand.
For Maya.
Donald Guy
July 5, 2010.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
I'm startin' to run out of nursery rhymes
So, I made up one of my own
It's about a nearsighted plumber
That was accidently glued to his throne
Once upon a time, long, long ago
There was a plumber, who I'll call Dale
Poor old Dale had a hard time plumbing
Cause he really couldn't see very well
He'd gotten a call, "The toilet won't flush!
Please, can you come right away?"
Well, old Dale got in such a hurry
He forgot to take his glasses that day
Well, by the time old Dale had got there
The house was in quite a mess
He realized he'd forgotten his glasses
But he'd give that toilet his best
He'd not seen this since plumbing school
But then, he only saw it on a test
And by the time, he got his tools together
The water was starting to crest
He had spotted the problem right away
But remember now, he can only half see
The water was squirtin' six feet high
And poor Dale was only five foot three
He laid his glue on the toilet seat
While trying his best not to drown
He couldn't see where he put it at
And, of course, that's where he sat down
He didn't even know 'till it was too late
He'd bent over to loosen a nut
And that's when he first noticed that thing
The toilet was glued to his ****
So, if you ever need a real good plumber
He's the man for the job, without fail
And I hope you enjoyed this story
About the nearsighted plumber named Dale
I forgot tell you, there's one more thing
About the nearsighted plumber named Dale
That man still has that toilet seat
For the thing's still glued to his tail
© All Rights Reserved
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 7:59 PM UTC
motorbike motorbikes on the waves
it’s fun to ride motorbikes on the waves
riding can be fun, and riding is so cool
motorbikes motorbikes on the waves
you see he is like evil kanieval
he is like dale buggins
he is like any cool dude, who has walked on the earth
motorbike motorbike on the waves
what a cool motorbike on the waves
riding motorbikes on the waves can be cool
yeah mate yeah he breaks alkl the rules, and that is cool
you see robbie maddison rides on top of an ocean in tahiti yeah
yeah, and i was there in the end with my nice old beer
motorbike motorbike, on the waves, in tahiti, what a rave
motorbike motorbike, on the waves, it’s time to not have a shave
carn the motorbikes, bring on fun
give conserves a boot up the ***
motorbikes motorbikes, yeah we’ll have fun
yeah, up with surfers, having some fun
motorbikes motorbikes, having a lot of fun, ooh yeah
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
**via woodland trail, along deciduous dale
amid a rocky terrain, through geographic chicane
meandrous no longer, smoky waters beleaguered
upwelling they burble, in deep tracts they gurgle
hypnotic they swirl, then turgidly whorl
the rivers egress, from caverns sub-aqueous
bereft of surrender, outpours now in splendour
the Wharfe expelled from the strid.
... ... ...**
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Daydreamer waiting for her surprise
She's always sitting on the bench outside
Watching through the golden glasses
She sees through her eyes a world that unties
Beautiful creatures and where love prevails
She always wonder why her beauty does not impales
As she holds so many wonders
A sweetness in her bright almond eyes, behind the glasses that sat crookedly on her nose
She focused her eyes on a flat prairie
Where the unaccustomed eye sees only ordinary
In hers, the dale was a beautiful swathe of shiny green grasses
Trees are clothed in delicious cream and pink blossom
Jasmines dancing to the winds, choreographing autumn breeze
The sun casting its last golden rays
Changing its yellow into hues of tangerine and fire red
Her perfect world, she whispers
She is a daydreamer
With eyes so full of love that will make you melt
She is beauty and love
Looking at her shadow slowly shrinking down her feet
Only her can see the magic
You will find her outside
Waiting for the man to share the same picturesque landscape
Seeing her reflection on him just like a mirror
Sharing a moment, a smile, a touch, a gaze
Closing their eyes to a slow and soft kiss
Alas; she is still waiting on this
Waiting to meet him flesh and bones
Dreaming about it everyday
This love she's never met,
Yet she seems to glimpse him in every corner
And because of it, her heart craves for blossoming flower
Her heart is bound to a fictional imagery of him
Creating imaginary moments and opportunities
Clinging to a false sign that precipitates desires
The desire to lay her eyes on him and feel his lips on hers
The desire to feel her body shivers with his skin on hers
The desire to feel his heart beating to her caress
the rush in her veins, with just his look
She will be an eternal daydreamer
Until she finds him sitting on the bench outside for her
For an eternity of love
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
When the voices of children. are heard on the green
And whisprings are in the dale:
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.
Then come home my children. the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Your spring & your day. are wasted in play
And your winter and night in disguise.
4.2k
The full moon caught a glimpse
where the billowed clouds parted
Saucer size Dogwood blossoms
echoed an urging reflection
through wide open window ;
the diffused moonlight reached in
touching the open palms
enduring in an empty void
lay down beside
Softly burnished reflections
lighten blanched flesh petals
swaying in the wakened
spring cadence
Rhinestone memories
tethered from somewhere above ;
as if manipulating puppet strings
dangling down through
the seesaw cloud gap ―
scattering candlelit sequins
like unmapped constellations
brushed by the moonlight
in the dale of your leafless *******
The fragrant breeze
of your memory
gathers a sweetest taste,
teasing wishful thirsty lips
into a gentle smile ...
Tracing unbounded memories
with wandering fingertips
upon your intimate
canvas oasis in my mind
Fallen petals floating gently
across still waters
induced by whispered breeze ;
quiet reminders that ripple
the mesmerizing silence
with the lonely breath
an unheard evanescent sigh
The open window
let the moonlight in,
illuminating lingering
shadows of the past ...
you feel the waft
of spring breathe ...
but you just can't help
where the wind blows
Jesse e. Stillwater
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
there was little cow he was black and white
and he used to sleep walk whenever it was night
he wandered all around walking in his sleep
all around the meadow then in among the sheep
he wandered through the dale and all along the glen
then he would turn around and walk back home again
back in to his bed the little cow would creep
the he would settle down and fall back fast asleep
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
Que voluntad tiene el humano
De cambiar su alrededor
Como se puede crear algo
Que ayude a cambiar al mundo
Algún mensaje que difundo
Que se trate de lo que sea
Basado en lo que esta afuera
O lo que pasa por mis venas
Porque no todos sienten
No todos son honestos
Ignoran al pasado
Y no corrigen sus errores
El pasado no perdona
Los sentimientos agobian
Y las cosas que pasan
Las convierto en historias
Es mi hobbie favorito
Me desahogo sin piedad
Escribir es la única opción
Para calmar esta ansiedad
Que en oportunidades surge
Y honestamente no la espero
Pero me da creatividad
Para hacer con las palabras lo que quiero
Plasmar en un lienzo
De una manera u otra
Todo lo que pienso
Y nadie puede estar en mi contra
Después de este proceso
Entro en neutralidad
Todo el amor u odio a algo
Fue expulsado con inteligencia
Y en cuenta se debe tomar
Porque es mucho mejor
Hacer rimas sin parar
Que dañar algo por rabia temporal
La importancia de la palabra
Es mayor que el de las balas
Menor que los hechos
Pero están relacionadas
Te pueden asustar
Enojar
Destruir
Humillar
Alegrar
Hacer recordar
Y sobre todo, enamorar
Porque es tal el poder de la palabra
Que cambia a la gente
Pueden quedarse en la historia
Y duran para siempre
Asi que si el propósito del humano
Es cambiar al mundo
Dale uso poético a tu vida
Y crea un efecto único y clásico
La reflexión.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main,
O rain-birds racing merrily away
From hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plain
Of wilting plants and fainting flowers, say--
When at the noon-hour from the chapel school
The children dash and scamper down the dale,
Scornful of teacher's rod and binding rule
Forever broken and without avail,
Do they still stop beneath the giant tree
To gather locusts in their childish greed,
And chuckle when they break the pods to see
The golden powder clustered round the seed?
3.4k
See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon
the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite
Ballad of Hamilton beginning—
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride,
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!
From Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my “winsome Marrow,”
“Whate’er betide, we’ll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow.”
“Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, ’tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow’s banks let her herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downward with the Tweed
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
“There’s Galla Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There’s pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow:
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?
“What’s Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder.”
—Strange words they seemed of slight and scorn;
My True-love sighed for sorrow;
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow!
“Oh! green,” said I, “are Yarrow’s holms,
And sweet is Yarrow flowing!
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
But we will leave it growing.
O’er hilly path, and open Strath,
We’ll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.
“Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow,
The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake
Float double, swan and shadow!
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There’s such a place as Yarrow.
“Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it:
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past,
We’ll keep them, winsome Marrow!
For when we’er there, although ’tis fair,
’Twill be another Yarrow!
“If Care with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,—
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low,
’Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow!”
3.6k
honoring the glass artistry of Dale Chihuly
A rainbow of serrated globes,
Friends to the water lilies,
Floats in a sculptured pool.
A surreal yellow glass Medusa
Woven through a white crescent trellis
Gleams in the midday sun.
Choirs of chrysanthemums
Sing with multicolored flora
Blown from molten soda, lime and sand.
Sheltered in a geodesic tropics
Orange herons stand on legs of glass
Amid living palms, bamboo and wild orchids.
Towering blue spires
Lift skyward out of the soil
While butterflies dance
In the misty veil of a waterfall.
Nature and the shimmering world within
Happily converge in the florid vision
Of an effervescent man with a patched eye -
A man called Chihuly.
October, 2006
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
3.4k
Shropshire the outback of hives and mires
A birthplace of industrial revolution
Built with ***** iron and bricks
submerged in the depths of the water beds
Shropshire the strength in the metal structure
A cast of firm shields and fields
The greenery of contrasting yellowy yields
A mirage of hills sat on pillar heights
The breeze so fresh as sun prints on the canal
The warmth so intense as the bird hums in the nests
Labour artisans and metalsmith at the heart of coalbrook dale
Bricks aisles of pathways along the river
Bordered by vintage delicacies of the magnificent nature
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:28 AM UTC
.
A man has a wolf, a goat and a head of cabbage. While traveling, the group comes to a river's edge. The river is wide with a swift current.
The man obtains a very small boat/raft, floating thing. So small in fact he can only take one of the three at one time. Here is the problem. If he takes the cabbage, the wolf would surely eat the goat. But if he takes the wolf, the goat would surely eat the head of cabbage. How can he get himself, the wolf, the goat and the head of cabbage all safely across the river to the other side?
Take a moment and try to figure it out then read my little story to help you along. Have fun and I'll see you on the other side of the river.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***There once was a man from Afghanistan
with his wolf, some cabbage and goat
set forth to cross the desert remote
they trudged for days on end, maybe as long as a week
whew!! the smell of that cabbage **** did it wreak
over dunes and hills to a mountain's ledge
which lead them down to the river's edge.
Now the wolf was a master over hill and dale
but crossing the river, he would surely fail
with cabbage as baggage and a goat that won't float
he knew in an instant, he needed a boat.
He stammered, and scratched and pondered awhile
he couldn't decipher how they could all cross The Nile
He grabbed a few pieces of floating wood
and lashed them together a tight as he could
He stared at his float, then peered the wolf,
back to the float then to the goat, Hum,
with cabbage, wolf and goat to tote
he prayed to his God, I need a small boat
Then all of sudden sand blew in his eye
and a rumbling voice came out of the sky
F- E- R- R- Y
Now everyone knows that wolf eats goat
and a goat will eat anything especially cabbage
But did you know that nothing rhymes
with cabbage and wolf, except
for wolf and cabbage blah blah blhababage.
So there my friends the problem is solved
if you are able to postulate.
Just carefully follow these simple steps
one, through six, seven and eight.***
1. take the goat over 2. come back get cabbage 3. take cabbage over 4. bring goat back
5. leave goat 6. take the wolf over 7. come back, get goat 8. take goat over again
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
No one's perfect, a truth that's always told
But goal and motivation is his stepping stone
Short term and lifelong sets made him so mold
Now he's infront of the crowd, sharing his story alone
Giving inspiration to maidens and lad
Showing the angle of sociology that life is fair
Life is unfair to him, life is unfair to her so don't be too sad
You're not the only one who has a problem to bare
He also pointed out inequality and discrimination
How it blocks the bridge for other races
How it removes peace and harmony to His creation
And gives them lesson on how to live with other faces
Demonstrating how to nurture the plants
Striking to everyone the beauty of every tree
Realizing that nature is best and independent
It could survive without us humans who's killing it continuously
Encouraging them to go out of the world
Stepping out of the front door of their comfort zone
Letting them know the lenses and view of words
Giving them the experiences that the society can provide like what's in Dale's cone
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
*Snowflakes of joy falling from the sky,
Snowflakes of joy falling from the clouds way up high,
Hear the children's laughter echoing in the dale;
And the sky is wearing it's lacy veil.
Snowballs flying through the sky,
Singing birds through the air fly,
Snowflakes of joy dancing on the street;
Waltzing to the sound of pattering feet.
Snowflakes of gladness dancing on my window,
Watch the happy children playing in the snow,
Snowballs flying through the sky;
And the clouds smile down from their home on high.
Snowflakes of joy silently falling down,
Dancing and waltzing on the snow-covered ground,
Snowflakes of peace falling from the sky;
Singing birds in the air doth fly.*
~Marian~
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
there was little cow he was black and white
and he used to sleep walk whenever it was night
he wandered all around walking in his sleep
all around the meadow then in among the sheep
he wandered through the dale and all along the glen
then he would turn around and walk back home again
back in to his bed the little cow would creep
the he would settle down and fall back fast asleep
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 8:18 AM UTC
Tree of proto-monkeys,
brand and banded under Monkey King,
so clever, so adaptive
in substance and doing -
mushrooming in variants:
lemurs, monkeys old and new,
orangutans, gorillas, chimps,
and one big bushy brood
of extincted ***** brothers and you.
Trekking upright into dale,
valleys and over hills too
sore in feet to image
dragging a knuckle or two.
Scavengers making way,
scanning for patterns in
food moving or not,
adaptive doing from fin
to opposable rock.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC