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Simon Clark Aug 2012
I live by the water,
This lake is my home,
My nymph is aquatic,
It doesn’t like to roam,
My legs are weak and fragile,
Walking I can’t do,
But my wings are powerful,
They carry me across the blue,
High in the trees I glide,
My length cuts through the air,
I speed above the picnickers,
They don’t know I’m there,
I’m a Yellow-winged Darter,
Sympetrum flaveolum to my friends,
Watch me as I whizz on by,
Down the river-bend.
written in 2009
Alan McClure Dec 2012
(i)

It's no use
the legs aren't up to it anymore
and he's barely an eighth of the way up the mountain
when some kindly climbers
opt to help him down.
Confused and broken of spirit
he is returned to the home
and time stops passing once more.

(ii)

The fog whose descent
has sent him north
has one last trick to play:
though he reaches the top,
through bog and heather
and bone-weary exhaustion,

it is the wrong mountain.
He has misremembered the name
and all he finds at the hard-won cairn
is a gentle ***** down the other side
and a group of picnickers
who eye him with sympathy.

(iii)

A circle which was opened
when he was fourteen;
when a frozen night in a frozen tent
was swept aside
by a breathless climb
to a dazzling white peak -
Liathach -
and a view over crashing cliffs
into the wild blue
bore the thought,
"This, when the time comes,
is where I will end it!" -
is closed.
And the body joins
the half-flown soul
in the mist-swallowed distance
and beyond.
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2010
Evening in her slippered feet
Approaches from the heat of day
Shadows in the molten light
Lengthen as they have their way

Silence in the hovered moment
Stillness in the mote of time,
The glow within a sunbeam's ray
Ensnares the warmth of joy as mine.

Drifting insects float on bye
Suspended in the evening light
Against the lace of silver birch
With gnarled trunk of speckled white.

In the dark  blue, far azure
A gosshawk glides on high, aloft
A predator surveying late
For living things in farmer's croft.

A waterfall of children's laughter
Cascades through a field of green,
Overtones of golden shadow
Fills the air with love unseen.

Earthworms in their darkened tombs
Are wriggling for the coming night,
Rabbits stretch and move to grazing
Anxious for the closing light.

The chill night air descends as dew
The picnickers depart the scene,
Starlings flock to perch and roost
Whilst velvet silence hangs serene

Vaulting high above the foothills
Crowned with purple alpenglow
Taranaki's snowclad grandeur
Last to see the day light go.

Contemplation be my friend
For deep within contentment's breast
The joy of living sings it's song
And sooths my happy soul to rest.

Marshalg
Taranaki Evensong
23 October 2010
Pay attention everyone said Lilliput
I have an important announcement
We're going to have a wonderful picnic
For our family on Thursday , poppits only
The groans were heard all over the palace
Are we riding there , asked Horsey Anne
No we jolly well are not
And you scrum half Zara , are not either
We're motorcading it , without staff
Another really loud royal moan
We are each taking everything we need
And that includes you ex pork of York
'OOHH NNOO' she gurgly grunted
Less of that , and NO toe suckers allowed
Nor arrive in a kiddies helicopter either
And you Wills missus more clothing
You make my  blue blood run cold
Next Thursday then , you picnickers

What have you brought asked Lilliput
Silver knives and forks hoarsed Anne
Paper plates grunted Flossy Fergie
Plastic cups , whimpered Wills missus
Lav paper for tissues, gidded up Zara
Big tablecloth bellowed Camilla
Have none of you brought food said Lilliput
'NO' they all mardily whinnied
None of us even thought about it

And you mumsy H.R.H. what have you brought

'NOBODY questions me , you pipsqueaks
LET'S ALL GO HOME NOW !
Donald Durham Nov 2010
Under a cloak of stars we hid
Hiding from what, we didn’t know
She bared her soul then,
Asked for a smoke
We smoked cigarettes and stared
At the city
Like a million tiny lost ants
They march without purpose, unlike
Their insect counterparts
Who all work towards a common goal
No, these human ants exist only for
Individual gain, definitely not the good
Of the masses
We sat on a blanket in the dead of night
Like two vampiric picnickers
Contemplating the over contemplated
Meanings of why, what, where, and who
Nestled up against a barrier
Not unlike the one that binds me
This mountain of peach, gold, and brown
Stands foreboding in the background
Of this town
We lay here in this artificial nature
Of grass where none should be
Looking skyward for answers
To questions we have yet to ask
And timid rabbits fret at our presence,
Just outside the light in the shadows
It is night all around
Yet only dark when eyes are closed
But when I close my eyes
All I see is light
Not the light that is desperately
Trying to upstage the stars
By inviting you to watch
The carnal dance of flying insect and bat
That is its deviant diversion
Show them discovery-esc nature
So they learn to love mans light
More then those of the heavens
But alas, mans light holds no sway
Here for this is a night for lovers
And we are lovers here
Then she asked if she could
Lay next to me
And bury her face in my neck
Of course, I said, at the cost of a kiss
Placed gently on the flesh found there
And kiss me she did, as the stars
Were aware because just then
I seen them narrow and turn green
With envy
And oh how envious they were
They knew then that their life would end
Their time would come
When they no longer twinkled as bright
But our love would never die
Never lose its twinkle
Never be spoken of as lackluster
Ours was eternal
And theirs was not
I held her there
Next to me
But not quite ever close enough
And then still, very close
So close I can feel her inside me
Circling my soul with the breath
From her lungs
"Breathe out love, so I can breathe you in"
Touch me so I may again feel
I long to know genuine feeling
Of the thread only she can bring me
In this artificial scenario
With carnivore intentions all around
And stars that wont just be happy for me
With a city of plastic and glitter
Ruled by a neon god,
At my feet
Begging for penance
For my forgiveness for their fakeness
Because they know what I possess is real
More real then they could ever dream if being
And a mountain crawling at my fingertips
And I lie here
Thinking of things that
Don’t require thought
I am spent
Emotionally drained
Essence pulled from existence
Have lost weight here
I can float
And I am floating
Weightless and without gravity
I fly towards nothing in particular
With no needs or wants
Just happiness and content-ness
And whatever else that doesn’t really matter
Or does it?
I do not know these questions
Because I seek only answers
Ignorance is bliss
And bliss is
What I crave
But is bliss happiness?
I wish I could be ignorant
And close my eyes to reality
Because maybe the stars
Aren’t envious
Maybe they are mocking me
Laughing at the real ignorance
The real travesty at hand
Is maybe what I think is,
Really isn’t?
I guess I am just a blind fool
With my eyes open
Lying here
Not knowing what is what
Or why, why is
Or where, why came from
It was time to go now
My mind was reeling
From the mental punishment I gave it
The pain stuck like glue to the back of my eyes
We folded the blanket and made our way towards the car
The rabbits were happy they could come out
The stars brightened
We walked arm in arm
Wishing for the night to never end
And our weariness to fade
Like the American dream
This was a night for lovers
And we were lovers there
In that park
On this night
Under these stars
I take from this place
The knowledge
We are all lovers
donald durham 2010
Madison Brooke Jul 2014
You are not a work of art.
Has the Mona Lisa ever breathed? Did the Venus de Milo blush the first time a sweaty shaking nervous palm slid into hers?
No;
The girl with the pearl earring never laughed so hard her stomach hurt. Klimt’s gold-shrouded lovers never heard a song so beautiful it was hard to speak.
But you?
You have lost yourself in the pages of a book. You have felt gravel shred the skin of your bare knees, cried when your goldfish turned belly-up in its glass bowl, extracted a sliver from your thumb. Last summer when the night seemed to stretch a million miles in either direction you sat in the backseat of your best friend’s ****** car, windows open, your eyes closed as the music and the soupy August air washed over you.
When you took that painting class you studied the swirls and whorls of Starry Night and traced the careful strokes of a master painter. What your teacher never told you to do was stare at your eyes in the mirror and do the same.
You spent all those years in awe of the lounging picnickers formed by millions of miniscule spots so close together they formed a whole. You never marveled at your own skin, at the pores and goosebumps and freckles that make up your flesh.
So begin.
You are more than marble. You are more than brushstroke. You are soul and sweat and skin and blood and life. There was something so important that the greats always failed to capture: that awful, aching, breathtakingly beautiful thing keeping  your eyes blinking, your synapses firing, your heart beating and feeling.
You are not a work of art. You are so much more than that.
If I were a bee what a good bee I would be
From apple blossom to honeysuckle
From petunia to plum tree

If I were a bee what a good bee I would be
From peanut butter sandwich to sweet iced tea
Enjoying the company of the trippers , backpackers and -
picnickers
The honey , the syrup and the *** liquor

If I were a bee what a curious bee I would be
Flying high above a green mountain scene
I see bears , a buck and a sleepy red fox
A maple , an elm and loblolly tree tops .....
Copyright July 16 , 2019 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Bharathi Devi May 2015
The cool breeze tickles my face,
The sun plays hide and seek.
There is peace in the air,
A quietness that precedes the sunset.

Most of the young baseball teams
Have already left or, are winding up.
The young basket ball players are still busy
Running around the hoop and throwing the ball.

Walkers and runners, people with strollers
Are all there going around that mile long track,
Surrounded by the tall Eucalyptus trees and
Curious squirrels and the dogs that chase them.

The usual Latino picnickers are less in number.
Some are still barbecuing and eating on the benches.
But there is one group under some tents,
Singing with an all female mariachi band.

The same dog walkers that I see every weekend,
With dogs on strollers, in their backpacks, and walking on their sides,
Are having an impromptu meeting with a bunch of their tribe,
With their dogs eagerly expressing their opinions.

There is a Dance 1 show from Redondo,
With the young kids showing off their just acquired talent,
Dancing asynchronously, but trying their best though,
Sometimes, stopping and watching others.

Batting cage is still active, the clunk clunk sound
Adding background music to the park.
People are still sitting around the pond,
Ducks walking eagerly around them asking for food.

There is a group of people busy eating,
Perhaps members of the "Bigger than the Big” club.
I watched curiously about their transition
From standing to the sitting position.

Shadows get longer, sun is bidding farewell,
Dance team dismantles its stage,
Young dancers with wild hopes,
All start walking towards their cars.

©Bharathi Devi
I don't know, who this woman is
That claims to be the queen
As i always assumed it was my mother
Who discreetly remained unseen

They were both born,in the very same year
Back in nineteen twenty six
The queen sat upon a throne of gold
My mother, a throne of sticks

So instead i shall wear a crown
Made of natures finest flowers
Happy to be a fairy queen
As i dance amidst the bowers

Lost in the beauty of this magical realm
The birds, bees, and beautiful trees
The buttercups, and forget-me-nots
And happy faces, eager to please

But soon i shall remove my crown
As a myriad others will do
For today the park will be full of queens
And picnickers, artists, musicians, entertainers, and poets too!

We shall hope that mother nature
Will let the sun remain
And the breeze will blow the clouds away
And the rain, will not reign

by Jemia
Dr Peter Lim Nov 2017
By the river-bank
picnickers threw in bread crumbs
no fish was in sight
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2020
I made a second copy of all my poems ,
Took them in a folder to the park,
There I clumsily let the folder fall,
My poems fell to the ground and the strong wind blew them here and there.
I looked around to see the destiny of my poems,
Some children collected them to make tiny boats to play in the pond,
Other children used them to make aeroplanes,
Some picnickers used them as wraps for their spoons and bowls,
One cleaner collected some and dumped them in the trash bins,
But, one young girl,
She picked one of my poems and read it,
Quickly she collected as many as she could and tucked them into her pockets,
This poem is awesome she muttered,
I will read the rest at home.
Poetry cannot die.
9/12/2020
Bruce Jenner's cranium houses the brain of a woman with knockers
too ****** cherry for old, run-of-the-mill Y.W.C.A. city gym lockers
Brucey's knobs will tease recently-paroled-******-fondling gawkers
while his white ******* entice court-adjudicated-****-mad hawkers
who pursue comancheros armed with acrylic-caulk-loaded caulkers
to shoot down echelon flyers & birds-of-a-feather-flocking flockers
that mimic portly picnickers, sticky sticklers and mawkish mockers
chalking corpses of forensic coroners who're Cyril Wecht's chalkers
and stiffer in girly resolve than the twin **** that are Betty Crocker's
joy as Monsanto aerosolates Hawaii with airborne, toxical shockers

— The End —