"rainforests" poems
You must never **** the spiders,
While, they are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder?
Kidnapped the poets, instead of the poems
Therefore, I asked of you to stop all useless riots
On poetry, read them, embrace them, and
Learn from them: poetry is disciplined
And disciplined is the most misunderstanding word
In the dictionary: but somehow it is said that
riots is the language of the unheard:
we must never embrace racial riots,
or racial profiling: reach out to racial equity
stop allowing the messages of hate to go viral
plants row of trees, in the name of love,
I recently came across, ants yes, I said ants
When army ants need to cross a large gap, they simply build a bridge - with their own bodies. Linking together, the ants can move their living bridge from its original point, allowing them to cross gaps and create shortcuts across rainforests in Central and South America.
I recently saw human fighting each other, I recently read somewhere
Where children were locked away in cages
,
McALLEN, Texas (AP) — inside an old warehouse in South Texas, hundreds of immigrant children wait in a series of cages created by metal fencing. One cage had 20 children inside. Scattered about are bottles of water, bags of chips and large foil sheets intended to serve as blankets.
We must never **** the spiders,
While, there are woven their poems into the likeness of thunder..
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
I’m not good at being forward
I have this habit of becoming disordered
I let my emotions change the color of my sleeve
In my aspirations I hope to find belief
I walk through jungles and rainforests
Once in a while I see through the canopy
Into the skies of my memories
And request that stars dance to the rhythm of us
I keep them alive to avoid the gathering of dust
My memories, caught in the Pensieve of your eyes
Have ignored all the times I told myself lies
I may not be your ideal Superman
But I’d accept Peter Pan if you’ll go with me to Neverland
I’ve rarely been so captivated by a girl
Sure, Zooey Deschanel is quirky in New Girl
And Emma Watson bewitched me from the start
Anna Kendrick was perfect in Pitch Perfect
Alex Morgan is the luckiest 13 I’ve ever seen
But I choose you! To fill my canteen
You quench my thirst when the loneliness dries me
I was not made to walk in a desert
My heart is an amphibian
Living like a Floridian in the ice-cold tundra we call Rexburg
You still need the sun, no matter how much it snows
I’ll trudge on in the jungle; dormant in the night
I’ll carry on with you in mind, until the time is right
Once I’ve faced death, or even a spider
Then, I think I’ll top the greats; George of the Jungle, Aslan, Mogly, Tarzan, Batman, Peter Pan, Harry Potter, Genghis Kahn, Michael… Jackson or Jordan
They’re all kings and I’ll be in their league
As I shake off the fatigue and find courage in you
To make it through the awkward moment of simply saying
“You’re a real kind of gorgeous”
In that chorus, played on my rhythm of heartbeats
I found my way out of the back streets
From deep in the jungle I’ve come to know as Fear
A jungle that disappears when your presence is near
Sometimes I have to stop walking, stop thinking
I feel like I’m on the verge of something spectacular
Anything normal might ruin that
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
Her mind was in Hawaii,
Dancing under waterfalls,
Wandering through rainforests,
Picking tropical flowers and
Braiding them into her hair,
Simmering on sandy beaches,
And gazing at the stars.
Her heart was in Normandy,
Eating crepes and sipping lattes,
Strolling through spring green fields
And along lazy river banks,
Kissing the walls of castles,
And scooping up scallop shells,
Soaking up French syllables.
Her hands were in her pockets,
High-fiving friends and
Running through her lover's hair,
Sewing, cooking, washing,
Punching, tearing, scratching,
Caressing and confessing,
Catching the very first drops of rain.
Her feet were on the streets of Seattle,
Tapping to the rhythm of the bass,
Shuffling in and out of the rain,
Dodging puddles and strangers,
Observing art and sculptures,
Chasing down a taxi or her dog,
and embracing the crisp autumn air.
Her lips were on the edge of a soda can,
Singing along to her favorite songs,
Whispering sweet nothings into the air,
Empowering the impoverished
And scorning the injustice,
Kissing a forehead, lips, and hads,
And stonecold silent as her mind does the work.
Her eyes were fighting back frosty tears,
Swallowing scarlet sunsets,
Painted in yesterday's make up,
Tracing your stoic silhouette,
Rolling like thunder before the storm,
Lapping up dizzying moonlight,
And buried in words, and words, and words.
Her body was in Los Angeles,
But, she was on a metanoia,
Breaking free of past and future
To find herself a presence
That would always be worth fighting for,
To reach sophrosyne, namaste,
And to put her frantic body to peace.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
green road, so tree lined
water dappled straight bled bays
rainforests seaside
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
I watch the world from a mari-go-round twirling in circles twiddling my thumbs
Falling from the piercing thunders in the sky full of lust and deception
Silence was the enemy
My ADHD can't deny the boredom of the same old routine hindering my existence
Am I worthless?
The shallow waters awaken my dream of rainforests and other pleasant things
And reality is in the forecast with partly cloudy skies
If only it were night forever than I could be most anything
My imagination takes me further then any aircraft ever could
So I dare the challenge of the never-ending; if forever could bare the soul
I would be proof of history when I do conquer the world
Defeat is not an option
If superman existed, he would win and so can I and so can you
I do know dreams come true
There are Oscars and gold medals and soldiers overcoming death
There are angels and saints saving us from ourselves
There are wars and heroes and bad guys as well
The devil does exist but God sees them as angels who fell
I believe there is glory and freedom and peace
It mustn't just be in my head full of dreams
I will show you there is evidence if the good in the world
When your vulnerable and naive there is more than meets the eye
There are things out there you are meant to triumph if you put your best foot first
And the circles in your creating will align and amount to you, in the perfect sense of harmony in a cold and grey and cynical universe
There is yellow, there is blue there is gold but we are red
But the colors you attract to are not affirmation
You are priceless, immeasurable and incomparable even so
A savage in the heat of battle, simmering to boil
You're a warrior with the rest of them, with a stunning biography
You are destined to create glory sublime in the phenomenon of impulse and heart
Constructing immaculate stories to fill the pages of a book
We are gifts from above,
This can't all be in my head
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
bullets in brain cells
trenches twisted, turned.
his brains a battlefield,
but to hide it, he learned.
mind stands as a temple,
tongue rolls, a black sea.
she was never a fighter,
and neither was he.
she painted him skylines,
rainforests, black rain.
but the art on the paper
could not match his pain.
she danced on pianos
wrote him ten love songs,
he fell down much further
and dragged her along.
however it was not
towards her that he fell,
instead he careened into
mindless, deep hell.
so he pulled the trigger,
and ended his war.
left the young girl alone
just wanting him more.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Tourists touring temples taking #selfies,
body’s there but souls not,
like Techno Ghosts back from the future,
not here to save the world just here to take a few shots,
but my body is my only temple,
and true enlightenment comes from the absence of Self,
so selfies seem silly to me,
in the same way as trying to wear pants 2 sizes to big without a belt,
or I guess a better analogy would be,
trying to wear a heavy belt without a buckle,
and that thought’s deep better yet heavy,
like Axel Rose those thoughts are heavy metal,
which makes sense especially if you’re an alchemist,
and believe what the Kyballion says about how everything’s metal,
yeah that’s heavy,
heavy as Heavy Metal rock,
being played by the US Army,
in Baghdad with the volume all the way up,
all the while spraying heavy metals,
in order to weigh down moral,
but what does any of this have to do with #selfies you ask,
well listen and I’ll tell you,
narcissist egos created this mess,
force used to push an agenda,
because when we’re too focused on our “selfs”,
we lose sight of the big picture,
like taking #selfies at temples,
and not seeing the beauty around you,
like drowning out the sounds of nature,
with the playlist on your iTunes,
it’s all kinda ironic isn’t it,
it’s tough having morals when complicit in any empire,
so I try and escape to exotic landscapes,
like Malagasy rainforests or Tibetan Temples,
but when I get there I find,
to my disappointing surprise,
a bunch of tourists on their phones,
only remotely living their lives…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
Deep into the rainforest, a struggle to survive
From insects to leaved trees, wanting all to thrive
The habitat of animals, species all around
Living things a-plenty, crawling on the ground
The four main layers play a different role
The bio-diversity forms part of the whole
The dark forest floor and the understory
Shorter plants existing, many bugs to see
The vibrant middle layer, yet forms the canopy
Climbing the emergent, just like a monkey
The strong plant materials, helps to build a home
For people of the Amazon, food that has been grown
Tropical regions, Equator ever near
A moderate climate, giant trees are here
Forests on a mountain, misty all around
Coated in a moss, such an eerie surround
North and South America and Oceania
Asia and Europe, as well as Africa
There’s a cycle of life, yet deforestation
Affects the homes of animals for plantation
Removing ecosystems, can cause erosion
Droughts as well as flooding, less cohesion
The modern ways of man affects vegetation
Contributing to a silent devastation
Replanting, recycling, assisting with crops
Steps of preservation quench like raindrops
The precious seeds and life, of which can be found
Yet, it’s not too late to turn this world around
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
1
The Clowns in Brussels Sprouts
have sent me a notebook. Tossers.
The latest thrilling instalment from ******** Creek.
The Animal Events Recording Notebook —
fits in your pocket,
if it happens to be a school bag.
A little picture on the cover
Jack, the farmer, a cow and her calf.
Equally gay as it is oxymoronically inaccurate.
No sign of a tag on either the cow or calf.
The cow has a pair of horns
that would **** any animal, never mind the farmer,
statistically dead. Plus,
the calf’s a bit too healthy looking
and the cow ain’t trying to **** the farmer either.
Between the covers coloured-coded sections
chronicling the animal’s progress
from Foetus to Fork.
2
Though, I do thoroughly enjoy filling out those
additional comment columns.
De-horning
Next to castrating lambs,
I love this job —
all-the-more if there’s a gang.
The first has no idea what coming
and the last wishes they weren’t.
But seriously, I’d say it hurts.
A lot.
Castration
See Revival, issue 6 P.14 —
revised in Inheritance P.26
Weaning
Always good for poem.
I laugh from the comfort of my bed.
Ye’re only halfway lads
And how far along are you?
They inquire back.
3
Ok, I get it. Seriously.
Stop depleting the rainforests please …
I have my own notebook thanks.
I understand their dilemma.
They fear mindsets will be inherited
form the old flock, the old stock —
the canners and brass tags —
who never converted.
It’s like auld women and the church
engrained since birth
and no amount of jibber-jabber will sway.
So they concentrate, groom us
weanling growing up
in the Age of A.I.M
on BETTER Farms
4
Regardless, the second you tag a calf,
the cunt’ll croak. So wink, wink:
so not to jinx yourself
and have to write a cheque;
adjust your Balance Sheet,
invariably affecting your Gross Margin.
I know … I know
S.M.R 6, 7 and all that $*@#
But it’s so cold the frost is complaining.
Plus, they said on the radio: be kind
leave food out for the birds.
I’m just thinking of the foxes.
And, if anyone asks —
she never came in calf
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:27 PM UTC
I don’t play my mandolin everyday anymore,
let alone my guitar or tin whistles
I can’t let this die
I listened to 7 year old Japanese math rock
and want just a speck of that
An identity where I can sift right through
all this mediocre destruction all around
No one even has the gall to admit they’re killing
or the decency to even cover it up anymore
They videotape themselves dancing and
murdering kids for lebensraum
then turn around and say “no we’re not”
I’m tired of surface level house maintenance
followed by immobile phone scrolls
I’m looking for that lesson we’ll all learn
after finally going too far
I won’t play the victim or the hero no more
I did my part and now I’m too old
I need deeper art to escape samsara for good
and maybe that’s the best I can do comrades
I’m sick of details grown so scattered and thin
My whole past feels like entrails
smeared across vast deserts
There used to be rainforests here
but now it’s hard to find the pictures
Just when things almost get too competent and nice
they let decadence do its worse
out of fear that the improvements would make goods and services
too cheap not to be free
Socialism’s bad for business owners
so we lay off the workers and overcharge even more
Let the octogenarian billionaires buy up more water and air
to keep the fellas in the favelas gnashing and grim
Bunker complexes, spaceships, missiles coated in spent uranium;
these are all more important than starving children
Why do the poor keep having poor kids?
Still a conundrum
We gave them a chance to compete
some ephemeral time ago and they blew it
What can we do?
We tried to teach a man to fish…
Imagine Jesus Christ just giving folks fish and bread
for nothing in return?
Jan 26, 2024
Jan 26, 2024 at 3:27 PM UTC
don’t be mistaken
i tried to keep the best parts of me
tucked away
for you
don’t be mistaken
you have galaxies at your fingertips
and rainforests at your feet
use my chalk outline as a boundary
dare to break it
sincerely
your absent father figure
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
I have finally found
Something without comparison
The most beautiful eyes
These eyes, have ever seen
Of such a green
As to make the rainforests jealous
And the most luscious of trees
Desire their beauty
And profoundness of expression
Gazing at the very thing that desires them
And imbuing everywhere they go
With that mystical green light
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
it's true that the more poems i wrote
the more women i made feel uncomfortable.
sometimes this made me cry: it's tragic, after all,
when people don't recognise greatness.
and i am privileged to have been witness
to my tears
and the algae their oceans bloom,
and the violence of understanding so luminous
that i keep my vision black
for fear of what might
come to light in the shadow of my eye.
i think someone once told me
that i'm a good listener.
i've never heard what i wanted said.
don't forget me,
i never follow my own advice.
i find myself in some of the empty rooms
of my soul, and shout:
what are you doing?! it's mysterious outside!
i couldn't keep a cool head
and now the ice caps are doomed
which means the rainforests are doomed
which means the ocean algae is doomed
which means the permafrosts will melt
which means we're all doom bound.
of course, given Man, we're on course to be early.
the echo full halls
of my historicity are painted
with disaster
and haunted by the light
of a collapsing star.
there's always a lot playing on my mind
and i never really want tomorrow to arrive.
these depressive episodes have been put on a playlist
and set to repeat. the screen has our attention hostage.
i leave my sleep to the genesis of sunlit dreams
and let it eat the majority of day.
already sick of my share of time;
force fed countless pointless hours
of whining, pining or hiding
by my own hand that i'm biting,
and platefuls of pressure and fake faces
that i ***** behind;
binging on escapes destined to forsake me,
guzzling my own requiems to the potential for strength;
but i'm getting ahead of myself.
we share the shelter
of my lonely head.
so much to do.
my body is a temple
desecrated.
sacrificing commitments
to addictions.
such a repugnantly reactive creature.
there's a child somewhere inside of me
and he's crying his eyes out.
he annoys me so much
that i locked him away alone in a dark room.
i didn't actually lock the door,
i just told him i'm locking it
and he's too timid to be defiant
and too weak to lift a body laden with freedom.
so i just told him he's staying in that room
and i told myself to set the structure on fire.
there's a child somewhere inside of me
and he's crying his eyes out.
his incessant tears have waterlogged the entire tomb
while outside lie monuments of drought.
in search of
blue mountains,
sun hidden.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
What words can describe the feelings he felt
when he met the girl so full of dreams and hope.
A girl who wanted to fix the world
and when she asked him those questions
his answer always was,
i will follow you anywhere.
He fell in love with a tree hugger
he loved her ways and her mother
but when she asked him the important questions
all he could say was that he would follow her anywhere.
she fascinated him with her power
how she wanted to find shangri-la
and discover things yet to be discovered
she would always tell him that the earth was such a strange and beautiful place
such a strange and beautiful place
that was being slowly wasted away
and all he said was i will follow you anywhere
she wore jeans and plaid shirts
and she wanted to protect the rainforests
she loved kids and all of their questions
but she needed more than he could give.
not all the faith in love in the world
could quench her ambiton
when her ambition
was bigger
than she was
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
In the past five years, you haven’t
stepped foot into a hospital. Unlike your best friend,
whose father had cancer, and unlike your grandmother,
who slipped and fell and broke her hip and
you were vacationing in Ecuador when all of this was happening,
unable to escape from the tropical rainforests to visit
the sick and dying.
Your friends tell you that you’re lucky,
that they’ve been to hospitals twelve times since their birth,
but at this point, anything would be more exciting than
coming home and falling asleep. Even your favorite TV show
can’t keep you awake anymore, and instead of being in surgery
or giving birth,
you curve your spine into a C shape while trying to finish homework
that will never truly be done.
But if you really cared about any of this, maybe you
would drive to the hospital, take a stroll down the maternity ward,
though suddenly you’d remember
that you don’t know how to drive
and maybe you’ll never get out of this place,
maybe this is all there will ever be.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
What Will It Take
By Song Bird
(Verse 1) How many must we refuse and deny
Before you and I realize our shame
How many eyes gotta cry in vain
Before we take away their pain
How many lives must we claim
Before we decide to make a change
So what will it take for us
To put down our arms
And make our stand
Stop bringing harm
To our fellow man
(Chorus) What will it take to make a stand
What will it take to take someone’s hand
What will it take to make our stance
What will it take to take a chance
What will it take to say we have had enough
What will it take to give away our love
What will it take
(Verse 2) Because of the way we disregard
And close our doors and our hearts to others
There are those sleeping on cardboard
On concrete floors, who are our brothers
And our sisters, who can’t afford to eat
Or have the clothing to stay warm
Have no shoes for their feet
And are left tattered and torn
No homes just the streets they roam
So don’t talk change, because talk is cheap
If you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 1)
(Verse 3) Because of the way we disregard,
Soldiers bombard poor countries
With mortars, while children starve
Go hungry and get our cold shoulder
As our wars pillage and burn their village
Turn their underprivileged places
Into our coliseums, giving them no relief
Just sad faces that have seen too much carnage
Strife and defeat as we take away their very freedoms
And tarnish their dreams, so don’t talk change
Because talk is cheap, if you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 1)
(Verse 4) Because of the way we disregard
Our earth is scarred by our many demands
Left hurt and discarded by our own hands
As we disgorge our resources
Leaving our shores and sky to surely weep
Our rainforests torched, our lands scorched
Our oceans, rivers and seas are forced to bleed
Nowhere for you or me to retreat
So don’t talk change, because talk is cheap
If you and I ain’t gonna make a change
(Chorus repeats 2)
(Outro) Isn’t it time we become the prayer
Show the world that we care
Loving we can spare, loving we can share
So help the ones who are in despair
What will it take for you to be there?
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when reefs turn white, and rainforests fall
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when racism, misogyny, and hypoceacy govern it's people.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when we've boundless plains to share, just not if you come by boat
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when people are taught that because you cover yourself, you are a the enemy.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when we pretend that this land isn't stole.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when it's on fire
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
Oh! No, they should never talk about Borinquén
Puerto Rico, Porto Rico in such an evil fashion
PR swims in the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea
With other exquisite islands like Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti
Puerto Rico is a gorgeous Caribbean Archipelago
With high mountains. Oh! Yes, wonderful Puerto Rico
Has perfect blue and white sky, tropical rainforests
Crystal clear water beaches, and she’s one of the best
Puerto Rico can never be ‘a floating island of garbage’
She’s lovely with a lot of potential. In this day and age
Some crazy clowns or comedians must have a lot of nerves
To insult such a sweet Boricua with friendly peoples
I’ll be going to Puerto Rico soon to search for my stunning Saint
My Santa, my Queen. I’m going to become an artist to paint
The smile of this paradise island. Borinquén dear, my love
Javier Solis is right. You are the land of dreams, my love
No one can tarnish your unique image. I will visit you soon
With lovely dreams in my heart and with a silver spoon
So I can enjoy your cuisine and seep up your tropical cocktail
While diving deep into the eyes of my dazzling and **** angel
Our Puerto Rico is a mythological Island for dreamers
Our Puerto Rico is a tropical Archipelago for lovers.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 5:47 PM UTC
I am a true lover
& come from a long line
of traditionalists,
believers of the leaf-faith.
I live in their spirit
day & night,
from Yunnan
where the gold is harvested,
down to Kenya I travel,
then to Sri Lankan rainforests,
to sip the Sinharaja black brew.
I visit the czars with Kusmi,
stay with Earl Grey a bit
on those misty eves
& on some chilly days,
I relish a nice
mysterious Chai with spice.
O yes, you dear fellow imbibers,
try some Golden Monkey
& a hit of Lapsang Souchong,
PG Tips & a hot cup of Sencha Uji.
It'll certainly hit the spot,
tonight.
And at the rising
of the morning star,
tomorrow,
gently down Red Moon.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
I sit on a planet the size of my head, it and I drift throughout the cold outer space. My eyes sparkle at the sight of pink stars which come by rarely. I grab them and hold onto them for as long as I can. My time with them are short-lived because my sweaty hands from the heat of the star make me lose grip quickly. Tears fall from my eyes, they fly down and orbit my planet. They stay for years until too many crowd, then they all set aflame and travel to my planet leaving craters in their places. Damage is quick and easy, it’s the healing that takes time and effort. When I’m lucky a gentle pink meteorite will interfere with my aimless course and hit my planet, filling the craters with its beauty. There are plenty of hideous craters left behind by my sorrow. Don’t let this blind you, though, from the beauty that my planet contains. Someday, from the craters, there will be breathtaking, life-filled rainforests of which wisdom they take photosynthesis. They will fill your mind with new sights and knowledge of a world other than your own. Don’t see someone for their planet’s flaws. See them, instead, for their planet’s beauty. Learn from their craters and awe at their rainforests. Someday they might send your way a pink star to heal your damaged earth.
END
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
Born of a country I barely remember
I did not spend a childhood
sprinting across fields of sugarcane as I maybe could,
but my legs are that sweet brown anyway, of the earth
of a land of Always-June and Never-December.
I wonder if the rainforests remember my name
or how, when I was born, they wove into my hair
that deep-dark jaguar-black I’ll always wear,
which millions of miles away, is still the same.
Maybe had I stayed a few years more
I might remember the smell of midnight rain showers
Of golden afternoons and those Caribbean flowers,
that in this house, only my mother longs for.
But instead I know only what came in suitcases
that relatives brought, of achar, casrip, curry powders,
pepper-sauce to make your stew a little louder.
Foreign things finding homes in faraway places.
This land I left behind;
is it still mine?
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC