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bulletcookie Aug 2018
Where footling trees do grow
nature, apologies need not know
vistas look back at you with eyes of snow
stones, high meadows, and silver timber knots

purple lupines and fire-**** that blush pink
held firm in gravel hands meet lichened erratics
where mountain's complexion in eon's blink
altered antonym of greens and browns chromatic

Where footling trees do grow
clouds shoot over passes round
to sprinkle, clap showers or to plow flows
marmots don down and burrow to ground

seeds and feathers take to their wing
branches' memories bend to storm's prowl
with constancy of change born on this wind
brutes in caverns and caves utter growls

Where footling trees do grow
a precipice of nascent springs leap
into; pine, spruce, ericaceous woodland below,
to gush as creeks, washout to river's slow keep

dappled light and streaming ray divides
fall forest floor with lulling murmur flutters
there bridge a span in wood knock strides
where clinging moss rolls bread and butter

Valsa George May 2016
When I look into the mirror
And stare at my own reflection
I see a stranger sneering at me
I see the patch of dark around my eyes
I see my hair going grey
I see the blotchy skin and wrinkles on my face
It all makes me think
How rapid is the flight of youth

Once I was a bubbly girl
Full of charm with dreamy eyes
The golden vistas cheered my heart
In my dreams I scaled to touch the skies
Love vibrated every nerve
But now a sad change has come over
It all makes me think
How rapid is the flight of time

Once I thought how bright and sweet was life
Agile were my movements, could walk miles
Fatigue I never knew, supple limbs never ached
Life was a roller coaster ride
Today when I look at the young
With wind in their skirts and sunbeams in their eyes
I see the stark change that years have brought
And wonder how rapid the onset of old age is

Though my beauty has burnt away
And my bones have a brittle grate
Still I would like to hold on stubbornly
Looking at each day for what next day brings
As I still have a hopeful heart
And wish to embrace life as it comes
To make it a sweet labor of love
So I ‘rage, rage against the dying of light’!
The Fidelity of Transmissions

”Cells, the units of life that compose our bodies, are able to make copies of themselves to help us grow, fight disease and recover from injuries. Cells have built-in mechanisms that maintain
  the fidelity of transmission  
of genetic information from one generation to the next, and to control cell division in a timely manner, allowing our bodies to build or rebuild various tissues.”

when the poetry cri de cœur grows unbearable ,
sound mystery-science calms his tumbling transcendency

alas, here too, his ears sit up straight when stumbling on a invitation to
“come write,” for hid within the science jargon, oft rests a snipers shot

redirecting the didactic mind back to the
everyman’s land where-poetry cells split,,
commanding him to delve into, visit new brain wrenching vistas
“the fidelity of transmission”
at its macro level, for science is micro-poetry,^
n’est-ce pas

when you love another
the transmission is a slow pour,
or a radical jarring,
the fidelity extremely extraordinarily variable

the loveliest unpredictable

the sip sip of eyelid kissing adoration,
the irrational irrigation of the no-space-between,
when the television remote disappears in the couch crack,
the screen, complete static, perfect complement, to a rigorous experiment of

the loveliest unpredictable

we manually conjoin fluids in her mouth’s petri dish,
stain the slide for observation,
in full Imax color observe the cells busting and doesy-do’ing over to
a new partner, where bonds of fidelity attach a partnership clause to

the loveliest unpredictable

when a child emerges, the first words are
find that remote, just kidding, first comes a comestible demand,
mother’s milk 98 degree heated,
feed me a white solution to any unanswered cell’s questions, what a

loving predictive predicate

scribble this, ****** that, change a diaper,
while debating whose baby’s assemblage resembles,
overjoyed at the experimental outcome,
proofs of the fidelity of transmission,
the outcome notated, but science demands no bias confirmation,
another test required of tissue rebuilding

the loveliest unpredictable


for is He not laureate greatest poet of all,
developer of the scientific architecture,
inventor of varietal sunsets, moonscapes,
individualized singularity of snowflakes,
love making, gravity and the preprogrammed death
of your own cells,
etcetera etcetera etcetera
all just poetry in motion in fluidity,
ah, fidelity fidelity
Sat., March 9, 2019
zebra Feb 2018
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose

her tongue split
each side wiggling independently

she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better

all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream

she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up

do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself

bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage

my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden

black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Rolling down St. John's Heritage Highway
after Sean, my grandson's birthday party
I belt out my pioneer song with vigor
echoing across the vast beauty,
wide open, sacred spaces
pristine vistas

Norman Rockwell cows grazing
in bygone pastures happily
moo along

Driving past the yellow deer crossing sign
Florida woodlands giddyap near the edge of the road
long brown antlers prancing to
a timeless rhythm

I hope and pray that I can somehow
kindle a spark of appreciation
in my niece and grandsons
so that they may behold
the baffling greatness
and mystery that is our universe

These young'uns are mighty attached to the
virtual reality, world and landscape
of computer technology

A sprinkling of cowboy stars flash
an omnipresent wink
Sunset bonfire explodes across
the frontier horizon

Turning the corner onto Emerson Drive
smoldering scarlet orange embers
reflecting lights
shoot fireworks, launch rockets
through an ever expanding field of vision
i ran from there
but still i stare
back to the one
i ran from

you had me twice
not all that nice
but saturdays
are boring

if i had seen
those nicotine
stains on your
slender fingers

if i had known
i would have flown
from vistas
we once dreamed from

i **** your breath
and taste the death
of drugs that you
have brought me

when met with truth
can't stay aloof
from feelings you
once bought me

i ran from here
still much too near
to the one
i ran from
the very last connection severed, as are you, as am i.

i wish you love, and happiness and no more tears and only joy, but more than even those, i wish we never see each other ever again.

morphine - gone for good

I'm never going back
never going back to you
I'm never going to see you again

I'm never going to dig out your picture
I'm never going to look you up someday

Life is very short
You don't love me anymore
So I'm never going to see you again

I'm never going to write you a letter
Never going to call you on the phone

I'm never going to drive by your house
I'm never going to catch you coming outside

Never going to walk up your walk
And ring your bell
And feel you fall into my arms

I'm never going to see you
Never going to see you
I'm never going to see you again...

You're gone for good.
JG Collins Mar 13
A world
A vision of
unshackled by
the senses.
Senses that
limit our
vision, our
The senses
tell us
this is
all there is.
Five senses
all that
is seen and
Dreamland shows
takes us to
other realms,
other times.
No limits!
No limits
to a
A reality
beyond the
a sixth
a window
to infinity!
Herb Apr 7
Verdant fields of lavender
An azure sky up above
Vistas that lead us to marvel
Human concepts, like truth and love

A planet so finely appointed
Everything we could ever need
Yet there seems to be something missing
We search, but can't find the key

We seem to continue to falter
Taking the same road time and again
Treating each other as rivals
As if there's something to win

How many lifetimes will it take us?
'Til we spot the path leading away
From the paths we always have followed
And seem to lead only one way
James Diamond Mar 20
Sleep is as black as night
for dreams haunt my waking hours.
Vistas of unspeakable horrors
and of fancies sun bright
dance in my eyes, my sanity it comes to suppress.
As do stars shine with long-dead light,
and men hide their shameful regrets,
these scenes of strange terrors
and picturesque heavens,
will be perceived not by another soul
while newborn universes beckon.
Eléa Oct 2018
It starts with you
we wont open with a lie
for the meantime,

it was you (it's you)-  you
passed a bulb to me
stolen straight
from the
middle of a
(kids play football on a neon green carpet)
  - ends of fingers slightly bent
cat-pads extend
     in unexpected ways

to be attached
to be attached
to be attached
  to my face
I crawl to them     quick
     They play my skin

Like paint that beats in drops of rain
From the spring of our shafted            fountain-head

(lily pads surrounding, and the paving stones I invite you to, laughing to see your eyebrow crook
at all the sun around you)

So:         I've stapled a swing to the moon
just to
Watch, how you watch me and
to  be proud of
        how I
Manipulate, the beaming

Cast shapes of rose, petals, snakes and ballroom
against the rolling globe beneath us;

(We hover over, our heads together,

a millenia ago I deep myself in pavement mild
the buildings that keep secrets
Of the vistas in rambled office parks
Of a light that turns metallic and bright

to remind us of centuries
to come

When ivy runs the ruins of concert halls
And you and I still walk the steps we made before,
Sombre leaping silver to the sky
tinkling a trail
Of harlequin puppets
from our coat tail, sweeping :

with the promise that we will try.

So: another life, we sit on a sofa and smile drinking coffee a cold light outside and a bird on a naked tree, and it has been a year or maybe three, and still we are managing darling, we are doing it, we are still in love, and navigating every moment as if we always will be in and out of everything, all of future ahead of us.
there are seven components
within its composition
and they'll all lie
on a defined position

once it was thought
you'd fall off it
and land in an abyss's
deep pit

many people have moved
around its ball
and they've found that
its vistas would enthrall

some did want to own
big parts of its beat
yet they didn't achieve
the oyster's feat

those guys and gals
who know what it is about
now have the opportunity
to shout it out
JG Collins Feb 14
Gazing out
into space,
into infinity.
I wander,
mind wanders.
I see vistas.
New, different
to explore.
Where have
I been?
Where will
I go?
Light fades.
leaving this
for the
Where have
Where am
I going?
Wanders we
from realm
to realm.
like Nomads
thru time
and space.
Each realm
One separate
from the
Learning as
Light fades.
I vaporize,
moving on
I be.
mike fallen Mar 11
Sable flecks drape the forest floor,
If not for this,
what's the forest for?

Daily lark serenades the petal's ear,
If not for this,
why make this meadow here?

Translucent pupil drinks naked vistas,
If not for this,
Why bother with existence?
I become a transparent eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part of God
Emerson, Nature
Mark Kelley Feb 18
“Tomorrow and Beyond”

Help me up in the saddle
Stirrups 'round my boots
Whack the pony on the back
And turn that baby loose

I'll hold tight to the saddle horn
I'll grab firm to the reigns
And off we'll go in clouds of dust
For vistas yet un-named

I'll ride until my body's sore
I'll  bed down for the night
I'll dream big dreams of distant lands
Then head out at first light

And somewhere on the journey's path
I'll watch a wild hawk fly
I'll hear the song of solitude
That draws me near the sky

I'll feel once more that wanderlust
That leads me on and on
That makes one leave ones happy homes
And head out in the dawn

There I'll be, a gypsy bard
Riding with the wind
Searching for that valley green
To put down roots again

And somewhere down around the bend
With many miles behind
I'll find the valley from my dreams
The dreams I've longed to find

I'll know my home when I step down
I'll gaze from far to wide
Ill mark a line down in the sand
And claim that land as mine

Then there I'll be and there I'll stay
The sunsets and the dawns
Will take my hand and lead me forth
To tomorrow and beyond
poetryaccident Dec 2018
If the mystery were removed
drapes pulled back to show the sun?
a revelation on the other side
of promise made by lust’s dreams

that hunger sourced from the hidden
imagination feeding vision veiled
behind protection of the sacred
it’s for the best if you consider

would attraction retain it’s pull
when the portend has been killed?
those gentle hints of what may be
cast aside by wantonness

with results the seen as before
revelation echoes a bitter laugh
in a hundred other vistas viewed
the breadth is seen once again.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181213.
The poem “Drapes Pulled Back” is about the ***** trick that the drive to create offspring propagates on the nature of attraction.
Michael John Aug 2018
is it Thursday already
sheep all move
he is cocky
that catched rat´s tale..

it is balm that sooth
firth of forth
in my crib
i laughed..

lime in the coconut
ad lib..
i broke down
on this day..

and turned to
it was somewhere
to belong o..

and two legs
sure sanctuary
a beauty of vistas
your eyes..
Irate Watcher Sep 2018
It is always
behind you.

there is wisdom,
but it's endless.

Look forward.

It is also endless, and hilly.

Your knees ache to extend.

Don't worry,
the resistance
is good.

Pleasant views
will exist,
when you decide
to look back.
Purpose may be crafted out of nothing
Tools & Skills put to other uses

A Poet can write of Life
While searching for whatever amuses

Comfort in ageing is quietness
Inside where the doubts are clamouring

Peace is a mind filled with ripples
After a lifetime's endless hammering

Yes, the vistas of retirement are daunting
Left behind by a purposeful world

The book of one's life still open
But stuck on a page unturned

Sit back though and watch all the faces
Give labels and names to their expressions

See yourself walking beside them
Was that you? Were those your intentions?

It's the Noise I think is the problem
The white hiss that Time is leaking

But that noise is your system balancing
It is fresh air coming in and spring cleaning

Don't be staring ahead, just find a blank sheet
Put your name at the Bottom...
And fill it

This is not your Winter Of Discontent
But the Glorious Harvest of Autumn...
If you will it!
Thank you Lori Jones McCaffery for setting the seeds for this poem.

— The End —