I have this place
no one knows about
between a field and a willow tree
along a pastures edge
a creek down around the corner
I go to when
things get oppressive
dark and hard
and I sit there
I don't know if I meditate
there in this place hidden
but I get peace
I see love I hug this earth

I have the blessings platitudes
in attitude charade
the meanings mists
in smoky haze

the heritages
of many moons
the gaze of lovers
crazy sacrilege

once the sun came up around
the backs of men
surrounded them
in monuments and sacrifice

and I will never be one of them
I take the women
you left behind
a coward mighty

in my seeing how
ultimately
it is not my fight:
my urge

is only loving

and  one thing, in particular,
seems to be my disturbing
philosophy
I read the

works of Machiavelli,
and considered him the
fool.

Her arms so arabesque,
choreographed by Balanchine,
smoothly flow
raise and lower
in time to unheard melodies,
A Flamingo when this lady
dresses.
Bees and birds stop fluttering,
watch, as
she pulls those stockings
slow, so slowly
up her silky leg
to heaven.

The thorns are dead, tangled on the fence. The flowers have wilted, above my head. The nature seems tensed with unexplained guilts. What has been planned? In the womb of this earth. Growing slowly, yet unseen. The impact shows on the surface. Such a fool we've been!! Drought, quakes and many forces, unstoppable winds and storm, that **** in and gulp the ships. We listen to deaf bosses, who talk about nature as cheap. They really groan and nigh like horses, wagging their tails on money. Yet nod their head off on many, who seek to retain nature to benefit our coming future. But their hunger of money grows and they come with failed projects!! When mother nature throws her tantrums, that's when, men starts to observe and object. Hence, controlling the failures and making awareness to protect and preserve
Our greenery, our nature, our earth that we deserve...



©sim

When was the last time
I felt a raving hunger for life?
When had I but an eternity in moments,
on the edge of something vastly different?

How was it me and not you
who staked her soul high
on rolling hills of green,
took long draughts to savour, to condense
the weight of the world into one precious drink,

cup the shortest days in her palm and release them,
for her thoughts to balloon into the wild?

The delectable now—
ripe as berries for plucking in winter,
and all things, like music
must peter
into silence.

So I suppose my question to you
is not concerned with
the stack of newly-minted green in your pocket,
nor the fleet of shiny cars, but
your pure self, simply being.
It’s prodding the heart,
a tiny critter fluttering with wings, wondering:

when will you ever get a second chance at this—
all this storm
and inexplicable happiness—

or will you
go hunting for things,
whirling at mere traces
of power in your name—

or will you turn around
only to find a life
or a lie,
staring back wide-eyed
in endless shame?

© BT

amid ten thousand million
wriggling parasites
I found you
and you calmed me
like the seaside roar
or a valley view a vista seen
amid ten thousand million
views of casualities
you appeared
and  tamed me
like a waterfall
or a tall mountain viewed pristeen
amid ten thousand million
views of casualties
you walked up
and made me
like a roaring lion
on the seashore on the crest of
a tall mountain
the man I was meant to be
and you

and who can say them in your twenties
but a brief love  on the shore
forties the desire for success
makes those songs disappear
in the rush
and worrying as the fifties aches and pains
appear take over your fitness
drain most of your energies
sixties soon approach and you tend
to drift off into
memories of a long time ago
be they lullabies
sudden kisses
hands you used to hold
days grow shorter still
on a rocker in the corner
covered by a quilt
and may you be listening
to lullabies
again?