Popples

ripples.jpg

Ripples carry songs
outward to beyond –
culminating at the edges
in a crescendo
that is too abrupt;
nothing is diminished,
no tune is lost
inside its bracketed echoes,
chiming molecules
and gentle undulations

of steel rings that pirouette
in derelict space, abandoned
save for some memories
still floating on a clean
light sound without vibrato
on those cool, lazy, steady days
of fingers that brushed together
and when laughter caused
summer’s winks to ruffle
our reflections until they wafted
slowly as distortions,
and unfamiliar interlopers
were settled on the surface –

masked by palm sized, verdant
leaves they sent sylvan charm’s
unused taught light to graze
the perimeters
of popples still rippling-
busy with song – bursting
onto new horizons
but with hope
reverberating inside melancholia’s
ever decreasing circles.

 

 

 

Absolute: Zen

Inspired by things to do by Leonard Durso

Is it the wind ‘s form
that makes the sound of
the clouds?

Listen for those
invisible things
craved,
elusive;
out of reach
to those of us
that remain
out of touch
with ourselves.

Aeons
of particles,
all the same substance
in parcels
brought,
stay unopened,
microscopic forms –
captive to suspicious frowns
and eyes
that lightly finger.

Automatic assumptions
make it a scorpion
in brown paper packaging
that becomes
the Trojan horse
of our dreams –
forbidden
in daylight –
because we are prepared
for those who dare,

but we forget we are one,
everyone is made
of the same substance,
packaging is made
of the same – substance
has no name or form.
Energy, mind, God and matter
are all name and form.
Everything is made of the same;
if we only understood
ourselves,
we would be at peace.

Tick the Boxes

gold clock.jpg

Late one night with Dorna (madasahatter572)

time will strangle us with his
bloody lovely eyes,

we watch the clock slyly
shirking up there on the wall,

its back turned away from it all.
The second hand’s slow seduction –

don’t worry about it –

we rail against it, always
flirting with its constraints,

cramming, piling, squeezing
rushing, speed walking, bulldozing

until there are no longer any
OAPs* left to see in the new year.

We are bedded to the ground,
wed to our inky schedules,

while fed on speed dials and digital
time flushing neon and blinking

cheekily, constantly messing
with our long lashed responses.

 

*OAPs  In the UK, are old age pensioners.

 

FEASTS OF GRIEF

Dorna has some unique pieces on her blog and it would be great if you could go see.

madasahatter572

Wretched, a remnant of before
you left me
What do I care for your name?
Why shout it?
Should I bother with tears?
Or as many as you said my name
to equal the number
Why should I give
a damn now about yours?
You were dying
when you were lying
Now you are dead.

I am here living,
or at the very least standing –
breathing low before
your marred headstone,
watching nature at her best;
her nocturnal creatures draw close
towards your grave.

In my mind they feast
but sour memories and grief
make them unmentionable fiends –
that wanted to make a macabre feast
of your bloated body,
and I let them – brittle bones now
rattle in the dust,
still all I can see is anger.
I hate you right now.
You are dead
where all the dead are at long last
at peace.
Laughing to…

View original post 147 more words

Team Planet Earth

Please lend your support to the Dodo Express and get involved in our planet… in a good way.

Time to clear up those Monday blues with some more conservation good news stories from across the web.

First stop on the Dodo Express is Mexico.

Fireflies help stave off deforestation

The Guardian reports that in the village of Nanacamilipa, tiny fireflies are helping save the towering pine and fir trees on the outskirts of Mexico City.

2850-1 Camp spaces in Piedra Canteada park sold out weeks in advance to see thousands of fireflies light up the night. Photograph: Rebecca Blackwell/AP

For years, economic forces, including low prices for farm produce, forced rural communities like Piedra Canteada to cut down trees and sell the logs. Then, in 1990, community leader Genaro Rueda Lopez got the idea that the forest could bring tourism revenue from campers.

With business slow for years, the community members realized the millions of fireflies that appear between June and August could draw tourists from larger cities where…

View original post 478 more words

Splitting the Atom…Bomb

Second call for Poets for Peace and my 2nd contribution – thank you to everyone who has responded with kindness so far today…to help reach another 100 and more, go here and please leave your poem in the comments section of Neha’s blog and it will be added. https://forgottenmeadows.wordpress.com/2016/07/16/calling-all-poetscreative-minds-to-a-grand-collaboration-poets-for-peace/comment-page-5/#comment-19287

dove

We have accrued
a legion of wars over
centuries that pass like wandering
soldiers in our dreams
shattered by bombs and the broken
promises of liars and tyrants,
squeezing till we scream and succumb –
hoping we toe the line,
discard our beliefs, cease disrobing
moral injustices, cease clamouring
for peace and end our search for solutions.
Violence, hate, fear and terrorism is written
in unjust profit margins and margins
of error, meted out by greed, and as human traffic
we have become a bank balance of death
in their greedy pockets.
Nothing changes.
All this time we
remain nothing but
their small
change.

Only for a while,
for a moment, I thought
that time was going to change it –
when hate might become a memory –
 in a time of change,
forever?

We have scarce time,
myriad memories
and goals like pythons wind
around our dreams –
choking, crushing, till they seep
and we weep like spoilt children
when the charmer tames.
Changes are made but are
brushed aside with a sweep of an engine
flying aloft – metallic, death throes.
No change there, just death –
always at rest in someone’s
memory – all of the time, and which
will last
not only for a short time
but forever.
If we don’t change
in the times
in which we live,
these times
will never
change.