I wonder then
Many have as well
What our purpose
In this world
Do they occur
To the common salamander
As she rests
Betwixt the underside
Of a rotting log
And the mossy ground?
I don’t think they do.
Just as she - the tiny and color splotched salamander, does
Prancing her joyful dance on the forest floor after each fresh rain
Digging her soft fingers into the moistened ground for grubs
Migrating from the water and wiggling to the forest and then back again
All the while these wonders occur outside her musings
Just as she,
So too will I
Out Of The Window
It isn't often we step outside and truly appreciate the beauty of the world. We often don't even feel a cool breeze and accept it as almost a blessing, opting instead for a coat or shelter. We protect ourselves from the outside, and watch from afar.
But from where I sit in a building, perfectly angled at the window, nature feels as if it is around me. Mist rolling in from unseen hills, just barely reaching out to touch the ground and just cold enough to snap me back to my senses. Trees, tall enough to look up to, but not enough to be intimidating, and yet, they still make one feel small on the second story of a building. Greens litter the branches, and at the start of autumn, the ground as well. One tree in particular is my favorite. Reds are dotted on the branches, free of leaves, for they have all fallen. But I am grateful for the visibility those branches provide. Small animals hard at work, working as I am, for survival. How the birds hover around branches, almost testing if the pencil thin branch would support them. I still sometimes see more previously unknown leaves leap from that tree. It truly is a favorite of mine. Early morning air strikes as I take my leave out of the building but to the next one. But the birds and animals don't mind. To be honest they don't even care. But in a strange similar way, they move from tree to tree, to look through the next window.
Transmordian Phase Shift Spiders
It’s morning on the sector base. Everything is silent, save for the murmur of the helium compressor that comes from the aft quadrant of the craft. It needs to run all the time or things go terribly wrong, according to the engineers who know far more about the subject than me. They are undoubtedly asleep in their quarters since they trust that the truce will hold, but I do not. The skies are clear and the fourth moon is cresting the horizon, a perfect day for flying into battle regardless of the temporary pause of the interstellar conflict at hand. But suddenly a silvery web catches my eye and then I see it: a Transmordian phase shift spider has setup shop between the radar antenna and the laser canon pod. Already I can see that some petal bugs are stuck in the web and, as if on cue, the spider works it’s magic and becomes visible, emits an orange neon glow, then goes invisible again. And then there are two more I didn't notice at first, both fade into view, flash neon orange, then disappear. I learned as a child that phase shift spiders spin webs of titanium silk, a material prized for its beauty and durability; used to make everything from body armor to the most splendid evening gowns. And somehow these spiders evolved to survive and even thrive in the cold radiation of outer space. Life will find a way.
Sapphire waves calmly soak the golden sand,
The rippling moonbeams make her demeanor look ethereal and grand.
Drenched in forever beauty,
Crystals of sand ,shimmering like jewellery.
Multicoloured coral floors lie around,
Beneath the diver’s bubbly mouth.
A saline smell floats around the tranquil bay,
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched earthly clay.
Naturally formed pacific pearls,
Are carried away with peaceful whirls.
Below the indigo aqua,
Are hidden civilizations, deprived of their rare extravaganza.
Mother Ocean- a valuable treasure,
Home to thousands of oceanic creatures.
A Graceful Morning
echos off in the distance
the song of who I coulda been
blood soaking with sin
I close my eyes
and the demon disappears
the wall is an eggshell offwhite
I have three lamps on at night
my notebook says Brave
my mom was shouting be brave
dad says to behave
Sometimes I cant tune things out
the ringing stops
autumn rain like a Goddess crying
Angel tears on a broken dawn
morning, mourning, boring broken.
the way to a mountain full of words unspoken
sometimes I was tortured by an imagined future
I realize now that I am crying
Autumn tears on a broken morning
rushing to the peak of elevation
all that ignored chaos of creation
Retracing the future to save our American life
Rushing to the golden clouds
thunder like the whip, like the knife
Finding nothing beautiful but the sound
of what they say beneath the ground.
Warm Morning Haiku
hot coffee sloshes,
dancing dawn on bitter waves.
mornings bathed in light.
a cat basks in it
stretching languid. he has time.
sun on full belly.
outside the robin
has found some ripened berries
their juice sweet and soft