“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Monday, July 4, 2016
The mana of the fauna
Gaia is my locale,
Terra is my terrain
Inside this
aqueous bubble
flora flourishes
thick and suspended amid
the primordial brew.
This is my realm-
while I am at the helm
I am in my house,
an island broken free.
The sky is not too far away,
a ceiling just out of reach.
On the tip of my fingers,
on the tip of my tongue
I taste the expression
Home sweet Home
and am parched
waiting by the door.
Image By en:Gerard van Schagen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. World map c. 1689.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Ebb and Flow
The seagull shrieking in the near distance is the cry of my heart for the sea I so long to be near once again. The puffy slanted clouds ar...

-
We know more about people we've never known than ever before. Before now, you did not know who you did not know, and who you ...
-
When I wonder do we first think we Are welcome to the world? From the abyss of a watery womb we hear outside of Us w...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
No comments:
Post a Comment