monadh sweet gifts of nature's perfection 010314
the swinger of birches on that day
under a new bohemian sun
i'd pour myself that tea
and let you strum your guitar
on the front steps
on concrete warm
on something sweet

strong little melodie
strong little verse

i'd listen to something only you could give me
something only you could say
something only i could feel

maybe we would
to galveston
on bikes
and watch carefully the sand dunes rise
and then recede
or i'd pick wildflowers in the cow fields
up along the shore
you'd collect those seashells

and then we'd sit down all sunny eyed
and calm
sunny eyed
and convinced
that everything was fine
and for that few seconds perfection
had been found
perfection had been kept
and that my friend
is something better
than all those minutes
perfection had been lost
monadh Spring's sweet gifts of mercy 010508
monadh their petals laden with the falling_rain
like sleepy_eyed dreamers
birdmad in the spring they grew in orange, yellow and white from the lower edges of the forests through the rolling desert and even in the cracks of the city sidewalks

soon, as always, they will be deathly dry and a lightning strike will return those colors to life, but in a much less idyllic manner.

acres of scorched earth
Tank when i was a child my mother gave my sister and i a patch each of the back garden. she said we were to do with it what we wished.

i brought myself a pack of wild flower seeds and stood there one afternoon and threw the seeds any which way onto the bare, brown earth.

if i remember correctly only the cornflowers bloomed.

i never wanted to tame flowers. i never wanted to tame anything. everything seemed perfect as it was.

maybe that is why they set out so purposefully to tame me...
emmi i would have to say they are my favourite. they bring back one of very few happy childhood memories...running wild by the railway, picking wildflowers. i remember i thought the white ones that droop looked sad so i didn't pick them, it made me sad to look at them. 060429
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