The leaves are blowing away
Up, up, and away they go.
Swish, swoosh, they go.
Like a dancing ballerina
Up, up and away they go
Way up , in the sky.
The trees standing there,
Their branches all bare.
The wind whistling throughout empty branches,
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
Away with it, let it go.
Are not the trees green,
The earth as green?
Does not the wind blow,
Fire leap and the rivers flow?
The ant is busy
(Capri, Piccola Marina)
Timeless sea breezes,
sea-wind of the night:
you come for no one;
if someone should wake,
he must be prepared
how to survive you.
Timeless sea breezes,
that for aeons have
Backdoor wide open
A cream moon is coming in
Softly, like a dream.
Beyond red sun, pearly rays
in a lazy, lilac night.
Howling wind whimsy
'midst the fantasy flowers
in plum, pink and green.
Silver moon, always welcome
I was an environmental scientist, working with large wind farm developers,
To harness wind and generate electricity, as a plum sun flees, to tell others.
I worked at helping developers comply, with all environmental regulations;
Minimizing the impact to it and populace, like storm tossed petal situations.
I conducted studies and recommended strategies, to mitigate undue harm,
For wind turbines are good for all earth, like a rouge sun keeping us warm.
Floral fulfillment filled fragrant gardens, after faceted fancies of jade spring.
all day long
still for moments
then roaming blooms and fuchsia midnight rooms
restless rapt wind rousing all to tango
in orange mists
of dawn or
I was a learned meteorologist, studying azure atmosphere and vivid weather,
To give a prophetic daily forecast, like bees gliding remote locales of heather.
Often I had to issue advisories and warnings, like a jumbo roar of yellow lion,
So plans could be made and trouble avoided, until a new, lemon-gold horizon.
I also gathered much data to share, like enlightening ambles in green nature,
Where each beauty bloom's a true eyeopener, maroon scented ones so major!
Forests wore foxgloves, freesia and forget-me-nots, and friends came to call,
The dry leaves are shaken off by the wind
The wind softly whispered in the tired of the dizzy climate
The land regenerates willingly on the animals that inhabit it
The leaves are ready and willing to be eaten by insects, worms and slugs
Trees that soar high reaching the sky have been tested by various storms as if they are still strong even though they are old but still protect every habitat below
His organs seemed willing to die and regenerate because that was the sacrifice of his life
When the harvest season arrives, it's not uncommon for him to be stoned or his
branches deliberately broken to get something, but he still reciprocates by giving the fruits he produces.