God, save the dream! The impossible one!
a propeller without a plane is just a windmill.
God, save our hunger for satisfaction!
sitting still is for the birds.
Be different — choose to fly
in peace with loves
Tickling her way through the moss in the Spring
young imp bursts forth into the light of day
Winding a path from the trunk to the crown
by Summer’s end she will be free to kiss the sky
Waving in the wind and waltzing in the rain
she feels for her ancient oak, making his life sensational
Her ecstatic cling informs his essential being
Thus he knows in the densest way just why his sap stirs so
Like kindling and kin
crispy crackling flames within
leap forth to lick the stars of lust
whilst twilight beckons
the dawn of fresh sunlight
to rise in beams over lover’s aureoles
before bursting radiance into rays reflecting
smooth pink skin and rosy red cheeks
under eyes all agleam in gazes of glory
In a state of restless consternation,
the candidates awaited the arrival of The Master.
A hush fell over the room as the curtains began to part.
With a marked air of dignity, Olmark glided to center-stage.
His presence brought their newly sharpened awareness into focus.
“Attuned — understand?
Listen up, all ye initiates of The Order.
The note; the original, plays on in the unseen background.
Can you hear it? Don’t you sense it? Like a stream of morning dew?
Applying the wisdom of color to the dynamic chalkboard of decisive action is certainly a messy business. One orbits the softness of the shining subject matter ~ without the devilish judgments incurred when absurdly applying the tainted palette of logic to an inconceivable canvas floating far beyond the point of no return.
© Uncle Tree
You, lovely pool, be my last and only friend.
The way I see reality,
undermined by bigotry.
Where overwhelmed fluidity
↔ proceeds universally ↔
Look! All around you, here we have
a perpetual-motion machined Universe.
Infinity turning itself inside-out and outside in,
from the micro to the macro comes the macaroni grill! Ah!
But Soul remains a mystery, lest she be the Muse I have in mind:
where angels belong, where spirits reside, where the dead go,
where aliens ride, where I Am dead–center, but still alive!
Or are we simply living the lives of The Immortals?
Where we’re all gods, who don’t want to play God,
and the dice roll themselves.
“Now, that’s what I call – the fairy tale role of the dice.”