Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Why Are Scientists Happy?

This is the time when the way of the leaf. The thing of turning, in a tree lifetime and with words, works for better days and this is just to stay. Kind regards and never leave. Or if you leave, be in forever ever. Or if the trees lose leaves, let the sunlight hold the tree. The tree will instant, all in good time.

All time, all good, all tree.

And if singing is a guide or poems made of marsh, then let the sound of filling fill. A moment is grand to taste. We have to be as we have. These trees are singular and moment. A hand is made to hold.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

That Droplet on my Truth

Miss you and

the words. Claims

fall in nettle

bunch. Colours remain

strive. A patch of alternate

quick frequent bowing

sternly fixes redolent

patch. A

period powers

on.

A stanza decides

a breath. People

include enumeration.

Glad tidings when all the baseball

teams win. This present is now

now. Now

the igloo now.

A poem and

anyway. We write our words

and words of

others. The present

becomes a stag or

feeling in the glare

of headlight.

A town precedes a sense

of misery. We

vote with our conscience not

our conscious.

A clicking

sound, like a whale

sound. Under-

neath is a brimful of

a whale in a moment,

breath. We think we

know. No, we

think we.

Today is a debatable

day.