Chartreux

Your eyes are Himalayan  blue, they mutate like the colors of sparkling stars to a silver cold planet. Your indifference defeats me until I am nothing more than an empty  vessel sailed  away to write love letters on diaphanous sails of a windward sloop. When your nights are long and you are far from home, you may find me in the brush of a homeless Chartreux winding about your feet or in the sunflower eyes  of a  gypsy girl waiting by the harbor.

Vincent Van Gogh

chimera

You want her to be real
A half smile curve of lips
a glide of a hand through hair

the click of heels on a marble floor
You want to be her clothes
falling  softly about her feet 
that have formed the shape of wings 

and when she arches her back
she soars as high as chimera can fly.

Luigi Quarti

art by Luigi Quarti “fallen angel”

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American Dreams

  1. I’m transported to Haight Ashbury ‘60s. See the  original for  some awesome music.

toritto

Fire escapes on brownstone New York City

How hard to be poor and a stranger
in the promised land where poverty humiliates
those who pride themselves
on being able to cope.

“Don’t you “little girl” me!
I’ve been carrying this family
on my back
for a whole year!”.

Step over the homeless vet child;
pass the line at the free clinic, the junkies riding horse
the cops, the dealer, the blond crack whore
the schizo-cynic screamin on the corner

It will be a hot Summer up on tar beach
on the fire escape at night
in your underwear
your back against the brown brick

Sleeping under the stars
listening to the lullaby
of a far away siren
still softly singing that American dream.

.

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A Winged Bird

I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of  a waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise  to a soft dawn
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.

I can scarcely bear the

splendor of the world,

its wonder humbles

the wisp  that is me.

Minutiae of eyes and ears

and speechless tongue

stunned by the promise

of a  red dawn.

Elegant trees  lift

their mighty limbs

host to creatures

large and small.

Their noble crowns filled

with the cornucopia of life.

I want to sail the sea tiny fleck that is me   bearer of no possession fragment of the universe

art by Amy Judd (represented by Hicks Gallery)

Translation by  Bernd Hutschenreuther

Ein geflügelter Vogel sein

Ich vermag kaum, den Glanz
der Welt zu enthüllen,
ihre Wunder schmälern
noch meine Winzigkeit.
Details von Augen und Ohren
und Zunge, stumm,
erstaunt vom Versprechen
eines Sonnenaufgangs.
Vornehme Bäume erheben
ihre erhabenen Arme,
mächtige Götter im Gebet,
Gastgeber unzähliger Geschöpfe,
abgezupft in rot und grün,
Füllhörner mit Nüssen und Beeren
zieren ihre edlen Kronen.
Ich möchte das Meer durchsegeln,
winziger Fleck, der ich bin,
ein geflügelter Vogel, Träger
keines Besitzes, ein erfreuliches
Fragment des Alls,
einem jeden sichtbar.

Deutsch: Bernd Hutschenreuther

Glissando

It was cold as death in our flat above the bar, the streets a hunting ground for wolves.

In dreams we could swim among the white caps, chase each other passed the sea oats to the dunes.

You with your gun on the night stand never seeing the palms fronds swaying in the wind.

We have vanished in lines on paper. Take my hand I will lift you up.

.

Dark skies rain down
over fading flowers
resurrecting them
day after day

submerged petals
seeped in sorrow
vain keepsakes

broken winged sparrows
taken by the wind
never to sing again

memory loves you

your kiss

does it still taste of summer oranges?

I can’t forget, I keep your note in

my pocket.

Summer has turned to fall and

my hair the color of autumn leaves.

There’s a garland of abalone

plucked from the river wrapped

around my wrist and on my chest

I’ve etched a song bird fading in a wood

carved world.

I’ve wrapped you in the warmth

of my embrace for fear we may

never kiss kiss again,

still my memory loves you.

while I was thinking of you -während ich an dich dachte

My words are

flames meant to melt the

frozen chalice that is your heart.

In the  white night across the continents

we feel but never touch.

Too sacred for light we set the night on fire

Profane infinity too flawed to alter fate.

While I was  thinking of you a fledgling

fell to earth

swooped up by the wind  on her

passage to life

red head on a bench

während ich an dich dachte

Manchmal fühle ich meine Worte
als lodernde Flamme, die schmilzt
den Kelch deines goldenen Herzens.
Geborgenheit liegt in der Stille, wenn
wir die Kontinente durchqueren.
Wir fühlen uns, doch berühren uns nicht, lassen den Mond
uns verschlingen, setzen die Nacht in Brand, zu heilig fürs Licht.
In deiner Gegenwart bin ich weltlich am heiligen Himmel,
eine Blasphemie aus Fehlern, zu gering, das Schicksal zu ändern.
Während ich an dich dachte, fiel ein junger Vogel
nieder auf die Erde, Wind rettete ihn auf dem
Weg ins Leben.

(Deutsch von Hutschi)

Easter at The Coop…chicklets and guests

I think I enjoy the factory farm raids best! ❤️

Rethinking Life

After a hearty breakfast of Holly’s corn bread and treats, a poetry reading, a sing-along and a small fashion show, the chicklets and those who live at The Coop, as well as their guests, are having a rest period before dinner.

It has been a full day and the weather was nice enough for several trips around The Rubber Duck Pond in the Gondola.  Which means that spring is definitely in the air.

Tomorrow Resa will delight everyone with her yearly Egg Dance and the ballet, with Holly, Beth and Melanie is something everyone is also looking forward to.

Tonight will be filled with a variety show, Story Time (Beth), a coloring contest and a pajama party, which will be held in the horse barn.

As for the adults.  There’s will be meetings outlining the next Factory Farm raids and updates form the other Coops.  The Roosters are making corn…

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humming bees

I am no where near dying

but I can find no room here

for breathing.

When first I laid eyes on you

I unfolded like papyrus layers

wet from the Nile,

this intricacy of doubts,

all wounds and scars

becoming something holy.

I’ve captured your voice,

reassembled it in my throat

to not forget the way you sound.

A thousand humming bees

flitting from the catch in my throat

when I open my mouth to speak.

.

The Watcher

The sky is bleached

a roll and crash of thunder

the grass is tall

beneath the rain trees

I ache to leave

my crying place

before melancholy claims

this ruinous summer

let me stretch out

like some sexy feline

a carnivorous Panther

fighting the

impulse to pounce

Kenya Canvas Print featuring the photograph The Watcher by Denis Charles

Photography by Dennis Charles