The Original Pornography
O'Keefe saw it, knew it
The way she painted
pleading, begging petals
exposed, eager, yearning
to be seen by different eyes
to have their texture felt by
--for other strokes
Waves thrust on rock, the sun
asks seeds to burst, coaxes stem
and thirsting leaves from dirt
Precious nectars drained and
turned to gold, sticky sweet,
leaving alchemy wherever
it may fall
Spores explode, waterfalls rush
and slowly melt into gentle pools
that hide secrets in their grottos,
roots search quiet, determined for
warm, inviting earth, the clouds part
and drench the bold
The ageless coquette, she spreads
and releases, takes and gives,
dominant, yielding, known
to all, possessed by none,
Coy seductress, winking vixen,
star of The Original
We see it, know it
But most come out defective
Of the countless thousands and millions
Of all the trials and rigors
Running in denial with scissors
A single mote wafts into the pavilion
The lottery player Sisyphus
Still must fight uphill
To survive the right anthill
And gain purchase with the rest of us
Extinction may be forever
But there's always a face
Ready to take the place
Of someone proven less clever
There will always be another Elvis
Announced, leaving the building
Wearing caped, accoutered gilding
That cannot save, from themselves, the feckless
Everyone's in the continuum
We're all in line
One at a time
But new cheaters'll always cut in
As the world continues revolving
Some people stay on with rotation
But others fall off from negation
Life's Tetris continues evolving
So never say never in reflection
Or not to be
You have no special protection
is thick as fuck
that's not the prompt?
shoulda been, shoulda been...
Take the vegetation
we're all tangled in
the cellular jungle
she keeps us pinned
fattening the calves
for autumnal feast
in the back
of the mind
the heavy feet
of heart-attack snows
in the peak of
our Everest Eternal
with no way out
of the skull
...like i said
thick as fuck
Mother Nature is Fine as Hell @TheWolfeDen
How could the dirt be so full of lust? Many would see the brown crumbles and think of the nusance of how it could be messy. But many aren't in tune with the wonders of natural growth.
The dirt; the beautiful, soft, rich, textured substance that covers the majority of our world is mother natures apprentice and the attractive birthing place for endless life. She gave dirt the ability to bring endless amount of glistening nature into our world; the ability to nurture fruit trees and engorge potatoes in gardens and farms, the ability to become hard and layered with sand to create pathways for those walking to a creek to get water, the ability to be scooped and carried away to make manmade creeks and homes, and the ability to remain full of nutrients that supports worms, bugs, and multiple insects that start and support the food chains billions of people rely on.
Dirt seems to be the most attractive part of nature. So I ask again, with pure wonder and curiosity filling my being: how could the dirt be so full of lust?
Mother Nature, When She’s Good She’s Very Very Good When She’s Bad You Go Extinct
Of all the ladies who have ever graced us with their beauty none are as drop circle of life and death gorgeous, sensual, or naughty (snicker blush) as Mother Nature. Even after billions of years, multiple ice age, extinctions, and humanity trying to change her, you won't won't find a hotter mother than her.
Mother nature's hair is as amber waves of grain which dances in the wind. Her eyes are the deep blue of a quiet sea. Mother Nature is all curves and you won't find a straight line on her body (hubba hubba). Her redwood legs are long, sensuous and stretch up to the heavens. It doesn't matter that she doesn't shave. Her skin is as clear as the unblemished snow and as soft as a panda's fur. Her bosom is the envy of every woman alive and so majestic mankind has named them, The Grand Tetons.
Now, Mother Nature is a woman of quality and she doesn't tolerate anyone trying to mess up her beauty. She can also be a bit moody. Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes, tornados, and storms allow her to undo the damage done by humanity and remind them that she can be one BAD MOTHER when she needs to.
Oh, Mother Nature is a wanton and lusty lass. Anything goes with her! Doggie style, cellular division, insect billionsomes, porpoise style, asexual, spawning, spore production, pollenization, and rutting in the trees, when Mother Nature wants some, she'll take it how she can get it.
Of all that is beautiful from the stars in the sky to the quiet falling snow, nothing compares to our mother. We must respect her, try to please her, but most of all, we mustn't PISS HER OFF! I don't know about you, but I can do without another ice age or caldera eruption wiping out our entire species.
The Queen’s Garden
Snaking over hills,
winding through rivers.
Her hands are the things that deliver.
Death. Life. Reproach of all the emotions laid within.
She plucks on my heartstrings, making me sing with a grin.
Swallowed pride, mouth open wide, I can gaze at her whip.
The one she cracks smooth, the one with my neck at its tip.
When the jaw pried open, gaping hole and wide.
Staring down the dark hollowed center where I'd be buried inside.
Had my wits been so quick, had I not been as sharp.
I'd be swallowed deep within, another of her children's throats.
Still I wander, far and wide, with my foot pressing wide
Flat blades of green under toe.
Until I travel through her wintery snow,
Ever captured, ever lost in her wintery frost.
Lived another sweltered moon,
cold and white, dusted in blue,
To a warm Spring and Summer where life begins anew.
Nature please, love me so, but be more gentle when you come and go.
I am frail, I am weak when I feel I've lost my peak.
I am human, I need much, but I fear to partake in the hunt that you revel,
The one you force us all to indulge fate.
Where the strong live on satiated and the weak are a plenty.
More of food, more to eat, but I am not as meek.
I am human, and I wall off your creativity so to eat,
in my warm hovel home on the now leveled slope.
No more bears, no more lions. Just my old trusty rifle.
Soup in hand, spoon to mouth, no more hard winter travels.
Nature speaks and she keeps knocking on my porch,
breath so shallow.
Waiting here, peaking there in my frosting up windows.
She can have me when I'm old, she can have me when I'm ill,
but I will not partake in her hunting games to give her a thrill.
why is this tree bleeding?
drinking palm blood
out of boiled glass
used a 1000 times
will the sea eat tuvalu
askew horseshoe angles
up and down
targets for marlins
before ghouls came
and erased animism
we knew travel
canoes between the dots
of our universe
an evening meal
lime acid cooked shrimp
when my son
runs headfirst into hell
his island heart.
Nature saved my life
Running through the fog in the early evening, his head is as low as his spirits, his heart sunken down to some hidden place in his chest.
Past the train tracks, so tempting to just stop for a little while. He considers it, looking down the great abyss that stretches off into the distance. He studies the sign beside the track. Call us if you need help. The Samaritans. Does he need help? Yes, but nothing they could offer.
Would it be so bad, to jump on the track and let himself slip into oblivion?
An owl calls from the forest nearby. He raises his head, pauses, dashes over the tracks to the embrace of the trees on the other side. All his attention is on the peeping calls of the little creature. Where? Where are you hiding, dear owl?
His heart races as he spots a little oval silhouette amongst the branches above him. Its a little owl, he remembers. And with one memory comes a flood of clarity. He doesn't need to die. Not yet. Not never. Nature extends her hands and pushes him on, stumbling on his way through the forest. Back homeward.
The train whistles by behind him, but still, above the clamour, he can hear the little owl's calls, ghostly but comforting in the fog.
the trinity river
the river runs west
she sprints to the ocean
is she blind to her wholeness?
no, she is neither ignorant nor vain
keeping the meat of her dirt
her beautiful mud-dirt
wading where she must
allowing who she may, unto her
occupied by much and by many
still offering herself west all along
no betrayal can spoil her fruit
for if you drowned, it was you
who got caught up
anyone coming near can plainly see
she may welcome you
but she will always