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Literature
Solitary Sentinel
I often feel like a radio caught between stations, or perhaps a ham radio operator living deep in the vast white waste of Antarctica.
A solitary sentinel.
I can hear what everyone else hears. Almost. But only the outer fringes. I'm buried in a howling storm. Hood and gloves on, even in my shelter. I hear the overlap of thousands of channels. Many in strange languages with skipped words. Loud and whisper thin. Fast and slow rhythmed, with ululating tones, pings and beeps. I sense the shape of them. Of the words. Of the world. I understand much of its mystery.
I press the talk button and try to call out. To communicate.
My antenna is broken. Or coated in ice that muffles the signal. All I get are garbled responses.
"We don't understand what you're saying..."
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Literature
Reach for the Hands
[Song (mp3)]
you walk down the street with your head in the clouds
eyes dancing round so you don't have to see
the man on the corner living in a box
a young girl selling her innocence
while your dreamin of things you want to posses
but these things won't bring you happiness
stop for a minute look at the world and see
what's going on 'round you
children going hungry -poverty
uneven justice -inequality
while your dreamin of things you want to posses
but these things won't bring you happiness
open your eyes and reach for the hands
that reach out to you
they're no different than those that you hold dear
how can you turn away?
your dreamin of things you want to posses
but they end up possessing you
if you want to be happy reach for the hands
that reach out to you.
[Here's a link to the sung version of
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Literature
Looking At Yesterday
[Song (mp3)]
You're sitting on the porch swing looking at yesterday.
Your hopes and dreams have taken wing and flown away.
Your vision blurs, as tears slide down your face
wondering if you still have words to say.
Whispered words on the breeze scatter your fears
and opens up your soul so you can finally hear
"The setting sun is not a bitter end
it fills the sky with colors missing in the morning light."
A purple nightingale begins to sing
and laughing now you kick your heels, and start to swing
"Life is more than just the blazing sun
it's orange skies and shiny stars and memories."
You're swinging on the porch and looking at yesterday
and now you know you still have words to say
[Note:You can listen to this 'sung poetry' here.]

[Note: This was an experiment using fiverr.com where I found a gig to turn
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Literature
Why?
unfair the world
*at times it seems*
delivers joy to louts
and pain to children
uneven, the meting out
not born of merit
nor balancing scales
of cosmic justice
the question begged
by this inequity
"WHY?"
cried out by child
and parent
old... young... rich... poor...
...loved and unloved...
"WHY?"
it echoes down hallways
and is at the core
of our shared humanity
"WHY?"
demanding answer
it crawls through time
grasps at science
and the divine
"WHY?"
i have no answer
certain in the light
save only faith, unproved
and hopeful yearnings
of the heart
that love -itself a force
lives even
beyond the grave
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Literature
Old Postcard on the Windowsill
I found an old postcard
on the window sill
above the kitchen sink
 
A colorful portrayal
of azure waves
doe eyed beauty
and gossamer sands
now faded
into uneven grays
 
Its surface is bubbled and ringed
round the careless flowerpot
using it as a coaster
 
I watch as trails of ants
race along the curling edges
cast in silhouette
like salt-laden camels
crossing sunset
Saharan dunes
 
Beneath the fired clay
of humble violet's home
life bright colors
surprise my eyes
rekindling memories
of sunny yesterdays.
 
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Literature
The Heavy Heart
Like a stone
the heavy heart
will sink
in calm waters
while the heart unburdened
dances light
on grievous seas
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Literature
The Old Well
broken lies my heart
my will
behind the tumbled bricks
of dreams
no longer bright
i doubt now my resolve
my worth
as sorrowing
i stretch my hand
returned
too often empty
deep the well was dug
yet now lies dry
and tears alone
cannot restore it
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Weeds by bupaje Weeds :iconbupaje:bupaje 5 2
Literature
The Stories We Tell
Sometimes we forget,
as we travel through our lives,
that everything we see
is itself a complete story
and not just a prop,
a page
or a sentence
in our personal narrative.
What type of people would we be
if we read more
than the covers of the books
we pass on the street?
Who would we become
if we could more fully see
the prologues, 
chapters
and epilogues
of the people and things
we share the world with?
We are surrounded by a universe
far richer than we imagine.
Each rock,
each tree,
each person,
is itself a world
worthy of consideration,
wonder
and respect.
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Literature
The Porch
You sit in the twilight of a life
that is yet in the late afternoon.
The darkness you fear
are but shadows
cast by late summer clouds.
The wheeling ravens
you imagine ...
only brittle leaves
blowing in a steady breeze.
Do not depart
the pleasant porch
sooner than you must.
The falling sun
will paint the sky
in colors
unseen at midday.
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Literature
little bird
little bird
who once upon my branches stood
where have you gone?
 
your nest sits empty
beneath the boughs of shady green
that i provided
 
your song
that echoed in the forest glade
has stilled
 
black silken wings
conspiracy of a dark marauder
caught your eye
 
you flew away
trading sweet nectar for carrion
and melodies for raucous cries
 
but wait ...
 
in the dusk fraught distance
frail blue amidst the inky plumes
is that you?
 
torn feathers
your form bedraggled ... soiled ...
can it be?
 
a shadow at your back pulls quills unnoticed
then casts them spiraling downwards,
flee little bird!
 
soon the birthright you share with angels
will be stripped from hollowed bones
and you too will fall
 
fly while wings you have
deep into the reaching limbs of Ash and Oak
your healing promised
 
return to those whose gifts are truly borne
free offerings, no malice hiding
and live little bird.
 
live.
 
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Simple Cartography Map Effect (Photoshop Action) by bupaje Simple Cartography Map Effect (Photoshop Action) :iconbupaje:bupaje 12 0
Literature
Old Oak
Does the old Oak
in darkling glade
ponder thoughts
as broad as roots
that like them grow
deep and twining?
Or as young Aspen
does it dwell
on flippant leaves
and feathered dancers
toes-tapping joy on
milk-colored branches?
Perhaps its musings
like the squirrels
swift-running leap
from bouncing boughs
lithe questions borne
twixt earth and sky?
I am uncertain.
Yet in the dappled light
of sovereign crown
whispered words
as acorns fall
their secrets
a special heart
awaiting.
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Literature
One Tree
Today
I saw one tree
made into
two homes.
The first
of strong wood
white windows
two floors.
The second
of old cardboard
plastic bags
two boxes.
Inside each
a family dwelt
human beings
two stories.
My heart
sees one world
made into
two halves.
Between them
a shameful wall
removable by
two hands.
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Literature
Carnivorrr
"Carnivorrrr..."
William jumped, and looked around nervously. What the heck? I'm hearing things now.
Probably the gosh awful stink from all these cow pancakes. He continued using the branch to scrape the malodorous turd from his expensive shoes.
That damn horse had crossed in front of him and forced him to veer into the ditch. Now here he was slogging across some dirt merchants field. Yeesh.
"Car-ni-vorrrr"
He spun around. "Hello?" He heard some scuttling behind one of the dilapidated wooden buildings. Must be one of the farmer's manure covered kids. He snickered at the thought.
The barn door was open so he stuck his head in and called out again "Hello?" No sense getting shot by some overall wearing sheep poker with an IQ of 2. He saw some vague shapes in the dark. "Is anyone there? My car veered off the road and into the ditch out front, I'm hoping you can help pull me out."
No answer.
He was ticked now, running late and smelling like No
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Literature
We See the Crown
Age is the ocean
that hides the bulk
of the iceberg
that is a man's life.
We see the crown
of snowy white
but not the blue
of buried roots.
Only the Narwhal
who dives beneath
sees echoed waves
of mountain grandeur.
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curling through my head
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sigh and close the door
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bupaje
Burt
United States
All great journeys begin with a search for Truth.

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Comments


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:iconakhkham:
akhkham Featured By Owner Jul 3, 2018
Hi, I used your stock here:   Elena by akhkham
Thanks
Reply
:iconsassy--cat:
Sassy--Cat Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Hi! I was in a silly mood and made a picture to match my mood! :lol: I used your grass stock for hair! Thank you!

Please don't feed the troll--2018 by Sassy--Cat
Reply
:iconbupaje:
bupaje Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2016
Not a problem - thanks. Keep writing. :)
Reply
:iconaginnation:
AginNation Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Oh and also for adding me to your folder :)
Reply
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