10-21-2013, 05:59 AM
Right this is where my 1st shuffle of the pack has taken me. Often the shuffling process takes several turns before i am even vuagly satisfied. (Think I am still fiddling and trying to over adjust - just the same as in the car, any fiddling always results in it going horribly wrong...and there is always a temptation to take your foot off the power pedal...but thought i would post the first effort for your consideration). There is always a certain amount of editing to make the lines read and make sense, but I have tried to limit it at this stage.
1st shuffle.
Outstanding in the forest
the mother tree lives in the wild woods,
on the ridges of the Tian Shan mountains,
where Eternity is firmly planted
in each and every apple seed.
In the beginning
the sound of falling apples
was echoed in the thunder clouds
that gathered over the pommice pits.
De-fleshed a core of new growth
is casually cast aside, to lie
rough strewn between the rocks and roots,
amongst the leafy shadows that rustle underfoot.
Others lie where they have fallen,
on foreign shores, rejected and forgotten
in worm infested papaya sheets.
Streams of liquid hope flow
from here to eternity across the forest floor.
Once firm flesh is pierced and peeled.
Crushed, the goodness oozes out;
piquant it drips from parted lips,
concentrated drops of guilt.
A wooden migration that illuminates
the trail from here to there.
“Here” is Alma-Atta.
where the mountains in my mind
are snow covered and the final event
is an eternal loop of pale blushing blooms
mingled with the scented ferment of declining wealth.
The air is crisp and clear, yet warm;
alive with surround sound, as the harvest
beds itself in with frog popping fruit drops.
From the fecund heart,
thickets of out stretched limbs
radiated out in all directions.
Soon the mountains of Tian-Shan will shake
to the sound of green shoots
bursting though Eden’s gates.
1st shuffle.
Outstanding in the forest
the mother tree lives in the wild woods,
on the ridges of the Tian Shan mountains,
where Eternity is firmly planted
in each and every apple seed.
In the beginning
the sound of falling apples
was echoed in the thunder clouds
that gathered over the pommice pits.
De-fleshed a core of new growth
is casually cast aside, to lie
rough strewn between the rocks and roots,
amongst the leafy shadows that rustle underfoot.
Others lie where they have fallen,
on foreign shores, rejected and forgotten
in worm infested papaya sheets.
Streams of liquid hope flow
from here to eternity across the forest floor.
Once firm flesh is pierced and peeled.
Crushed, the goodness oozes out;
piquant it drips from parted lips,
concentrated drops of guilt.
A wooden migration that illuminates
the trail from here to there.
“Here” is Alma-Atta.
where the mountains in my mind
are snow covered and the final event
is an eternal loop of pale blushing blooms
mingled with the scented ferment of declining wealth.
The air is crisp and clear, yet warm;
alive with surround sound, as the harvest
beds itself in with frog popping fruit drops.
From the fecund heart,
thickets of out stretched limbs
radiated out in all directions.
Soon the mountains of Tian-Shan will shake
to the sound of green shoots
bursting though Eden’s gates.