Seeds fall to the ground,
the birthing of ideas.
Store houses we become.
Know not every seed takes root:
What knowledge then brought into the minds of Adam and Eve?
What doctored DNA?
Instructions reaped from Eden, a true Paradise Lost
Meanwhile deaths sits beneath the frost
Or, were more pleasant days kept from us?
Over the yarns of cultivated incarnations,
mere circles of life and wedding rings.
Seasoned Aztec spice, gentle Asian rice, Las Vegas spotted dice,
the wild and tame, only in name,
consumed by corrupt human vice
Carried within me in my twisted spine, steady, with my toes on the line,
a starting and finish line
Nutritional coding thrives on this Nebraska farm,
(Nothing’s forever buried, nor comes to harm)
to think we self-nurture when God tends to us in the broad sunrise of every morn,
revived from each tiny death, I am born and reborn, again.
Be careful of minor thoughts and dreams,
sewn into the hems and seams of our rugged genes
when a greater Universe is at hand, You jump and land,
not shaken by the scope of substance gathered by Druids and Essenes,
which drives home our direction, our lore
dusty records only provide a way through the door,
for what we might step through,
steps that either descend or ascend.
To no particular end.
The ladder is explained by expansion,
not limited to do’s and don’ts
With faith we either wilt or gather strength,
among the throngs of corn or wheat, we Grow,
We feel. We know. We eat.
More seeds we sow.
Each hedgerow, each length.
I ponder origins beyond my birth,
of what I have seen beyond beloved Earth.
Fragile guests are we, floating along transparent glaze,
while I munch sugary cereals picking my teeth,
there beneath my stuffy nose, I breathe and I sigh, under a broad bent blue sky.
Stuck into pouches,
the gathering of grains from fields near and far
out my kitchen window, a mist forms against glass,
there beyond my hand’s reach, the haze, of mystery,
what answers we may have, enter in the many forms of history,
against all impossibility
A sickle hacks at shoots of noble life reaching for the light,
forget about what’s wrong or right,
out from life it bleeds, gathered into stored bundles,
carried off on sweaty backs, to dress a table where it feeds my cells,
(my soul), the now completed tales it tells,
of which I belong, in which I long to feel the gentle strokes of Holy Spirit’s touch
with this small bit of knowledge I’ve gathered as much
Green apples fall from on high, a voracious bite, and I realize the “old me” from yesterday…
will soon die
Please help me! This is overwhelming, simply too much,
in the joy it sings, it belongs to me…
the wind hums over the sea of hazel,
just under the blazing clouds, aloud,
a unique melody that only I can hear,
that same tune I hum to my dear Love, to quell her every fear.
From life together we are matched in this rich lush garden,
to bring forth our mirrors in swaddles
talks of wisdom spawned
as still as wading birds on a calm cool pond
The giant petri dish revives my only wish
for Love to thrive, of others to arrive
welcomed them with open arms at our doors to these delightful shores,