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Bear

I watched him grow from a baby to a boy
from a boy to a man
but as he lay there as if he was a sleep
so peacefully
tears began to run wildly down my face
for it was all over
why so early in life
he was barley a year

as he soared to the heavens
he took more then his
heart and sole
he took a little bit of everyone’s in my family
he was like a nephew to me
and her son
why was he taken from her
so early

Tido
lost more then a companion

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poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Sierra

I watch her grow and play
every day
I watch her get into mischief
I watch her discover new ways of life
and discover new things in life
I hear her guard the house with all her little might
(Witch is not much)
but she tries so hard
I’m there for her when she’s scared
for she’s there for me

I know her
as well as she knows me
I know when she’s
mad, sad, confused, or frustrated
I can feel her emotions
as she can feel mine
sometimes I get frustrated
with her
and regret having her

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poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Vicissitude I: Winter

A numbing sting eviscerates
The sky to a crystal hail
Her gloom falling from grace
Piling a stark garden of tulips
To mourn with the asleep river
And buried whispers in the ghastly gale
This mistral blanket of dagger kisses
Makes my bones shudder and cringe
In the dark nook of her vestige
Pawning a cigarette for the sun

Ensconced in a slathering absence
And ninety days of siphoned sun
I lambently mosey the emollient floor
Sinking without weight, stalled with no grounds
Seeking for an isthmus towards
A barricading sierra of seclusion
And averting the cajoles of death
In the verisimilitude of smokes
Dissipating from its svelte veneer

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poem by Norman Santos
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A Day Of Sunshine. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Second)

O gift of God! O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!

Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.

I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.

And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where though a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon,

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sequoia Trees

Trees so long that it makes a city look small.

Yet they make the Empire state building look tall.

People can climb this massive trees in the winter or the fall.

I saw pictures of people climbing one Sequoia like a mountain.

One of these days I want to climb a Sequoia tree.

I think these trees will last until the end of time.

No one should ever cut them down in their prime.

The Sequoias bark is so thick that it protects itself against fire.

They can last long winters in the Sierra.

Thick bark serves both causes which makes it unwilling to expire.

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poem by Lyda Mery
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The Pass Of The Sierra

ALL night above their rocky bed
They saw the stars march slow;
The wild Sierra overhead,
The desert's death below.
The Indian from his lodge of bark,
The gray bear from his den,
Beyond their camp-fire's wall of dark,
Glared on the mountain men.
Still upward turned, with anxious strain,
Their leader's sleepless eye,
Where splinters of the mountain chain
Stood black against the sky.
The night waned slow: at last, a glow,
A gleam of sudden fire,
Shot up behind the walls of snow,
And tipped each icy spire.
'Up, men!' he cried, 'yon rocky cone,
To-day, please God, we'll pass,
And look from Winter's frozen throne
On Summer's flowers and grass!'

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Implications of One Plus One

Sometimes we collide, tectonic plates merging,
continents shoving, crumpling down into the molten
veins of fire deep in the earth and raising
tons of rock into jagged crests of Sierra.

Sometimes your hands drift on me, milkweed's
airy silk, wingtip's feathery caresses,
our lips grazing, a drift of desires gathering
like fog over warm water, thickening to rain.

Sometimes we go to it heartily, digging,
burrowing, grunting, tossing up covers
like loose earth, nosing into the other's
flesh with hot nozzles and wallowing there.

Sometimes we are kids making out, silly
in the quilt, tickling the xylophone spine,
blowing wet jokes, loud as a whole
slumber party bouncing till the bed breaks.

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poem by Marge Piercy
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La Gitana

Your hair was full of roses in the dewfall as we danced,
The sorceress enchanting and the paladin entranced,
In the starlight as we wove us in a web of silk and steel
Immemorial as the marble in the halls of Boabdil,
In the pleasuance of the roses with the fountains and the yews
Where the snowy Sierra soothed us with the breezes and the dews!
In the starlight as we trembled from a laugh to a caress,
And the God came warm upon us in our pagan allegresse.
Was the Baile de la Bona too seductive? Did you feel
Through the silence and the softness all the tension of the steel?
For your hair was full of roses, and my flesh was full of thorns,
And the midnight came upon us worth a million crazy morns.
Ah! my Gipsy, my Gitana, my Saliya! were you fain
For the dance to turn to earnest? - O the sunny land of Spain!
My Gitana, my Saliya! more delicious than a dove!
With your hair aflame with roses and your lips alight with love!
Shall I see you, shall I kiss you once again? I wander far
From the sunny land of summer to the icy Polar Star.
I shall find you, I shall have you! I am coming back again
From the filth and fog to seek you in the sunny land of Spain.

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poem by Aleister Crowley
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The Dust Of Africa

The dust of Africa,
Born into the mist of a dusty atmosphere;
What does the future hold for us?
Oh Africa! Oh Africa! ! Oh Africa! ! !
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
From the desert up there to the south,
The wind blows the natural air to all mankind.
On this earth,
We Africans are mixed with a dusty air!
The dust of Africa,
Have you seen it in Libya, Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco?
The dust of Africa,
What about Algeria, Western Sahara and Mauritania?
The dust of Africa,
Do visit Mali, Niger, Chad, Sudan, Eritrea and Ethiopia;
Also, down south to Namibia!
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
Oh Africa! The dust of Africa! !
To the outstretched sandy dust of the desert,
This could be sold for money.

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Preciosa Y El Aire

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.

Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado

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poem by Federico García Lorca
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