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The Tortoise and the Hare
A Tortoise going on foot, a Hare was for long time was mocking..
To whom, by the way grinning at, “I tell the truth, I say however much quick you are, if I race you however, I will overcome you ”.
“Now, that is impossible what you predict!” asserted the Hare. “With me, I say Oh tortoise! in a contest I approach you. I am indeed strong of foot, clearly you know. ”
At which the Turtle murmured “Is there another of us. I say at the end of th course we can appoint as to discern and commend victory?” At that a fox, heavily puffed up with vanity keener than the rest “the beginning and end, and also the race course location I will trace out.”
So Turtle with no delay being taken, right of way, pronto seized the way towards commanding to the end.
At length came however the Hare meanwhile with his feet pain
The Tortoise and The Hare
'What a dull heavy creature," said a bright-eyed, nimble-footed Hare, "is this some plodding Tortoise! He trudges along in the mud, neither looking to the right nor to the left, only caring to nibble such of the driest grass and the dirtiest roots as come in his way, and making no more progress in a day's march than I can accomplish in two or three careless bounds!"
"And yet," said the Tortoise (in hearing the speech had been made for his humiliation), "although I have neither your lightness of foot, nor the compact and powerful symmetry of your haunches, I will undertake to run you for a wager."
"Agreed!" said the Hare, contemptuously. So a goal was named, and away they started together. The Tortoise kept jogging along at his usual rate, and was soon left behind and out of sight of the Hare, who, tired of running alone in a given direction, fell to browsing on choice plants, and then went off to a game of play
RainLife's a river of vitality
filled with love that comes from no where
you can either ask for more water
so you have some more to splash back in,
so it may come back to you in equal portions of rain.
Or you can make it out of no where
Gallus by Virgil
This now, the very latest of my toils,
Vouchsafe me, Arethusa! needs must I
Sing a brief song to Gallus- brief, but yet
Such as Lycoris' self may fitly read.
Who would not sing for Gallus? So, when thou
Beneath Sicanian billows glidest on,
May Doris blend no bitter wave with thine,
Begin! The love of Gallus be our theme,
And the shrewd pangs he suffered, while, hard by,
The flat-nosed she-goats browse the tender brush.
We sing not to deaf ears; no word of ours
But the woods echo it. What groves or lawns
Held you, ye Dryad-maidens, when for love-
Love all unworthy of a loss so dear-
Gallus lay dying? for neither did the slopes
Of Pindus or Parnassus stay you then,
No, nor Aonian Aganippe. Him
Even the laurels and the tamarisks wept;
For him, outstretched beneath a lonely rock,
Wept pine-clad Maenalus, and the flinty crags
Of cold Lycaeus. The sheep too stood around-
Of us they feel no shame, poet divine;
Nor of the flock be thou ashamed: even fair
Adonis by the rivers fed his sheep-
Roll like thunder
roll like thunder
rioting lakes looming there
ripe luxurious light lightens through
rippling roaring luminous lines larger than thought
real.. reaping low looming lost time's transfiction
that thumps lots lame, lingering reeling rapture
to take likely lucifer's lively reality
toward lamps' loaded like royal
twitching loot looking right
top like rain
Streak Of Light In the NightShooting star,
Look up and pray.
And beaming through the sky.
Make a wish,
Before it closes it's eyes
And forgets you all together.
Since that is the moral,
Quick and forgotten.
Just like we all will be,
Once we close our eyes.
So be fast with your choice,
Since once it comes round
Again, we shall
All be fertilizer for the
Grass to consume.
...of a blissful HeavenEver dreamed of what heaven was like?
Maybe it's a wide field of evergreen grass
surrounded by the lurking forest trees,
where all you could inhale was the damp leaves on the ground
and pines from the trees above, an intoxicating smell
that leaves you high after the rainstorm
Maybe it's in an oasis located within a desert,
however, it is not scorching ablaze,
but it's warm and you feel your skin tingling
a whole new sensation is evolving inside of you
and the warmth wraps you up in a blanket of sunshine
Or maybe it's at the peak of a mountain
where you reign over the world on your solid throne of boulders
the invisible wind is your invitation of escape
and while the slight breeze passes by
you begin to shiver with an adrenaline rush
I could be wrong and you might be right, but tell me dear, what is heaven like?
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th), BI enter the trees.
Between the dozing leaves,
hugging canopy and soothing shade
I awe at a swan bathe.
Cruiseliner, white, pure, naked
graceful, living china.
Seven others chat by the hidden soil shore.
They see me, spread out ornamentally,
politely move away
and then fly
with curved ceramic blades
ready to pierce gravity’s oppression.
I've found Peace.
The Local Loch, August 2014 (27th)Prehistory’s iPad.
When light hit the water
a supernova dance of
scurrying dust swayed
in their amber infinite.
When the wind tapped,
the waves flapped their feathers
and spread into
a migration of curly black lines
on a child’s drawing,
choppy pattern after choppy pattern,
wave conforming to wave
into a wallpaper covering
algae, flotsam, dead bricks, dead stone,
until the irregular birds changed the flow.
Be it the duck that draped a dress
behind in a V-shaped groove,
or the pudding-plump coots
who gently honked, imprinting
flat bubbles on water.
They live in the reflection of Life.
Fringed by feathers like icy mountaintops
and dead fish bloated on pollution,
an Irn Bru bottle imitates the nature it killed.
An orange bread packet is ignored by the mallard
for the tragedy it brought to town.
It’s a flat town, a houseless town,
but still a moving community of
twig islets and breadcrumb empires.
Fringing on their utopia is us,
us standing still from dry grey pavement
Theme Prompt - AirIt's a study in duality
Like so many other things.
Calm, gentle, soft, kind
Feathering over my skin.
Rough, wild, sharp, angry
Destroying all in its path.
Air is all of these things
And so many, many more.
Its the pulse of my lungs,
The storm lashing my home,
The thing I need to live,
Though it slowly kills me.
To harness it takes skill,
To use it takes vision.
Take the invisible and
Make it completely tangible.
That is the basis of me,
The core of who I am.
How Smiles Were Born"How Smiles Were Born"
By: Ulrich J Edelstein
Deep underneath the crystals lies beautiful gems of starlight.
The temptations to capture them are beyond imagining.
Only few have been able to reach into the jaws of the creature to possess these magnificent stones.
Underneath the blue swirls
And the reflection of moonlight's grace,
Are the pearls of time.
They have been sprung up onto those who are fortunate.
They have been formed to create a crescent moon of happiness.
If not taken care, they grow weary and decay.
They crackle and shatter
And no one admires them any longer.
It is important for them to be handled with gentleness.
For the future can be presented by gleaming smiles.
For all to admire, for all pearls to aspire to be.
That is why it's important to smile everyday and take care of your teeth.
Citron SunriseDimples accompany her smile,
like children opening their first birthday present
or wise women reminiscing.
Morning fog, sighing over the hills,
calling a lost friend.
Soft, unrelenting voice,
tart like lemon cheesecake,
softened by cream ravines
and crumbling mountains.
Canary wings in flight,
yellow haze seducing fireflies,
taking us away to
beginning and end.
Evening Windwhistling wind blows in the evening
it carries on the cobalt throne
the ghosts are singing in the winds
as Banshees gather dusk’s fell dirge
life in shadow and joy in night
subdued colours feed the mind
under stars the spirit wanders
as the rain taps gently down
clouds are dancing in the heavens
bringing life and liberty
can you feel the Goddess tremble
as she sheds her sacred tears?
lookin for Wild mountain honey
I sit among a concrete mangle of trees, wondering have all the streams slowed to a crawl and who among remembers them on a wild afternoon. I hope to all dance here under the milky way one night, but is there still gold in the hills to be waged for. Because I have tasted what these places hold, and there is none like that grown in the light strewn of kindred souls.
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