Late fall winds
gusting
flailing clouds
'cross crescent moon
pulling
feral dogs
from the depths
of our souls
we celebrate
our subjugation
to civilized mores
while we glory
in the savage
lurking inside
banging
hollow logs
in percussive
ode to joy
until we howl
with the wind.
The photo is of my youngest grandson displaying a rain stick that I helped him to make.
Somehow I missed this one--unrestrained joy in this; howl on, primal man!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :)
Reviewed by Mari Laureano (Reader)
Reviewed on November 20, 2002
primal lyrics...jungle drums..the call of the wild. nicely done. **Mari**
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik (Reader)
Reviewed on September 30, 2002
There is a quietly but joyfully primal feeling in this.. and your grandson looks to be a bit of the "crackerjack prize"..! What a cutie..Your poem, as always, has form and melody that shines for me. katy. xox
This second revised edition describes, from Onlinesss Self Awakening perspective, the major Truth-consciousness realm-waves of transcendent Self Awakening
Are you still angry at God for having lost a loved one due to sickness or unexpected circumstances? This book will give you a better understanding of death, God’s role in it, and what decision is before each of us that would allow us to see them agai
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Somehow I missed this one--unrestrained joy in this; howl on, primal man!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :)
as for the picture......adorable.