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
Because we have an opportunity to choose our attitude and focus our intentions in the present moment, the world and our own personal lives are a reflection of our thoughts. It is our 360 degree review on how we think. Put simply, our job is to fully
A story with original photography, digital art, and illustration, about Son of Waves, 12 Dolphins to save the planet, David The Visionary on the beach in Tel Aviv, a digital messiah, and an internet of Love. Free PDF download.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Somehow I missed this one--unrestrained joy in this; howl on, primal man!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :)
as for the picture......adorable.