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Gulp

Devoid of blues it flairs hot tubed, into cold wet, gritty mineral soaked tomb.
Probing deeper, the glacier slow nudges of strawberry blond, hairy nose
suck nutritious, mineral cool-aid in exchange for more room. Moleing
to China with remarkable strength, its sunny complexion disguises
such pluck. Vitamin vision guides these blind obelisks deep into
  loamy, unknown, dusk colored thoughts. Up above where we
live, green summer tassels now lie withered and tattered,
leaving invisible footer, crunchy treasure to be struck,
storehouse of energy invested for next years flower.

A dozen such creatures exhumed and washed clean
of dark dirt, glow un-naturally bright as a Malibu
sunset. Centrifugal power drains sweet, carotene
packed essence from these brawny tools.
Before I drink I behold this story of
hidden motion underfoot; lean
salubrious gilded towers
grow beneath, beacons
plugging strength
from within
quiet, rich
earth.

Gulp!

Technorati tags- carrots, poem, carrot juice

Trance Mix: Bird Songs, Clarinet, Rhythm, Late Night Mood

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For what it’s worth, there are 15 tracks mixed here. 1 clarinetist improvising to repeated Robin calls, American Robin quarter speed, White Crowned Sparrow, Carolina Chickadee, Acorns dropping on my roof. Sooty Shearwater bird calls, Japanese Winter Wren, and Sage Thrasher at 64 and 128 slowed down speeds. Enjoy!

[audio:https://glitteringmuse.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/TRANCE.mp3|titles=TRANCE]

Cicada Flower Quilt

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Pulsing Cicadas emboss Sunflowers
Trapunto, over dusty
tired ivies
Helios’ Chariot chars
burgundy Dahlias
unraveling their light.
Pastel Hibiscus wilt beyond
bleached Rose.
Stiff reefs of electric
Globe Thistle lap by
parched grasses.
Geranium beams
roast Baby’s Breath
Foxglove, Echinacea
While molten smoldering Petunias
pierce through, over and over.

Hummingbird by Wilco

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Hummingbird by Wilco (Jeff Tweedy songwriter)

his goal in life was to be an echo
riding alone, town after town, toll after toll
a fixed bayonet through the great southwest
to forget her
she appears
in his dreams
but in his car, and in his arms
a dream could mean anything
a cheap sunset on a television set could upset her
but he never could
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
his goal in life was to be an echo
the type of sound that floats around
and then back down like a feather
but in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
no one could hear him
or anything
so he slept, on a mountain
in a sleeping bag underneath the stars,
he would lie awake and count them
but the great fountain spray of the great Milky Way
would never let him
die alone
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
remember to remember me
standing still in your past
floating fast like a hummingbird
a hummingbird
a hummingbird