Each month, write a new collection.
This is AmericaWhere respite from commerce is possibleIn pristine sanctuaryWhere awe can Reset the soul.Where vigilence is required asWealthy vulgers lurkOver theseprotected resources.Where culture, language, creedRequire the same park feeTo experienceOne nature.Where access still slants toward thoseWith time off, car, or modelsTo escapeThe rat race.Where this may be our last chanceTo stand with great sequoiaFor moralSustainability.
Only In AmericaAmericans do not understandThe reason for honking their horn!Where you drive to survive Only to arrive with a scorn Rather than warnAs we go along being wrongDespite your swearingTo careDriving with hateAnd arriving lateFighting for the right of wayWhereFear appears as you steerClear but remain without brainsIn the notion there is a commotionAs you motion middle fingers in vainOnly in AmericaWhere bigger is betterAnd ignorance leads the packGoing faster in speed than you canMaster the breed of truck and with Luck you don’t crackOnly in AmericaWe are free to believeGod gives us the rightTo overcome the strangerAs we run over dangerAgainst all the odds in sightAnd always with accidentsAs we look and act as ifThe speed we needed delightsTo be a fanaticAnd see in the tragicBleeding of our Pursuit and plightAs the speed limit signIs designed to findEssentially our potentialWhen we choose to crashAnd abuse going fastRefusing our death as eventual
Great man! I love this!
I recognized your mottled barkwhen you posed so prettyfor Durand’s vertical studyof a Sycamore tree butI thought you were my tree, not destined for East Coastverdant Catskills, never to beadorned with velvet moss patches.I am relieved to see that it is not exactly you, those leaves are too tiny!Why, they should be broad like a giant maple, with a furry pricklea slight brown crinkle, extending an umbrella from steady day-heat.I first noticed you in TeheranLining my childhood streets with a sewer-juub at your feetwatching as I hollered with my mother for a taxi cab homefrom the bazaar’s antique treatsNow in Claremont, California you’re my heroic, spreading symbol branching over my own elementary aged-kids with a song,rooted and so groundedmy arboreal habitat, that stillsings and whispers to me.
I love that you take this into Iran!
Follow Me To The Promised LandI've carved out a path for youfollow meReinforced with ancient stonesfollow meAnd blanketed with green mossfollow meI've painted the sky with cloudsfollow meThat nuzzle the highest peaksfollow meGive shelter to newborn raindropsfollow meAnd filter out the blinding sunfollow meI've softened the ground with dewfollow meCarpeted with Autumn leaves of goldfollow meAnd scented it with woodfollow me
I love this! Love the anaphora!
Asher Brown Durand The Catskillsserene stillnesssequestered with sweetshadowed silence