outdoors
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Grounding me, similar to the acts of a ship’s anchor
You are my stability.
Anxiously waiting to hit land,
We met,
like wave greeting beach
Benny’s Biography
By: Alexis Seith
im a kind and carefreey kiddo,
and my name is benny hyde.
im sory for my speling
but, you see, im only 5.
my brother-he’s in first grade
The clouds roll in,
and the breeze blows by.
Just before the rain.
I can smell the earth,
and taste the sky.
Summer comes as sweet as the strawberries in the front yard do,
In the full swing of June swelling with intangible flavor.
The plant starts bitter in late April when it is tucked into the soft earth.
Lines composed during a walk from Highgate to Hampstead Heath 1991
It has been a day for wandering
beneath this sky of early spring
The way that the sun sets and the sky looks as if it’s on fire,
Sitting on the edge looking down endless rows of trees and wanting to be even higher,
Enveloped in a world of adventure,
left to relinquish control and trust our own glorious instinct,
leaving our monotonous lives behind to discover a literal path,
a path in which we can let our minds explore.
Fresh mountain air,
The chill in my lungs,
Rushes over my tongue,
Prickles my hair,
There’s something reviving about being up there.
I am confused and loosing focus
The stress of daily life engulfs
I look out the massive clear window to my left
I see a couple jogging side by side, laughing
That is when idea strikes!
Mountains and canyons beyond what eyes can see
The clay earth beneath is subliminally icy
Misty air follows me along the path
I savor its taste as it swirls in wrath
The meadow comes awake at the end of the day
Lighting up the sky bright fireflies
That summer breeze puts me at ease
Campfire life with friends by my side
Hey eh oh, oo ah
Hey eh oh, oo ah
Hot cocoa burned
Lesson learned
Rotten milk
Blanket of silk
Flightless birds
Spoken words
Chilly night
Candle light
Chocolate tainted
A prank elated
Laughter, smiles
Take a look around you.Do you see the starlight?Do you see the owl whoFlies solo in the night?
mountain high
valley low
orange leaves
earthy scent
sheer beauty
mother nature
wondrous creation
foggy sunrises
slanting sunlight
the edge of forever
gentle slope
I'm Me for a few reasons
to be the one who loves all four seasons
I'm either in the mountains or in the flint hills
fishing or biking, whatever gives me the most thrills
I'm with my dad with a gun in my hands
It's that time of year again,
when the duck migration does begin.
Shotguns, waders, and shells,
ready to hunt the flooded rice fields.
Opening morning sunrise,
signals the ducks early surprise.
All signs read,
great hunting ahead.
The rut was beginning,
in the woods I was hunting.
The deer were a moving,
they need not be hiding.
Acorns were a dropping,
many a deer came running.
Out into the woods I walk
I dont even dare to talk
As I hear the sound of a duck
I look around only to see a nice eight-point buck
And as I feel the old worn bark of an oak
I wake up swearing I have to do better soon.
My waistline suffers abuse,
but I always plan to do better,
tommorow .
I choose to waste days away in front of a favorite channel.
BLOTCHES FROM A COLORFUL CANVAS
With blue the world is draped, and with its hue my soul delights,
From whitewashed shores on dripping edges of roaring sounds,
Far from reality
Toward God’s whispers
Over distant gray mountains
Beside azure lakes
Far from mint grasses
Here I sit in the dark, alone and cold.
The rain and wind, pounding the blind, don’t stop.
The blind sways and creeks, acting as if old.
The bait sits waiting, the cream of the crop.
Cold, bitter cold.
It slices beneath the coat,
Freezing,
Biting,
Stinging.
Pain, dull pain.
The ground slashes hard,
Aching,
Jarring,
Straining.
We’ve seen death.
We’ve experienced what the clueless would call “murder”.
We’ve felt every emotion possible
After that trigger was pulled,
Or that arrow was released.
The others, they don’t understand,
The birds nest
mint, green foliage flutters
spring, life, growth
The birds fly
sun shines, storms blow
summer, heat, strength
The birds migrate
crisp, ochre leaves swirl to the ground
Concrete wasn’t always made so harsh and solid
In fact it was mostly straw
When I walk without my shoes on
It rubs my poor feet raw
The months stretch on, I
Have no choice
Enter the snowboarding movie
In my mind’s eye I keep them,
Never far away
Wonderful and simple
Alone in the trees
Riding on the Dark Side of the Moon
With sand white as snow
Waters crystal blue sparkle
The salty air blows.
Music playing loud
Their sweat dripping from their brow
Players sense the crowd
I can't remove the sap, with spots of dust and needles clinging to my love and life lines.
The sky is dark and haunting.
It speaks with a voice that echoes across the world in omnipotent waves, forcing the weak into the shadows.
Pockets of grey precipitation are illuminated intermittently by a heavenly source.
