Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.
Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.
But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Humble,Humble Love thumbnail image
Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

Turn To The Land

Let us turn to the land.
You and me.
You.
From this pollution.
The purpose of humans.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.
Or abandon the pollen fallen
from willows.
At night the stars show
then in day still burning.
We refute such odd existence.
Being but not yearning.
So turn as a plow turns,
turn as the leaf turns,
turn as the tree turns.
Turn from the rock, bone,
threshed into soil.
Turn. Turn. Turn to the land.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Humble,Humble Love thumbnail image  Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)