a wolf a coyote a bear

A meadow with grass so green
A lone wolf on its back
Staring into the morning stars
Scents are caught, mingled with musk
Anger sparked
Running to the intruder
Finding a lonely coyote
It teases it taunts
Beckoning to the wolf to play
The earth rumbles
Claws not paws step on the earth now
Searching for a missing coyote
Finding this missing coyote
Angered by this missing coyote
A missing coyote with a lone wolf
Taunting and teasing
The bear rushes towards the two
Letting out a battle cry
Startling the two
Seperating the two
Lone wolves are no match for angered bears
It goes back to its lone den
Without the lonely coyote
Waiting for the morning stars to pass once more

lone flower

Everyday I walk through the park, the same path, the same birds, squirrels, noises, rarely anything new. I clutch my camera tightly, waiting for a shot. I scan through the crowd waiting for something to pop up. I go to my favorite bench to stare at the activity in the park. There were many people strolling by with their kids in tow, dogs leading their owners, babies gurgling in their strollers. I glance up into the sky and watch the clouds pass by slowly, just like the time. The trees rustle; dead leaves and branches tangle with my hair, blending in with the color. I comb my fingers through my hair, tangling it even more than before. Finally I sight a lone flower, a contrast away from the bushes, the trees, the dead dank leaves. It hangs as though it was dead but I know it is not. The fragrant fills my nostrils, a bit of lust and a mix of desire. I fear to touch the fragile ski, pretty and pink, dulled with white, sparkled with specks of yellow. I clutch my camera tighter and I ask myself: do I want to capture this free beauty, to share it with strangers that will mock its luscious mouth. How can I do that? They will exploit its beauty, drive all the fanatics to rip it to shreds, try and copy its beauty, creating artificial beauty in mass quantities. The lone flower will never be the same, shamed by the clones that denounces what it really stands for: a lone flower among thousands of other plants, surviving alone without family in a strange environment and still hold onto its true beauty unlike many others. Perhaps I shall keep it to myself or perhaps just one shot for my personal collection so I can stare at its beauty for an eternity. I shall leave the lone flower to enjoy its great life and perhaps the next will enjoy its beauty enough to leave it alone just as I have. But I cannot determine this flower’s fate, I will leave it to live its life to what fate decided.

I step back, ready my camera, checking the lens, the battery, and the memory card. I turn the lens into focus and click, the picture of eternal beauty goes into my stash. I get up, staring at the flower once more and turn my back on it, knowing I did the right thing for the flower.

I walk out of the park, clutching my camera, dragging my feet, waiting for something new to pop up.

lone cloud

I first fell in love when i saw a lone cloud in the deep blue sky
drifting with the wind traveling around the globe

i laid down on the fresh cut green grass and watched it drift
into various shapes and sizes only my eyes can perceive

birds went to meet it and danced around its white puffs
only to return when they tired of the breeze through their feathers

the lone cloud is so free and so light i reach my hand out
to grasp it within my fingers but only to touch the breeze in its trail

how i wish to travel with the lone cloud to watch the activity
below me to become ones imagination to drift slowly with no worries

and feel our bodies float with no limitations to go near and far
to cover the sun or to reveal it and to slowly disappear