Home in the Mountains

(Written in Alcaic meter, favorite of Horace, and thoughts drawn abundantly from the traditional song "Rank Strangers". For an interpretation of the rhythm of Alcaic meter, see the graphic below.)

I love the country, you love the city life.
You hear the pigeons, I hear the turtle doves.
We once were children in the school yard.
Now we are busy as we can manage.

The sun will rise today on my mountain home.
Once more I wander, tall as the trees have grown.
Where are the old folks gone away to?
Voices of strangers tell me nothing.

By crystal oceans, bright in tranquility.
They're gone from their old posts, to the shining sea.
So when you ask where have they gone to,
That other shore far away from nowhere.

Turtle Eggs Up

Turtle eggs up
a cupful of turtle eggs up
into the sparkling green

(by Maestro Jack)

ELEVEN AND NINE AND TEN

(written as an example of Alcaic meter, used by Horace. The above image uses musical notion to show how to read it in an appropriate rhythm.).




Conspiracies abound in the absent light
while dust of concrete falls down into the drink.
The world has changed that seemed so safe once.
How can we fail to recall the turning.

Now move along, keep calm, to the next event.
Your sole concern is whether to buy or rent.
Today is when you are evicted.
After ten years for not paying your Landlord.

Life and decay rotate everywhere I look.
The yard will mutate some in the time I read
a book, but then I read so slowly.
Work never ends if you grow a garden.

We build in squares but its a circle world.
In small adjustments we force it all to fit.
The soul cannot abide in this a-
bode, but it falls into dust and changes.