Landscapes

are exactly what gives the fine uniqueness of a place.

I’ll be fine if they don’t,
she wrote a few notes,
while she sat there waiting for a poem to come.

“Everyone is born creative,” –  oh no she could not grasp,-  her heart was closed;

a visitation a message maybe, “learn the rules like a pro,” ag no
that would be Picasso.

Fine; then a warm hug ? “Why would she be thinking in this very moment about a Turkish Proverb” ( the forest was shrinking but the trees kept voting for the Axe)?

Her eyes managed a twinkle as the sage flashed by; lawyer, pimpernel, prisoner and president,
“Our world is divided into wise people and fools.”

Consider this Arid, “undeserving and unworthy alpine,” she listens,

staring ahead, a vacant look veiling her face;
exfoliated, masked and peeled, once

brownish-black painted vistas  
with

orange-red markings
rough and remote
passionless years unraveled
time moved on quickly

roaming through lifeless & colourless,  nondescript places
she remained sexless
she toiled
difficult inner landscapes

Consider this Arid, “undeserving and unworthy alpine,” her thoughts,

“treated and fixed with gold”
broken and
flawed, in Japanese craft
becomes the artist’s
poetry.

Mend it, create &
restore the soul’s beauty.