The Evergreen swampers
These are the evergreen people.
The muddy music makers.
The soilers of hardened earth.
With passion they beat their lives on the tar till It’s softened and cracked
like their chapped bare soles.
Everywhere they are known of, though seldom seen.
They soothe the crusty skins of broken walls.
These are the pram and cart pushers.
The bean counters, diamond wanton hurddlers
Seldom seen they rest behind the palms.
They ring the choo-choo train bell before the world can hear.
They light up the robot for safety of 4-legged beings
Meekly they sweep the mess of yesterday.
They are today people.
They make the leaves of teas,
They oil the shrills of rusty gates.
They are the people,
Who eat the bones of fish for calcuim.
And chew the skin of oranges of biting flavour,
These are the now people who
Chide and chew the ears of the children
Who ask in need
No child is offish of milk; its’ only feed.
They know of woes but find no tears,
Or room for mourning.
No, sorrow is their shadow.
With who they make kindred companionship;
And whom also is their killing sword.
It might be danger to be alone with one,
Perhaps, it might be hindsight of who you are and who
The pea-pocketed are.
They are soon to be forgotten, like the last drop of last lost breath,
Quickly used up and forgotten,
Forgetting the lesser seen.
Life is meaningful as we move along.
Believing that behind, the palms always promise greener pastures.
They alone, we think enjoy, the plush lush of green.
So behind them they close the palms
Leaving us with their disappearing backsides.
For who knows what lies in the world of the Evergreen people.
O wonder, of lush simplicity seen.
January 11, 2012.01.11