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It is the foot of a baboon.

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

Angels At The Foot

Angels at the foot,
And Angels at the head,
And like a curly little lamb
My pretty babe in bed.

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At The Foot Of The Hill

Over the earth
And in the skies
There are
Trapped dusts
And mists
I see clouds
And rainbows
Arching
After the
Rain at the
Foot
Of the hill.

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By The Foot Of A Hill

By the foot of a hill
a butterfly winged back trembling
to its home.
On the way
flowers welcomed it and said:
'Come,
sit beside us
and
live your youth.'
The butterfly replied:
'You tempt and unfold and madden;
I show my colours in vain.'

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At the Foot of the Cross

At the foot of the Cross stood the Magdalene
with Mary, his mother, and John.
Jesus was now in extremis-
the curious people had gone.

The mark of the whips were upon him,
an ugly bruise under his eye.
Blood filtered down from the crown made of thorns.
dripping down from his face to one thigh.

Mary watched as her eldest was dying.
Bore her pain with incredible calm.
She wished that, his agony over,
She’d hold him once more in her arms.

With breath that was labored and shallow
He spoke with his life nearly gone
He commended young John to his mother
And commended his mother to John

He looked at the Magdalene sadly
With a love that’s ineffably rare.
Then with loud voice he cried out to Heaven
A fool might think this was despair.

Joseph of Arimethea
came with a ladder near dusk
With the help of the Priest, Nicodemus
He took the crucified Son from his Cross.

Mary was silently weeping
at the body of Christ in her arms.
She looked at the King Pilate murdered.
Whom the people had greeted with Palms

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The Rill From The Foot Of The Mountain

The rill from the foot of the mountain that joins the river to the sea
It has babbled on downhill forever by hedgerows in the high
Country
It has witnessed the birth and death of millions of Seasons even before the first Human was born
In the upland wood where it flows through the birds sing at dawn of the morn.

The rill it is truly immortal something that will live forever more
Forever 'twill flow to the river that flows to the great ocean shore
To it there is not a time limit it is as old as father time
It has inspired the long dead poets to glorify it in their rhyme.

The rill from the foot of the mountain towards the river ripples along
And sometimes above it's quiet babble the dippers can be heard in song
The dark brown white breasted waterbirds of Human kind they do seem shy
By the water-way they were born and in the water-way they will die.

The rill from the foot of the mountain downhill to the big river flow
The ancestors of the upland farmers who lived by it centuries ago
In the old Village graveyard it flows by with the long departed they lay
As on for to join the big river it babbles on it's downhill way.

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The foot and mouth crisis 2001

A clue: "Memitim" 2 down,5 across, DEATH...
Another farmer holds his "breath"
His crossword puzzle now solved,
As he sits by the open fire resolved.

Firebrats shimmer like melting
Sparks through grates, between falling,
Slivering, among, the black slates.
Like silver ashen; phosphates!

Covering that hearths entirety,
They too show there's no need for "piety"
As the future ghosts of the living; burn.
His world is an up-turned urn.

Listing he hears the cries of the last dying ewe.
Whilst angels of death beyond; "view"
Descend across each patchwork acre…
He himself too! screams at his maker.

Prier on prier, prayer on prayer!
Foot and mouth each neighboring "acre"
Burned black in the gasoline air…
Each man alone dies by his plowshare.

As more firebrats, recurred…
Another flock: another herd
Burned; like unguided lost souls
Stacked kindling in piled coals.

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The beggar mother

A mother with child
Is on the foot over-bridge
And asking for alms.

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How I Wish I Were The Rain

Avoiding me
You get wet
In the rain
Under the tree
At the foot
Of the hill

How I wish
I were the
Rain
The tree
And the foot
Of the hill

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Christina Georgina Rossetti

Dead In The Cold, A Song-Singing Thrush

Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush,
Dead at the foot of a snowberry bush, -
Weave him a coffin of rush,
Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow,
Raise him a tombstone of snow.

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Speaking The Words Of Loneliness....

i speak the words of loneliness
it flows with the rush of the river
it flies with the wind from the west
it is blown towards you

who live at the foot of the mountain
under the tall trees

this worm waits when will be the next
leaves come
when will be the next bloom of flowers
in the middle of my
drought.

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Meeting Lao Tzu At The Foot Of Zhingzang Zou

i bow before him
as i will be leaving
and this he said to
me, famous Lao tzu

'be Content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
for hen you realize
there is nothing lacking,
the whole world
belongs to you'

i was so guilty
for i still dream of
butterflies and
vanilla flavored
magnolia
ice cream

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Meeting Lao Tzu At The Foot Of Zhingzang Zou: I Am Placing The Letter T In Hen, Sorry.

i bow before him
as i will be leaving
and this he said to
me, famous Lao tzu

'be Content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
for then you realize
there is nothing lacking,
the whole world
belongs to you'

i was so guilty
for i still dream of
butterflies and
vanilla flavored
magnolia
ice cream

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Waiting For The Rain

dead grass
cracking face of the earth
cinder stones
parched paths
thatched roof of the house
at the foot of
the tired body of the hills
dried creeks
rivers that run dry
wells without
drops of water left
hands in prayed
angel without wings
all these chant in prayer
waiting for
the first rain after a long drought
of summer

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The Mountain Lovers

See the winding path
Like a thousand connecting boas
Frozen in false stillness
Leading to the foot of the mountain
And there
Hear the quick fall
Of a ripe mango
And the stringing
Of the bamboo leaves
The cracking
Of a bamboo stairway
Antiquity
Leading to a cogon-masked
Door
Walling in a masterpiece
Of a man
And a woman
In love

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Little Birds of the Night

LITTLE birds of the night
Aye, they have much to tell
Perching there in rows
Blinking at me with their serious eyes
Recounting of flowers they have seen and loved
Of meadows and groves of the distance
And pale sands at the foot of the sea
And breezes that fly in the leaves.
They are vast in experience
These little birds that come in the night

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Lovers and Strangers (The Tea Maker)

and behind the thin paper wall
in that dim shabby room
sitting upon my rickety chairs
they drink my rancid tea

only lovers and strangers
pass my hut at the foot of the hill
a lonely place for a lonely communion
a wilderness to pour out a melancholy conscience

only lovers and strangers
seek for a lonely place
where a homely soul lives
and not necessarily for my tea

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The Hollow Ones

the hollow ones
live in a hollow world,
walk a hollow path
with hollow hearts.

speaking often, never talking.
listening, but never hearing.
touching, but never feeling.
inhaling, but never exhaling.

with nothing behind their
hollow eyes.... insulated,
burning nuclear fuel
in a carbon world...

an ingrown toenail
on the foot...
of an angry God!
the hollow ones...

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The Wheels

The path disappears
under the foot.
Gently I lay down the book
and start reading the blank page.

Stainless thoughts.I strip to root.
A stunning revelation
about a tinned dialogue.

Blue hydrangeas
were telling something.
It was time to become insane
on the street.

The lust,
the sex
creeps into the sect. Religion was a proxy
to kill, to achieve a stop.

going nowhere.

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A Sort Of A Poem Upon Arriving At The Mountain Hut

where it is? the native points to the place
using his nose. It is just near he said while chewing his betel nut.

we pass three winding rivers
and five hills on footpaths with mud and grass as tall as us along the way.

we finally arrive at the foot of a hill
below it a nipa hut

there is no one there
i curl up and take my sleep

meanwhile the fog swallows everything
just us.

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From The Banks Of Ganga: VIII

A hard rock my support
Against the rapid flow

Broken pieces of sun
As Ganga moved at her will
The green hills
Caressing the sky
Ganga caressing the foot of the hills

Sky
Earth
Water
Fire
Air
Blend to blend me
In them
Leave me,
Leave me to the sky!
Leave me,
Leave me to the earth!
Leave me,
Leave me to the wind
Leave me,
Leave me to the fire
Leave me,
Leave me with Ganga!
I urged and urged

Ganga flowed through me!

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