Pulp Poetry

Rain drop hits the ground
And begins its long journey
Deep as it can go

Clean drops on the leaves
The air fresher than it’s been
Before the storm came

The first hints of smoke
In the calm air with no breeze
A creeping fire

Back and forth behind
Tall thin trees and bamboo stalks
No tiger paces

Silent orchestra
Filling the night with stillness
The cricket plays on

Leaves tear themselves
From the high lashing branches
The wind passes by

Through the rabbit hole
Entering a different world
Bright sunshine and sky

The vine hangs over
The abyss, holding the cliff,
Falling and growing

In the name of bliss
To feel wild and care free
Does the horse just run?

Orange light riding
Through the tall grass along the
Ripples of water