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The Passing

• August 8, 2013 • Comments (0)

Dandelion (cc) Dennis Skley

Beneath dangling, dipping feet

The water winds and wends,

Speckled like a green night’s sky,

With lost hands of dandelion clocks.

Catkins drop from melancholy trees,

Fish jump occasionally,

Long green tendrils of weed weave

the pattern of the days.

Peaceful and intimate,

The ripples grow.

Peaceful and infinite,

 The rivers flow.


Hannibal Rhoades

Hannibal Roades is a writer, occasional drawer of things and part-time poet.

In his work at The Gaia Foundation and as a contributor to Intercontinental Cry magazine, he has followed his passion for traditional knowledge, indigenous rights, hunter gatherer culture and human ecology as well as developing a keen interest in mythological and folkloric systems, the power of stories and the use of body art to establish identity.




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