The Face the Jungle Kept
Before the maps and border lines, Before the roads through jungle rain, The Harakbut walked these ancient vines
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Before the maps and border lines, Before the roads through jungle rain, The Harakbut walked these ancient vines
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Three times a day, we crossed the shore — Pipes kept rhythm near my feet, dancing the edge of every…
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Featured poem: Whispers by the Watermill. A new piece from The Rustic Poet collection.
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Beneath the vast New Mexico skies, Where clouds like cotton softly rise.
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Stone ribs face the sea. Cold spray salts the air. The tide grants no plea. Gulls cut through the glare.
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Palm fronds bend above warm sand. Blue swells break with steady grace. Jaco breathes through surf and trade.
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When I cross the wild, beneath the sky so wide, Where rivers whisper and grasses softly sigh.
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The earth may break, but still we stand, roots buried deep within the stone.
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