13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Tags
flowers, folk tales, mystery, nature, personal, philosophy, seasons, spiritual
After the snow moves north
the prairie crocus,
native anemone,
ears of the earth
listens
for the rustle of summer.
Gently she sways
to moments of truth.
In her petals
the purple blue mist
of far distant mountains;
a small golden sun
close to her heart.
Eternity
folds close around her,
warms her
from the cold winds
of spring.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Playful spirit behind an oak
laughed and flirted but never spoke.
Eyes of onyx, raven hair,
I marveled at her standing there.
Brilliant sunshine — could barely see.
Had my eyes played tricks on me?
I stood in reverence and awe
not sure of what I thought I saw.
Fluttering soft, the poplar leaves
perhaps, had caused me to believe
I’d seen someone who wasn’t there —
eyes of onyx, raven hair.
The nimble spirit deftly danced
from tree to tree and lightly pranced.
I didn’t know quite what to do
about this vision in my view.
I had no knowledge of such things.
What does one do when nature brings
such beauty, grace and winsome mold
who, I could see but could not hold?
I could have watched her all day long
her movements were just like a song.
She beckoned me with backward glance
down flowered pathway of romance.
I had no choice, I was entranced;
induced to follow where she danced.
The woods had changed, were foreign now,
colors brighter, surreal somehow.
I saw some spirits on the way.
They went about their normal day.
They took no notice of my form
contrary to their spirit norm.
They were at home among the trees;
conversely, I felt ill at ease.
Abandoned, then just like a snare —
eyes of onyx, raven hair.
She drew me close and hugged me tight;
we kissed, caressed throughout the night.
Not a wisp of evanescence,
but a real woman’s presence.
Wood smoke, sweet-grass, musk and cedar —
I took her hand, she let me lead her.
Beneath the boughs we made our bed
while stars shone brightly overhead.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Lonely drifts the solemn night.
Melancholy sighs
the evening breeze.
Love birds sing, on wing they soar.
Dreams are sailing seaward,
waves are lapping
hungry shore.
My paddle dips into the dark,
murmuring to mermaids
crooning softly in watery choir —
voices haunting, silvery, sweet.
I long to join them
in lullabies
of the deep.
Into the depths, I descend
(succumbing and becoming)
caressed by tresses of the mermaid.
Entrancing arms surround,
holding and enfolding.
Love undersea —
forever found.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Tags
white flakes
(like eider-down)
flutter from heaven
collect on tree branches
hedges and shrubs
like your kisses
they caress my cheeks
brush my lips
burst on my tongue
they blanket all
leaving the street
an untouched virgin
a wonderland
of mystery
all traces
of my coming
have disappeared
making me question
am i here
at all?
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Tags
I sit
beneath the cedars,
in solemn serenity.
Face red
with asking questions,
seeking answers
to the ways
of life and death —
molecules and atoms —
and how we’re all
connected.
My fingers
stiff, from cold —
a child’s stubby crayons —
make difficult the task
of turning pages,
jotting notes
about impermanence,
attachment
and letting go.
I’m surrounded
by spirits of seasons past.
I fear not —
they mean no harm.
Their faces radiate,
coming from the light.
In their eyes
I see peace and love —
they are free
of mortal suffering
they endured
in life.
They comfort me.
Grieve not, they say,
soon enough, you will join us.
You will experience the universe
and all it has to offer.
You still have much to learn.
When you are ready,
we’ll be waiting.
I feel the joy of life —
(maples sailing leaves
of red and yellow)
moments, lifetimes pass…
then they’re gone,
as they should be.
Beneath the cedars,
in their realm of wisdom,
reverently
I sit.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Tender breaks the gentle dawn
as pink steals through the purple.
Crickets chirp and bullfrogs croak
while loons emit their warble.
Shafts of light illumine leaves —
paths of life I ponder —
sky is choreographed by clouds
from bliss, to peace, to somber.
Its prancing hooves, barely heard,
the curious fawn draws near.
Our eyes connect — mystically,
communication clear.
Spooked, it turns and scampers on —
nature’s cast, each plays it’s part.
Air is fresh with scent of pine.
Joy, overflows my heart.
A feather, from a blue jay,
snagged on sprig so feeble.
Was it loosened in its flight,
or ripped, by plunging eagle?
Nature cyclically evolves,
fall is prey to winter.
Life is born and then it dies —
there isn’t any victor.
From each death there sprouts new life;
moldering logs, maternal.
Passings, cause our hearts to break,
while new life springs eternal.
I’ll return — another month,
some other me — to this shrine,
perfect in imperfection,
befitting God’s design.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
Tags
fantasy, imagination, love, mystery, personal, philosophy, romance, spiritual
I live in the borderlands,
between reality and imagination,
just this side of fantasy.
Reality is okay.
I visit there
to check my mail,
earn a few dollars,
pay some bills,
buy groceries.
Reality is an okay place to visit
but, I wouldn’t want to live there.
I’m happiest in my mind
where I filter my thoughts
like an answering machine.
I delete the negative,
dwell on the positive.
People may see me walking alone.
They don’t see the beautiful woman,
with her hand in mine, beside me.
I may be seen sitting at a table, alone.
Nobody sees the delicate hand,
with the magic fingers,
sliding up my thigh.
Or, the passionate kiss
being planted on my throat,
the fingers running through my hair.
Where I work
people see me smile.
They think I enjoy my job.
They don’t know me.
13 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Poetry
A wraith was writhing in the air,
its undulating shape so fair;
just like a woman slim and tall —
I followed with no fear at all.
Drifting, she led me through the trees
under branches, upon my knees,
until I found myself quite lost —
my folly gained, but at what cost?
I sat upon a log and thought
of this misfortune I had wrought —
from the mist, to my surprise,
a female form materialized.
A lithesome beauty, to be sure,
approached me with a gaze so pure.
I sat transfixed, afraid to move
expecting that this shape would prove,
perhaps, to be a daylight dream,
evanescent, not what it seemed —
a vision that would fade from sight
as quickly as a beam of light.
Yet, she remained and held my hand,
explained, so I could understand —
the holy earth is our Mother,
the deer and trees are our brothers.
Everyone shares a common root
though each produces different fruit.
Our Mother Earth gives birth to all —
the things that walk, fly, swim and crawl.
This planet here for us to use
to grow our crops, not to abuse.
Winds and rains and things that glisten
each have stories if we listen.
Image by Cher Lyn: http://ow.ly/P2GaT
Read about my friends here http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
.
