Gems of Dawn and Sunset

Image is my own

 

If I could gather a handful of dawn and a handful of sunset,

I’d cut and polish each handful into gems

                       For you to keep,

To take out and wear as you would wish,

For there are no stones of value containing beauty enough

To give you but these that are not true stone—

 

Yes, a handful of sunset,

A handful of dawn—

Their beauty ever constant,

Yet ever changing—

Daily renewed—

The only things containing beauty enough

For you.

 

The Power

https://godoggocafe.com/2021/08/03/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-august-32021/

Who is to say

From where her power came?

Did it flow from her silken curls?

Or her painted red lips?

Her white skin that glows like the fullest of full moons on a cloudless night?

There’s no way to know

From where her power came

To break through stone.

of stone and blossoms

Image is my own




I am unsure how this happened,
but the stone grew, encasing me,
protective and cold, a walking grave
of comfort for many years.

Now, having grown moss over
the passing of so many seasons and
used to the weight of stone I carry
into the calm of night,
blossoms burst forth from this tonnage
of comforting cold stone,
this grave of a home I have known.

I would like to twist,
turn away from
such blossoms,
yet find I cannot.
I cannot gather dust to me,
creating stone again.
Cannot piece shards together
for there are not enough left
in this remaining dust.

As I rest in this place,
I will tuck these blooms away--
Until they bear ripened fruit,
Readied for picking.

Fragrant blossoms
that they may only be
for now.


Petals of Words

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

 

 

I swore never to give my words away like blossoms in the spring.

Yet, I marvel at all the words I’d gather,

arrange for you in artful, elegant bouquets.

I’ve keloid locks where my words are stored.

I possess not the oils to soften those locks,

Trapping my words deep in their vault,

My words may never know freedom.

 

Yet, I find myself streaming petals of words for you

In hazy, lazy patterns,

Knowing you have the wisdom, the soul

To read my words much like braille—

A code of sorts–

So you can hear and know,

Though unspoken,

All my words bestow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meadows of Distance

Image courtesy of texashighways.com

https://amanpan.com/2021/06/03/eugis-weekly-prompt-meadows-june-3-2021/

The meadows between here and there,

an impediment now,

like the roads, sky, cities.

I’ve no time, no time

to appreciate the colorful heads of wildflowers

or any verdant greens of tall roadside grasses,

or swaying graceful golds of fields.

All these measuring meadows of distance—

           Sky, road, cities, fields–

meadows of separation,

meadows of longing,

meadows of want—

           should know a burnless flame        

 

Beneath The Surface

Image courtesy of Shutterstock

 

https://godoggocafe.com/2020/08/04/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-august-4-2020/

 

Beneath the surface of the night

Flailing fitful, restless

A dream slept wrapped

In a syllabic, heavy blanket,

Waking drenched in a sweat

Of moon touched light.

 

Upon this awakening,

Her shining skin did give

Away no secret of her wings or flight

Beneath the surface of the night.

 

Water

Turn

Breathe warmth

Rest comes easy now

Curled around you—

Poured would be better

Yes—

Become liquid

To be the bath water

Surrounding you

Or the water droplets of a shower

Cascading over you

To possess for a moment

The ability of water

To touch you everywhere at once