The silk of waking
To dreams yet dreamed
Linger in the sky
Adrift in gray clouds
Carrying visions of possibilities
That yet may be
Lingering
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The Great Heron
I greeted the Great Heron
With a hello.
Then asked for some wisdom
Or some secrets of the earth.
But the Great Heron
Didn’t bother with a no.
Just a fluff of feathers
Before turning away
Without being troubled
To even look at me.
The red wing black birds
Chittered away in laughter
As the gentle doves
Cooed soothingly.
The crows cawed,
Rather obnoxiously,
About time running down.
I said I knew
And was aware of the beauty
In lessons along the way.
Even in the lessons so painful
You thought they might
Break your soul in two
Held a beauty in the end.
The crows disliked what I said,
And they couldn’t disagree,
So, screaming out a caw,
Flew away.
Turning his eyes to me,
The Great Heron shifted on his log,
Before opening his wings
And flying away,
Letting me know
He had nothing to say.
Music of Hope
Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Dance – April 22, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)
My dance was escape
From the always too much vine
You are, crawling over the souls of others,
Choking them with tendrils of your love.
My dance, too strong for such tendrils,
Stepping the swirl patterns
Of aloneness,
Finds joy.
My dance, leaving colors of spring
In the wake of its rhythms,
Paints new life into me.
My dance, following no one,
Discovers love in its patterns,
Creating new steps of invitation
To be followed by my soul.
My dance, flaming and firing in warmth,
Burns away the coldness meant to kill.
The Work of Spring
I clipped away dead branches
From the living shrubs today.
Not an easy thing,
But a thing that must be done.
Strange it is how dead things
Will cling so tightly to the living
As if to squeeze
The last remaining bits of life away
And thus, have company in death and dying.
There is yet more to do
So only the living things are left
To flourish in the spring sun.
Decision on a Birdfeeder
I hesitate in remembrance
as if the fates would choose
a day of gray and leave me there,
as if a blossoming could be had upon
a second visitation to any day.
The creamer clouds disperse and swirl
in my extra strong coffee
like memories of things I wanted–
never had, never attained
all those years ago.
Stirring the coffee still,
I stare out the kitchen window.
Decide against a bird feeder
filled with black oil sunflower seeds.
I do not want cardinals here.
People say cardinals are spirits
of those you’ve lost come to visit you—
No. I want no cardinals here.
No spirits of the lost to visit or say hello.
No twittering or chittering away.
No vibrancy of color outside this window.
No. Not here. Not in this place.
I’d rather this be a spiritless place,
A virgin place, void of spirits, void of touch—
At least for a time
Angels Call
Weekend Writing Prompt #197 – Call | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)
angels call, singing for a while,
watching us,
aping things they’d heard, saw,
obsessing over things
we tossed away–
time, primarily–
angels lost feathers, attempting to understand
our tossing away time like used tissues, soiled food tins–
when we held little.
Give the Gift of Words This Holiday Season
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As The World Burns – Out Now!
Now available! So honored and so excited about the work in this anthology.
Indie Blu(e) Publishing are very proud to announce the publication of As The World Burns. Our third socially-aware anthology. As The World Burns is available via all good book stores in Kindle and softback NOW. It is an incredible collection of writers, many of whom are from WordPress and are in our writing groups, writing some of our favorite work. We hope you will support them and our efforts to spread awareness of socially vital subjects. If you have felt frustrated with politics, Covid-19, Black Lives Matter, Homophobia or any of the things happening ‘as the world burns’ this is the collection for you.
We dedicate this anthology to those who have bravely fought the encroaching darkness in 2020 with their writing and their art, and who insist that racism, sexism, homophobia, and war are not inevitable, or acceptable, facets of the human condition. As The World Burns is a story of…
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Autumn Dawn
https://freeverserevolution.wordpress.com/2020/10/19/oct-4-ripples/
Ignoring the ripples doesn’t work,
Beautiful though they may be
In the early light of an autumn dawn.
The ripples return.
Their warmth long gone,
Drained of blood.
Injected with colors of autumn’s dawn,
They look full, alive with mysterious meaning.
But cold these ripples remain
In their return to me.
Time shifts,
Tilting beneath my feet.
I shutter and stare, a moment only—
I cannot weave these cold things
Into a useful thing, resembling you.
The Last Supper
Lives ruined in place–
ego upon a pedestal
basks in sunshine
yet never feels
unless destroying green things
in the softness of evening
when moon and sun fill
the evening skies
of shorter days–
time no longer
a forgotten toy
thrown by the wayside
but an ornament of luxury
I wish I could hold close
within my hands without
it leaks between my fingers
marking any signs of reverence
as if with blood irony–
all the while the rest cough
green phlegm of ill regard.
On the walls fling the words of meaning,
clichés all—of love and family,
of time so very treasured,
the welcome of strangers
without the pillar of salt,
the love of neighbors in a city quest,
and asking, pleading how have we hid
the monsters we do hide within our homes,
within our churches,
within our souls and hearts–
the monsters, the demons we cannot exorcise
since we cannot stand to see our own
face within our reflections upon time,
creation, connections to the past—
when we cannot acknowledge
the face of God hidden away
from the reflection of our own faces,
in the faces of others, the face of God
hidden away, void of the divine,
as are we consumed with consuming
vitriol for anything, for everything
remotely resembling the other.
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 