Lingering

 

 

The silk of waking

To dreams yet dreamed

Linger in the sky

Adrift in gray clouds

Carrying visions of possibilities

That yet may be

The Great Heron

Image is my own

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.

 

 

	


	
	






	
	

		
All Things New
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Dreamtime










Storm clouds rode in





Upon a sky soaked in sunset red.





Wildflowers bowed their heads





Down on either side





As I drove by





Smiling, thinking of all things new.





Once home, I stood in the yard,





Arms akimbo, welcoming the new—





What the storm, the wind, the rains





Would bring—





As gently as their nature could—





All things new, clean, green





With spring.






	


	
	






	
	

		
Scars of Hope
	


	

		

Image is my own










I gather hardened scars of loss and damage
Braided into keloid beauty
That are not blossoms of bitterness,
But fragrant beauties
That make me who I am.
Even the bars of your barren garden
Called love could not steal away
The essence of my hope.
Instead, the black, barrenness
within sugar syrup words
Of one never able to love
Contain no acid
To eat away
My skin of hope.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Beauty of His Work
	


	

		

Image is my own














High in the air,


Buffeted by the strong winds,


Yet navigating the narrow beam


With a grace and strength of Baryshnikov 


Or the great Nureyev


As I, his audience awed by his performance,


Stood and watched,


Wondering if everyone who looked


Could see this man’s artful grace


As he seemed to defy all laws of gravity,


Bending to hammer,


Leaping to rise,


Prancing to walk.


 


Then bending once again,


Hammering, rising, walking.


Never thrown off balance


By the winds or heavy hammer


Or the weighty leather tool belt,


Carrying the long nails off to the side.


 


Who else saw the grace and strength


In the rhythm of the dance


This man did perform


In the building of that house—


A dance that held something,


Some paternal element of David


As he danced entering Jerusalem—


 


How many would see the beauty in the performance of his work?


How many would only see a Hispanic male and question his legal status?


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
First Day of May
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Givingcompass.org











 




Winds and rains came today.





I tried to follow the trail





They made.





But on this first day of May,





I was not strong enough–





To let the wind take me,





To allow pelting rain to abrade away





All my accumulated grime.





No freedom could I find





Within this day of winds and rains.

	


	
	






	
	

		
The Struggle
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Flickr















Weekend Writing Prompt #206 – Restless | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)















Restless roses





climb skyward





toward the eternal





their grace defeated





as winds thrust





them downward





toward dirt





they escape.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Music of Hope
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pxhere.com










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 Chase of Words
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Windows Report





VJ’s Weekly Challenge: The Chase – One Woman’s Quest II











 




The words—





It is the always—the words—





I have always been





Searching the sidewalks, paths, trails, highways, the sky outside





     For the words—





Combing gently through those I love





     For the words—





Hunting the faces of strangers, my own face, my dogs, my friends





     For the words—





Scouring the hearts, the souls of those I observe





     For the words—





Ransacking restful, peace giving nature





     For the words—





Scourging even, in the chase, my faith





     For the words—





And they are never perfect.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Whispered Tales
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com












A phoenix rises in flames


From out the left side of my chest


With feathers of flame yet,


Set free to fly where it wills.


 


One day, it will return,


Nuzzling deep inside my chest again,


All the ashes gone,


All flame having died away,


Its fiery colored feathers


Whispering, singing to my blood


Of beauty seen,


Of tantalizing things touched,


Of all the air breathed, smelled, felt,


Of the sounds soft and harsh heard


All along the way around the earth.


 


Through the whispered tales


Of those fiery feathers


My blood will tell me


Where I am to go.