Syrup still dripping from your fingertips,
you try to gift me the sugared dreams
you have stolen away
from a pearlescent candied sky.
I long to taste such dreams
of sweetened rest.
Sweetened Stolen Dreams
Tag: #nature
On The Horizon
Thursday photo prompt: Vista #writephoto
Gazing at lush greenness as it travels
along this vista, a soul emptied of itself,
shrinking away to dust
for all the of giving it had done,
breathes in fullness and begins to glow.
Only here in green wildness breathed,
can pinhole prick holes and jagged slashes
be sealed in a soul emptied of itself.
Leaden
https://scvincent.com/2020/06/25/thursday-photo-prompt-silver-writephoto-2/
I can not begin to hold
the silver in the twilight air,
for it too quickly slips from my fingers.
My feet stuck in my quicksand thoughts
of moonlight shimmering on silvered hair
so, stop any step toward a silver chance,
Slipping away like silk as twilight
Fades into velvet night.
The Watcher
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a flower-strewn cliff-top above the sea, where a rocky outcrop, seemingly shaped into many forms and faces, looks out over the waves.
This week’s prompt ~ Guardian
https://scvincent.com/2020/05/28/thursday-photo-prompt-guardian-writephoto/
The guardian watches the sea,
Waiting patiently
For the return of old ones
Who long ago slipped away
Out to sea, speaking
Words of promise,
Words of return–
Not unlike your words to me.
Like you, the old ones
Will not return,
Lost in an ocean
Of time long forgotten.
They found new homes
Where to light their fires,
Burning away old, shriveled desires,
Burning away the salt of the sea,
And the dirt of old known shores.
The guardian waits,
Like a widow upon her widow’s walk,
Staring out to sea.
But as I have finished waiting,
I must walk away.
Dance
https://scvincent.com/2020/05/14/thursday-photo-prompt-dance-writephoto/
This week’s prompt ~ Dance
For visually challenged writers, the image shows a pale sun piercing the mists above a green path through a golden field, leading into the center of a circle of stones.
A mist of souls weaves among the stones
A dance between grasses of green and gold
Breezes chant in ancient secret runes,
Speaking in tongues of priestesses and druids–
A single soul leaps toward a shrouded sun,
And something in our blood no longer runs—
At all fluid.
Every Rose
In breaking silence,
earth and sky kiss again.
At a toast of mid-day,
the moon shows her face,
a smile of grace.
In the glimmer of a star’s dance,
a thorn on dried roses prick,
a reminder of circumstance.
Wild and Tame
Originally written in July of 2015. Revised 2020.
My friend, the squirrel, sits at my feet.
I wonder perhaps should I be sitting at his.
He is tame
Unlike me.
I have peanuts for him.
He knows.
He is willing to wait
And teach me
All the lessons he knows
Of a heart
That is wild
Yet tame.
I marvel at all
That is contained
Within his tiny heart.
The joys of peanuts and sunflower seeds,
Being unafraid in the face of strangers,
And making friends so easily,
Of finding a home among things lush and green,
Knowing no fear to leap
Into things unknown.
Will he instruct me
In the ways to live once again
And move on?
Tell me to remove these rings
Linked to a grief buried beneath grey granite?
Can he share with me the lesson
Of what to do with all things circular,
New and old grief– link upon link of chain?
Teach me the ways of letting go?
The ways of living without fears
To staunch the bleeding of wounds
Both new and so very old?
Is this the meaning
Of being wild and tamed?
No Winning
No winning in this loosing.
Chunks of soil eroded,
Carried away by this freezing rain.
No artifice found in storm winds,
leaving an icy slush of blood
In the veins,
Or the heated words you
Coated with never melting ice.
The fire you set
Left forever unkindled.
How you must love your
Barren winter landscape,
A frozen revenge,
A frosty meaningless game.
A Tree in Winter
My hope is
Different now,
Changed, evolved.
Once a verdant green
Of fresh, newborn spring.
Now evolved into this chilly thing–
Brown, dried husks,
A few barely clinging
To a tree in late autumn.
Seems something, someone
Sucked the hope out,
Fed on it as if it were life’s blood,
And I am left drained, a leftover hull
Of what once was. But I go on
As if all is the same and nothing
Is gone. A tree in winter,
Hoping enough green
Is left to grow, to live in spring.
Earth
Rend the earth again.
Tear, rip through miles of rock and soil
Till the swollen, rounded, glowing core
Of bubbling liquid lies exposed.
Note the flow,
Time the pulses of heat,
Beating with undulating life seen and unseen.
Then watch the viscous liquid cool,
Solidifying against the pain
Of each cold breath you expel,
Stilling the beat of life
Within her.
The transformation to cold, hard stone,
The breaking of her spirit,
She weeps stone tears
For us,
As thus,
Her mother’s heart is torn open.
