Perceived through hazel eyes. Felt with every beat of your bleeding heart. Lessons taught with every bloom to closing chapter, turning petals in between. Checkpoints of soul’s journey. Insight mirroring truths for evolving essence. A flock of birds feathered with love, change, growth, gratitude. A travel holding you hostage, no direction or destination until you
Pump It was an anonymous part of the present. It bore imprints of percolating gears enmeshed into a tentative wheel that turned back the tap of hours streaming, streaming, at the end of a handle – a tear-like dream, a sadness in uproar.
Slammed into submission by an exercise for the masses. However, we weren’t told. So, confusion, Fear and hopelessness became the new reality. It became disclosure an awakening… a viewpoint a dissimilar perspective. Astonished to see a herd structure, born out of vulnerability and naivety. Slave to the aperture of a narrative that is deceitful and
In A Mist it is the day after and I phone wanting to say a new song has nudged into place though my children play off-key tunes in the other half of my house I phone with all my senses jazzed by the gift of touch that foggy cornet a symphony by Bix Beiderbecke your
Words to Pandora Pandora, All-Gifted One, woman of clay, created to be the instrument of Zeus’ revenge, fashioned from the gods’ misogyny, robed by Athena for your mission on earth, I celebrate your worthy curiosity. Whether that closed container held the ills of the world which you released or good things that escaped, you did
The Cruellest Blade “might I cling to the blade of the hour as does the stick-brown bone and may I mark the milkweed’s state of mind” – Walking Bethany Hills Approaching Devil’s Elbow by John B. Lee Perhaps I should leave these walls, decorative box wrapped up in brick and window, well-worn faces fogging up
On conserving for future generations It all begins with a vision A vision of what the future holds Not only for you and me but for all What is the vision? It may look like greed, A picture of a chase for material possessions, A picture of competition to dominate, A picture of me and
New Giverny slender willow branch strokes clear surface sending tiny ripples across tranquil pond windsor red koi fish glisten in bright sun’s aestival reflection fine cattail reeds guided by gentle breeze brush between light and shadow chartreuse lily pads adrift as day opens like Monet’s nymphaea
in the measure of spring outside the open door half the horizon holds up an illusory sky barren fields melting form their own inviolate border a lone raven lifts its wings a shadow over muddy mirrors stacked summer chairs wait to be used again defrosting in the returned sunshine the air whispers a tentative welcome