Not a verb but a feeling,
cold mostly.
The Ides of dark clouds,
hidden hope
of things not yet.
An ache to the bone of want and weather.
Tilting planets and ticking tempests
all teasing and testing
a season to come.
Not a verb but a feeling,
cold mostly.
The Ides of dark clouds,
hidden hope
of things not yet.
An ache to the bone of want and weather.
Tilting planets and ticking tempests
all teasing and testing
a season to come.
Sliver moon
tricks the eye
a backward smile
in pain
how do you do?
not well tonight
I see.
Time ‘s brutal colors and memories
remain broken and fading
with nothing healed.
No comfort.
Just a place of lost words
in pain
twisted
lingering
alone.
Reflex
Remember
knowing the bite of Springtime dew
melted into sweat by noon.
Lean
Lift
quenching first a needy heart
then walking daily weighted dues
Collapse
Captivate
a wanting window found inside
lost then captured by the moon.
From outside in
survival props subdue the fears inside,
where life is lost in battle songs
though oft their words forgot.
Survival brain protects and stands
against, and never for.
Safe until the moon sets close-
a quiet tremor felt
hushing winds
and with the sigh
you find
the self that fell apart.
Time and hope together dance
twirling drunken steps
like wind tossed clouds
circling skies
day and night beset
An unfixed pattern soon takes form
when pain forgets the hour
and moons of night billow loud as sunrise wakes regret.
form shifting
cycling fresh in time.
spaces built for then, remember a now.
death consumes the moment and that next breath
taken deep with grace
creates….
Brown curling edges diagnosed
a death or disease supposed
but growing still with eastern light
reaching still in winter’s blight
buds reach high and hopeful
settled and composed
Choreographed in complexity
Dark yet
Heavy tones spiraling out with exhausted sighs
doxology
White life speeds unimpeded by lights, flashes
History on their side
Fear not pulsing
Violently staying in their lanes, views
Blind and asleep.
#Racism #MartinLutherKing #WakeUp
It is what it is
As if I were not entangled.
Stuck
lost in illusions of Control
It is
not so hidden
rising to the skin
exposed to time and life
open air propagates
and the cycle spins
until the fire within
destroys
what once was
only a lonely soul
lost in search of love
thumbprints press hard
on the outer part to shape shift being
into a failed construct
facade
hiding a soul looking for the light behind
to dispel shadows and such
searching for life beyond the creep of forced ideals
into everlasting peace
Woodhouses’s Scrub-Jay
#Birdsoftwitter
#Naturephoto
More years behind than ahead
Tomorrow with no lasting definitions or weight
Just a wall of trees guiding the way home
kissed by too many suns.
A touch of grace
to have and to hold
this day beginning to end….
Light within and upon
winged rise and sweetly lift
hum and hearth the needle drops
a playful tune to carry home
I am a Jane
proud to be and let life be
or not
no shame in that
no apologies made
life embraced in breath not forced
an inward strength and super power
within my heart and head
only I know ..
Jane
Lighting the path beyond,
the moon leans toward a fate larger than death,
the eastern sun bullied by looming clouds of day.
Life speaks daily in the rise and fall–
hope wrapped in even the darkest morn.
It’s that time of life when gentle and innocence fall
the eyes of the deer go dark
while the heart of sporting egos reign.
We all feel broken a bit
and generations suffer generations.
As foot prints in the snow crush the buds beneath
we all stay hungry for peace.
Not thinking much about god these days,
trapped in stone and stained glass.
Though everywhere I look
tangible, take your breath away visions
most often
strong, nurturing and wise
like a Mom.
Tangled Twisted.
Winding Wombs.
Birthed beyond edges and endings.
Carried cradled warm with hope.
What happens next is all unseen.
A new day, new year all veiled
Each breath treasuring the dark and unknown
whispering hope without light.
What I saw
of a body punctured,
wounded alone
Cords and catheters
holding the surge
of life
Ventilated breath
until time blinked
on and off
In a violent dance
the parade began
Ieaving the ICU
I saw it whipped
waving above
nearly alone
holding on.
I saw the cords
life surging on
from ground to stem attached.
Then off balance
in twinkling light
I heard a breath
release…
past all the others hanging still
a twirl and dance, a northern front
leaving ties
the shackles gone
and falling free at last.
#Nature #Photography #BirdsofTwitter
Today the flow slows
pressing the line
hard with whispers
of bygone time
and treasures
just now remembered.
#photography #nature #SundayThoughts
What of a moment
makes for time to collapse
onto itself
into itself
until the flow escapes notice
and the big one gets away
bleeding out,
stop
color blind,
hot
change and die,
drop
never blush-
red
Cape Henlopen Delaware
9.22.21
Amid the broken fragments
smoothed
by time and trauma,
lie spaces
thinned and shattered,
spellbound by weathered hope
and promise.
With each step and breath
nothing stays the same
the cut is made
never to be undone
only hearts look back
and wonder why
love is lost
in sacrifice
When life is taken
Time stops
Reverses even
Memory cradles Moments
Mistakes and
Madness
Hear then the chimes awaken
All souls
Forgiven en mass
Resurrected
Kissed
Death to life imagined
Even in the darkest waters
Energy lurks
Enduring time
Enlisting seasons of change
To spark the flow.
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Pexels.com Robinson, Marilynne. Gilead (Oprah’s Book Club) (p. 7). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.