Dew

IMG_20171010_092349

Imagine what it must be like,
to wait in the dark, silently,
all night,
now under the moonlight,
now under the stars,
so that come dawn,
before the palest of sheens
has broken the sky,
you can hold out your face, your limbs,
your thrilled and eager body,
for these liquid globes of light,
these cold cold thirst quenchers.

IMG_20171010_092518

IMG_20171010_092639

I held
my palm
under
this soft
fur
and tapping
gently
on it’s stem,
gathered
the dew
and partook
eagerly
of this morning
feast.
My thirst
quenched,
my soul
restored,
I waded my way
slowly, fully,
into
the rest
of the day.

Advertisements

Holding on.

IMG_20170826_133705

I am struggling…
to hold on to my sagacity,
to what I call my kind side,
never thought that would be a challenge.
I find more expletives in my mind now
than I have ever done before.
Thank God, they still haven’t taken to spilling
over my lips.
I couldn’t abide that. I don’t like swearing.

I mourn, each day I mourn,
for lives, for causes, for lost time…
Can you feel the earth heave in pain?
Forget making sense of all that is going on out there,
I simply do not have the capacity for it.
I will lose what softness is left to me.
Sounds selfish, I know, I am sorry,
but my family lives there, in that softness,
and the tiny share of goodness that is alloted me.

The trees live there, and the flowers,
the bees, and the birds, let’s not forget the squirrels
whom I adore, and the silent deer that
glide so gracefully, silently through the yard,
keeping to the shadows and their contemplative silence.

The hugs live there, too,
the ones that you wait for all day,
the after work ones, and the after school ones,
slightly tired, yet happy to be home ones.
I live for those hugs. Don’t we all?
And the conversations at the dinner table?
The catching up, what did you do? And you?
Where are we growing and loving and being…

Were we kind today, were we mindful..
this is where I want to begin each day
and to end it.
This is what I must guard, and hold on to
if I am to survive and make and create and live.
This is what I can give my child, to give to all the lives
he will touch.

This is my mantra, my elixir, my breath…
and in the wake of this hurtling planet,
I am going to hold on tight to this plan, to this idea,
to this love, like a child holding on to it’s mother’s skirts
and hope that it is enough,
this holding on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Colour, colour, what colour…

I thought happiness was
that ball of deep burning orange in
the mauve sky;

Or surely this blinding white
pouring over the fence
with it’s cool fragrant bursts;

The path leading across fields,
I knew it was that particular winning shade
of periwinkle.

But now I am convinced it is yellow.

IMG_20170905_185915IMG_20170826_121522IMG_20170826_140000IMG_20170826_135938IMG_20170826_135926

In passing

IMG_20170617_111132

this little being,
curl and filigree,
ignoring the sacrilege
of my loud clumsy step,
the alien thrust of my body
in the midst of all that is old,
so very old,
said, with the sweetest of whispers,
hail stranger,
whither thou goest…
to which I could but reply,
in circles, dear friend, in circles.

Push and Pull

What is this, this
push and pull,
this need to shut everything down,
to walk away, to sit
under a tree,
until I become long as
a shadow
and creepers think
nothing of me
but a place to lay down roots.
And then, there is
that tremulous flower opening
it’s lips, thirsty for life
and hungry for a bee,
and I want to rush back
to my paper and holding
a pen,
share it, share all this,
this joy called life.

IMG_20170424_115651

Harmony.

IMG_20170404_092003

Of soul, of spirit.

With nature, with self.

It’s a long and arduous walk uphill and I am still at the base, looking up, the bright sun in my eyes. But if knowledge and awareness are half the battle, then I am half way up. I hope to walk on, consciously shedding the unwanted weight of self-doubt, of superfluous thoughts and needs, of judgements and self-righteousness, to empty, empty, empty all that makes me blind to the beauty of this hill, the flowers growing there, and the cool shelter of trees. The running brook and it’s cold sweet water. The birds and the foxes. To emerge from the fog, the dark cloud of self-absorption into clarity, into light.

It’s a long walk uphill. I will not be done in this lifetime, or possibly the next. But I have taken the first step, and maybe that is all I will achieve in this lifetime, but hey, it is a step forward, and that gives me hope.

Stars

Strewn along winding paths,

long past the hour of repose,

Look at what the stars have left behind

for us mortal souls…

the very essence of their likeness,

in white lace and yellow frill,

earthbound and fragile,

but somehow brighter still.

IMG_20170409_151548

 

IMG_20170409_145830

 

IMG_20170409_144818

Bones.

A few weeks ago, I participated in a week long exercise offered by Liberated lines, which, in their own words was about:

“one free week of sweet and soulful prompts to launch your self into the newness of the upcoming year.”

Be more you.

“Seven days of daily devotion to your own words and creative spark can be like magic in your hands and heart. Just the kind of magic you’ve been seeking. Be more you.”

Every day they offered a word prompt and we were asked to write our thoughts based on that word, without worrying about it being correct, or just so, or neat, or tidy, or what have you. We were encouraged to just let it flow naturally. It was awesome!!

One of the prompts offered was ‘Bones’. And this is what I shared:

Skin on skin,
the soft pressure of bone on bone,
joined in prayer,
I have my grandmother’s hands,
and my mother’s cheekbones,
her shoulders and broad back
but my father’s eyes
and love of literature.
My spine is my own though,
always curved, much to my mother’s chagrin
and I am sure my grandmother’s.
They are like that, straight backed,
warm and sincere and brave to their bones.
The deep cave of my hips though, the bones that tangle there
and help hold a child, I cannot tell us apart.
I see my mother there, and my grandmother,
and her mother, and that is how it goes,
beyond the measure of time and memory.
I am a part and apart, and buried,
and burrowed deep
within these borrowed bones.

 

Random Tandem.

Fall into silence.

Write, write your soul free.

img_20170105_092521

Buddha under the tree.

Wings in flight.

Lichen patchwork and green moss.

Grey skies and a cloud of snow.

The light behind my eyes.

The weight of words.

Curling around a book.

The heaviness of sleepy eyes.

A parody of dreams.

Sleep, sleep, sleep now

and wake up to dancing light.

The song of Fall.

This is what happiness looks like
surely.
This light, this love,
this colour.
How the sun loves this season.
Hopping from leaf to leaf
lighting up the souls of roots
and trees,
and that lone, mute wanderer,
with eyes that fill her face
and a voice lost somewhere
along the sidewalks and silent woods,
content to fill her body with
the rustles of fallen leaves
and the dappled golden light.
This is all I need to know of life,
of light, of love.
This becoming,
and then this glorious, blazing
un-becoming.

p1040528p1040517p1040519

p1040514