I see you, hungry paws.

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I see you, yes, you.
Digging about with your hungry paws
deep into what I have put of this earth
into that pot.

I see you,
rooting about for the seedling I planted
in spring,
when you were but a little fledgling
in a warm nest.

Now that seed has grown,
and so have you.
And I see you with your curious eyes,
and your hungry throat,
rooting about for life,
going where your instinct leads you,
and your insatiable hunger.

I see you,
and I see me, in you,
wanting to dig deep into that eternal soil
where we reach for our thoughts,
for our love,
where we find sustenance, hour upon hour,
for our insatiable souls.

I see you, and I see me, in you,
reaching deep
with my hungry paws.

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Wind

Maker:L,Date:2017-8-29,Ver:5,Lens:Kan03,Act:Kan02,E-Y

I am like that little piece of flag,
that little square of orange, or
green, or blue, or red,
that flutters in the wind, directionless,
until, for a moment,
a very brief moment,
the wind stops, and I know where
my heart lies, and where my soul
is tethered;
But the wind picks up again,
and it is all I can do
to hold on.

Dew

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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.

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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.

Holding on.

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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.

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In passing

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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.

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Harmony.

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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.

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