Words

August 16, 2021August 16, 2021

The Mystery of Words

There can be a tempest within my soul
on days where I’m unable to see the light
from a sun that is surely bathing me
in the heated glow of its’ rays

yet there are those days when the rays
of brilliance from that same sun radiate
through me and fill the day with bird song

song that touches every living creature’s
being with two legs to four legs to none
for even the tree feels the vibrations
in trunks, branches and fluttering leaves

leaving me in awe of it all, of the mystery
of the unnoticed brilliance of communication
the musical enhanced scores all around us

those are the days I again recall the words
whose magic enables me to speak from my heart
where the wordsmith rises again within my soul
a mystery e’er but the ocean tempest is stilled

June 30, 2021June 30, 2021

Where Words Cannot Follow

There is trepidation in every choice in love
where words cannot follow your heart’s desire
during the heat of day that melts into night
where the songs of night birds penetrate

your dreams in the guise of that which inspires
you to reach greater heights on plateaus above
that keeps you falling into the darkest depths
in deepest canyons where you will climb to the light

for your search is never ending, always beginning
in the brisk clean air of a morning’s chase
of fleeting images now entwined in your memory
of rapids in a swiftly running pristine river
the smell of wood smoke upon your waking

to all the possibilities that perch upon words
that carry the emotions that dissipate quickly
as though clinging to the morning’s mist
evaporating with the heat the sun delivers
only the fragrant air of the trees remain

A Friend’s Photo Created As Art

February 23, 2019

A Glimmer of Light

Leaving behind a passion of heart
in words left unwritten
words fading as ghostly images
when pen is not put to paper
when inspiration is set aside

always fearing unfounded criticism
of those you will never know
those never to breach your life

always choosing moral acceptance
rather than acceptance of self
acceptance of gifts setting idle
as dust settles upon them
as motes floating in air

ignoring a brilliance of light
that follows you in footsteps
as you close each door approached

a glimmering light shining
beneath its sill
until there is nought
but a darkening foreboding
becoming as tarnished silver
that no longer gleams

& only echoes fallacy of choices
that leaves voids want of filling
giving no purpose of self
as only seeking light will do
and in opening doors

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Created As Art

Brilliance of Light

January 25, 2019

The Well Within

Reaching to look outside myself

to pull the words up and out

of the well within

the weather causes me to feel

weighted down like

heavy murky fog

settled on a lake

or blighted fall leaves

that have floated down

to settle on pools

of water

stuck there one on top another

unable to do anything

but finish dying

finish being

even as the sun shares

the gray sky with clouds

I found this poem in my drafts and as I have not posted anything recently, decided to post this. Winter is finally coming to an end (I hope) but this is how I feel about it here in Washington, having been born and raised in California. Thanks to all who follow this site for your patience.

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Created As Art

searching

September 23, 2018

“The Spritely Muse”

words that tumbled ’round
her head as a child
still do

making mischief like tiny sprites
trading a wooded glade
to tease her hence

a whirlwind of cacophony
flickering, not staying still
try as she might
to pin them down

like dust these letters sneak
into every tight corner
of every room

only the rooms are within
her head with dull eyes
the corners misshapen
dark and foreboding

each letter playing tag
‘you’re it!’
as she feels a tingling
a light touch

as they frantically
try to meld again
and again

to ignite a spark
bursting brightly
into poetic imagery
brilliant

but as her head pivots
she only glimpses
she is not keen enough
as swiftly
they
disappear

Some Image Taken From Public Domain To Create As Art

September 20, 2018

“Spinning Threads in Poems”

Spun words as a weaver spinning threads
upon her loom hoping that colors
will strike the brilliant chord

such as the composer who like magic
pulls each note threaded in the air
above him espouses
to encapsulate emotions
within the composition

whereupon they will be released
by those who listen
in tears of sorrow
tears of joy
or anger fleeting
as a doused
flame

with only the bliss
of knowing it was I
who lit the flame

that dances across
the reader’s face
as they imbue
their senses
with the words
of a poem

is all I envisage

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Created as Art

Poems and Threads

May 20, 2018May 21, 2018

Before My First Breath

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitally Altered

Dragonfly Blue

Dragonflies are timeless bold creatures
found in the amber fossils of millennium
as is innocence secured wonder cocooned
in everything I saw around me
whether it was earthen brown
or flowers christened
by the sun

I drank everything in endless thirst
always yearning to understand
and to grasp all the words
to weave into life
even when threads
were frayed

So the years did not diminish
my questions nor
bring solace
to answers

There is youth no longer here
when reflections are
made of wrinkled sagging skin
but youth only rests
within the perimeters
of my mind

So that there will yet be a moment
where the light shines bright
and the fire burning glows
revealing the happiness and joy
I felt in being aware

That there are those things timeless
like questions and answers
held within my mind
not loved nor cherished
with my heart

I know now without pause for doubt
there will always be
dragonflies

November 19, 2017

Gods Like A Twining Snake

Gods cloaked as inner fears
grounded in DNA
like a twining snake
posed to lunge
to strike

waiting within a tired mind
weariness a braided chain
harnessing movement

reality sinking into quicksand
bogs of memory calling
burning names
taunting

Gods of money and loving guns
meaningless possessions
of nameless masses

when the use of words like arrows
taken from the quiver
can be weaponry
to fight

dueling with engines
created of cells
stinging like bees

identified as expectations
masked as perfection
a straight line
blue chalk
do not cross

we try to let go, let be
erase illogical revenue
nothing money
can buy

for these Gods leave
no purchase
are grounded
on a slippery
slope

quickly buried by mud slides
that alter belief in self
confidence askew
in the remnants
of time

Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt is all about gods we make in our image. I did a bit of looking into this idea and found this on Wikipedia giving an explanation of what ‘belief’ means. People can turn something they believe in to that of a god. Money, guns, nature and even things that cannot be touched…that which we believe to be the case, those things we think about within our minds. Belief is stated to be in Wikipedia as “the state of mind in which a person thinks something to be the case, with or without there being empirical evidence to prove….the case with factual certainty.” There is a quite lengthy definition of ‘belief’ and how it can become a god. See more at her site at https://jamiededes.com/2017/11/15/gods-of-our-making. The photos below were taken from Public Domain Pictures and digitally altered.

Serpent God

May 15, 2017September 2, 2017

Being Unpolished and Knowing

Like strands of pearls uncultured, unconnected
they lie strewn at your feet tantamount to words
discarded and useless unable to be linked as one
until something more refined comes along

she knows this every moment of every day speaking
is broken by hesitation, pauses and frustration
like diamonds rough from nature not yet expertly cut
by the jeweler’s hand in minuscule sharp detail

something like disparate but not really the same
just as peculiar is not exactly being self-serving
for who can say she is not the bowels of that same venue
as she compiles opinions based on incomplete knowing

she ultimately sees herself on the fringe of everything
and anything but peculiar touting her uniqueness as
that of shrewdly knowing but like that of the pearls
as that of the diamond she too can be unpolished

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Writing Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/10/our-prison-of-lost-hope-a-poem-an-writing-prompt. Please do visit her site to read more of other poet’s responses. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and Digitized by myself.

Unpolished

January 25, 2017September 2, 2017

Bitter Salt

The air of life of which I breathe
comes down upon me
as soft green leaves

to beckon me my words my gift
to settle my soul bereft
as bitter salt
doth sift

through each pore each cell
within my being
crying out why
why I see

she was born perfect as
the newest of snow

she was born of my self
born of my soul

but he sought her out one day
came down upon her
has kept her nay

has kept her within each
labored breath
has made of her short life
a life long test

she endures each painful trial
he passes her through
smiling of it all
as flowers do

there is always tomorrow
a new better day
though she knows his eyes
discovers his ways

my words tell me what I should know
she was born perfect
as the purest snow

she was born of my self
born of my soul

though why he chose her
I will never know

File Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

purest-snow

My oldest daughter was diagnosed at the age of 23yrs with Lupus, an autoimmune disorder for which there is no cure. It took ten years to diagnose and now at the young age of forty she has once again to overcome more new diagnoses of which, all but one, are more than likely due to her Lupus. Lupus is the Latin word for wolf, which was given for a name to this disease, due to some of the ways in which it presents itself when on the skin. I have come to think of this disease as one of predator and one which my daughter has spent a lifetime in battle with. She is strong, positive and always optimistic about each day. One of the angels I always say that walks among us.