Water and clay

Change brings about the falling
Ice turning to rain sliding away into the dirt,
Muddy clay that sticks to the soul
To the hands that dig for truth
In the passing of a thought
Led silently astray.
The gentle movement of time
As it lays shining like glass
Broken on the pavement
Of just another day
Wrecked by the mind that grows weary
As thought betrays with energy
And a starseed awakens to words on pages
Dust to dust
Filters through the furnace
Sucked in to the pipe
Of eternity.
White coats cold
Fingers tight throbbing
Holding the light
Trying to see
That which will keep safe
Coyote dreams of death
As the scorpion goes forward
The journey known from its being
It’s destiny of destruction
If taunted into the sting
The memory brings.
I see the beauty yet feel apart
From silver drops that fall flat
Smashed to pieces
Caught up on boats made of leaves
And I whisper to the bitter wind
Coming home was all she said.

Beautiful art found at : http://krishay-moehr.artistwebsites.com/index.html

Of time and space…a journey

The tiny golden key lay in shadowed dust behind the old stately bed. How long had it been here, who did it belong to and most important, what did it fit?
I searched the closets that lay empty and barren. The smell of ancient days forgotten trapped in webs that hung like lace.
In the back corner a small box lay. I picked it up and dusted off the cover to reveal a lovely pattern etched in the wood of a half-opened door and stars and a crescent moon in the upper corner. I searched and found a hole at the bottom of the box. How odd I thought to put a keyhole underneath. A strange little box in shape, not quite square yet not rectangular. Almost triangular with a few extra corners thrown in. I tried the key and it would not fit. I turned the key the opposite way and it slid in without effort. I was almost afraid at this point, with this ancient little box and it’s forgotten key. What would I find inside? I turned the key and a hissing sound, like air escaping erupted from one of the corners. a small stream of scent, like cedar and oranges and something forgotten drifted to my nose. I remember this scent from when I was a child. I had always connected it to my grandfathers jacket that was never worn. It hung long and dark and I often hid behind it during hide and go seek. I had never been discovered so I found it to be the perfect escape. How that memory returned to me in that moment and I thought I heard his voice from the floors below, although he has been gone for twenty plus years, still….it is his voice beckoning me to open this. I am afraid and I hold the box out away from me and this warming sensation begins to drift up my arms. I notice where the scent escaped there was a small bit of light, almost like a night-light one would use to comfort a small child from the things that go bump in the night. Open it, his voice said from somewhere behind me and I knew it would all be alright. I sat the box upon my lap and began to finish the turn of the key to release the lid. A snap from within, an inner latch opening and a simple music box song began to play. Somewhere in time, the rhapsody of yesterday and pennies came back to me and filled my heart with words that did not need to be spoken. You have returned I thought as tears ran down my dusty cheeks, you have found the door and I, the key….to be continued.

Just a little short story….what do you think I will find in the box? What would you hope the box contains? I leave the journey open to share….please let me know where it goes next in your eyes.

lovely photo found at : http://spraycan2.deviantart.com/art/Open-the-door-space-81700886

In flowered fields

She waits for me
In flowered fields
My friend sits there
Amongst the beauty
Of a gentle spring day.
She knows I will come
With the rays of the sun
Shining down
With quiet laughter
And a heart filled with joy.
She waits for me
Where the horizon meets sky
And the grasses blow
Swaying to the rhapsody
Of seasons moving
Here and there
She will find me there
Like a bee moving about
Dancing on the petal
Spreading life to the gardens
Alive with the warm air
Content in her presence.

A gift to my muse who wondered at my absence yesterday. Sending sunshine and daisies.

Angelic hill

She sits
Never shadowed by her surroundings
Slight smile to mark
Her inner peace
Maiden of the hills
She silently watches
The world move.
Smooth beauty
Under blues skies
She dreams of places
She knows someday she will see,
Her innocence brought forth
Chiseled in time
A piece of the space
She is part of
Stone from earth
Angel of the heart.

She sings

Sing to me the song
Of beauty and vision
And oils that run
Like the rays of the sun,
Moving into
The flashes above
Of a star that falls
To your feet
In awe and love
Of the moon.
Sing to me the song
Of summers fairest bloom
Of petals soft
Like silk that slides
Off shoulders beneath
A setting day
Moving beyond horizons
Into a quiet dusk.
Sing to me a song
Of your heart,
Of your soul
And I will capture your voice,
The sweetest birds song,
The loveliest piece
Ever heard
And release it to the sky
To let the universe stand
And listen
To beauty’s magnificent serenade.

Climb to enlightenment

Stone by stone built
Rung by rung climb
This is my existence
Here this house built by years
By thought
By dream
And I climb to the top
To the crevice where no air remains
Only joy and happiness
And the view of
The enlightened.
My place to come
To meditate
To be
To talk to my thoughts
Like old friends
Of like mind
Of smiles
Of laughter
And all I ever want and need
And I raise a cup of richness
To the bounty all around
And I breathe in the floral scents
So perfect
That feel so in tune to the spirit
That I cannot but help to stop
And look about me and wonder
Is this just a memory remembered
Or what will be before me
That I crave
And love so dearly.
Each day the ladder grows so tall
And still I climb back
For that is all I know now
Of the path
The culmination of visualizing
What is and will be
In my balanced mind
Home by the sea.

Photo by: http://fineartamerica.com/featured/happiness-in-perpetuity-paul-bond.html

Painted life

She sketches the ghost of a smile
Mirror reflection
Brush coaxed out
The beauty within.
She strokes on color
The palette littered
The colors of her emotion
Applied with loving care
To her blank canvas.
Age old selfie
In oils
Pigments transferred
To match the view
Of all she sees
And below the surface
That which is yet unnamed by her mind.
Still life of girl
Painted by woman
Who longs for the yesterday
Before the creases became
Part of the creation,
Before the browns turned grey,
To a time when youth was beauty
She does not see
That time changes nothing
Just slightly alters
The tones of paint,
Dulling them slightly
Peeling at edges
But still a masterpiece
To the trained eye.


Moving through the night

in search of the morning sun,

rippled fields lead on

to 27 degrees between night and light.

Cool fog gives way

colored movement

through life and dreams,

between sleep and waking

the sun lumbers its way into the blue.

Ghost of a noon day sun,

daydream landscape

pulling me out to air crisp

cloudless fresh

ripples move me

once more

through the prison of mind

to the freedom beyond the window.

Prism thoughts of everyday memories.


Strong arms embrace
Against a wall
Startled emotion gaze,
His unexpected movement
In silence, lucid
Still madness descends
As sunlight becomes replaced
With darkness,
Though light still
It feels to dark,
To unreal.
Into the dream of what once was
What now seems like a language
Spoken in tongues,
Lifted higher
Yet within afraid
To be dropped once again,
Like too many times before.
What malady befalls
The heart that dares to love just too very much,
When will this dance of bliss end,
In madness and despair
Of tears that never fall,
Of those now gone,
Of those who someday will be.
Set free from this embrace
Need to feel the ground below feet,
Need to feel the basics of a child,
Need to remember them all
If only for a moment.
Set against the wall
A flower clenched in a free hand
While the other remains up to shield
What dreams may come
And what nightmare slips in unwanted
To this moment.


Three sisters
Or friends perhaps
Lovingly etched
In the glass.
Ice like cool to touch
Like the soul
Illuminated from within.
I dwell on the faces
Staring like death
Not moving
Not wavering in their frozen expression.
Who were muses
To inspire the piece
What thoughts lived in their minds as they sat
Posing as they became immortal,
Locked into the art forever,
A cool block smooth
Resting on a restaurant shelf
Gazing at those that dine
On elegant meats and deserts,
What do they hear
With glass ears
As champagne is sipped
Words of love
Or words of goodbye
Or the silence of those
Who know each other so well
The quiet a blessing
From a hurried world
To sit and pretend
Opulent surroundings
A get away
From the mortal day to day.