Love sent


Piecing together elements,

Words and sentences from so long ago

Give illusions life to mind

Another place

Another time,

Spent with ink stained hands

Penning letters to be sent

Across seas and oceans deep

To lands unknown,

Yet only dreamed

In a child’s eyes

Letters sent with love.

Take care and God speed

And all good blessings in between

Where your travels sent you,

Young men to wars

On desolate beaches and sandy shores,

Remember those whose ghost remains

A hundred years gone

Where do those names reside now?

On ledgers faded and yellowing pages

And bow tied stacks

Tucked away

In case he comes back,

Yet fragrance lingers

Of rose petals and crumbling sage

Remembrances of passion

And sun filled garden days

Who were you my friend

Whose life was gone

Long before it ever began,

And is she there to see you through

In the light of stars

Dancing again at the ball,

Where she gave you her hand

And love had been all.

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Between words


What is it
This emptiness that lies between words
In the spaces filled with something,
The language of breath
And formation of the body movement,
Palpable in its nothingness
Yet so deeply heard.
Reaching for the sky
Locked in the senses
Each one whole
Connected
Silence not broken by the sound
Of words thick with meaning
Underlying and known thoughts
To let it go into the wind,
Slip away beneath the surface
Watching it drown in its self
Rising strong above
Warrior carries the burden
Alone to stand
Undisturbed by the pull
Of a need,
Letting the sorrow go
Of the need to control,
To fix,
To make it all better,
Hands open to the coming
Of love undeniable.

In the thickest silence


I sat amongst the trees that fell
soft and moving back into the earth
trod upon by faceless feet
the smell of damp and decay
filled my senses.
The light was dimming yet I was not done,
not with this moment
and not with the thoughts that I came to leave behind.
I stood, feeling each ache move through
and I smiled because I could
feel each ache and call it by name
from when the moment happened that
it became a part of me,
a tiny part of the whole that forms
this solid body,
and I blessed each area
beneath that setting sun and turned
slowly in a circle with arms high
praising the space I had found,
the moment when I could let go
and just be one
with the thickness of the silence.
A cracking sound above somewhere,
in the distance a falling branch
unseen
yet heard by ears that knew
this is how it would go
as the tree below under my weight
sunk further into its being
and became one with the dirt
where it had called itself home,
again to return
into the earth.
I leaned down and gathered the dying branch in my hand
as it crumbled into brown red pulp
moist and watched as the tiny bugs moved,
felt the coolness and lifted the mound
inhaling the life
teeming within.
This was the peace I had to find,
the growth and death of
each temporary thing surrounding me,
the part of me that I have become one with,
the element of this moment
here and now.

I had no photo, being techno free in the forest so leave you with my door greeting teacher of peace. Namaste my friends.

The sweetest life


This sweetest life we live
heart shaped world of happy days
the scent of childhood drifting through
the cracks and crevices
of our yesterday driven minds,
peanut butter cookie moments
sweet and smooth
befitting nothing more
than a cold glass of milk.
Thoughts drift back to days gone by
the dairy down the street
the scent of cows in meadows
muching grass to make the white goodness,
and the glass bottles with cardboard caps
sitting in metal cages on the porch
delivered before dawn,
to see how this life is changed
no longer the joy of a door stop delivery
but stores filled with choices
overwhelming to behold
when we just long for the simplicity
of days like we had found
back then.
Aprons and potholders made by tiny hands,
mismatched and ill fitting
but loved none the less
and the plate left cooling
in an autumn window
where the breeze pushed the flavors in
filling the house
with the sense of happiness.
Those days long gone
no children have I to teach,
to bake the sweets that I recall
except for the occasion that arises
when the need to deliver to another
a simple gift to welcome
a thank you or hello,
nice to see you and a thrown together sweet
for you to enjoy
and that maybe you too will remember
those days of your life
when life was simple
and lunch bags carried
a cookie or two,
made with love
by mothers hand.

Sitting at lunch reminiscing of when I was young and how the aroma of home made cookies would drift through the house and how now every variety can be bought off a shelf, but it’s the love built within that really matters, by hand and not machine, time spent to say hey, I care and here, have a cookie or two….or three….with love,
from me.

yummy photo found at: http://www.createdby-diane.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Homemade-NutterButter-Cookies.jpg
and the recipe too. 🙂

Entering a change


Broken leaves crack like gunshot
Beneath lumbering feet searching
Through restless forests silenced
By the coming of man.
White tails move away
Clipped paces too fast it seems for eyes that see
For thoughts that seek an end
To the burning questions bred
By indecision
And the hands of fate
That led him here.
Silver light flickers
As a hand held up to block the light
Entering shadows on the quest
To bring peace to the existence
Once lost here among
The hard woods and rot
And the fungus that marks decay
Turned to a pile of nothing
With the heel that kicked it away.
Clouds move in as winds come to call
The eclipse hours off
A change on its way
Where clarity will again take hold
And whisk the thoughts effortlessly away
And as the flies flicker about
Hovering like puppets,
They too will blow free with the wind,
The chorus of nature will once again rise up
To take their place,
And finish the music echoing
In this amazing fortress
Filled with the earths hypnotic grace
And tomorrow’s blessing will grab hold
As each tender step taken,
With eyes wide open to see
This peace at last
To be set free.

This moon turns the thoughts like a compost barrel, around and around and knowing that soon the great dark earth made under the sun each day will turn to itself and become all it is truly meant to be.
Beautiful image taken by my father.

Like falling waters


Places of the heart
between the trees of memories
stands the home of falling waters
rushing back to carry me
through endless dreams of beauty
and visions of peace swirling through.
I know of you here
in this place where ghosts know secrets
the heart has shared
in sleep and waking I walk
amongst the ashes of yesterday
searching for answers
to questions buried in shallow ground,
amongst the rocks underneath my feet,
carelessly flipped up
to expose the earth below.
I place them one by one,
to build my path across the stream
and balance perfected
I venture slowly across
with tomorrow in my sights
leaving the echo of loneliness behind,
I come to receive a drink
silky transluscent blues
of clear joy and light
that falls from heights above,
rippling down the face of stone
to carry me away
back home.

A house I’ve always connected with since when I was younger studying the beautiful forms of architecture, this place calls to me like no other before and no other after.

The whispered silence


Between those places lies the dream,
the silent emptiness where land meets sky
touches of color on the palette
smoothed to silk
with a flicker of emotion
finding peace.
Whispered silence filled with the breathless idea,
the caverns of yesterday
remembered in pieces
gathered like flowers
waving in the wind.
Grasses move like waves
back and forth bowing gently
paying homage to the being
who parts the strands
with invisible hands.
I come here to this silence
hearing the echoes of the past
rushing through like ghosts
gathering to play their game
of am I here or nothing but a mirage
painted on your heart with the brush strokes
of the falling rain
slipping down below
gathering in puddles
of thought.
Phantom embrace of form and emptiness
beneath skies of falling star dust
covering the wetness with the hope
of another tomorrow to recall
the face,
the eyes that held me with love
and the last reach out to grasp
that bit of you still left
with hands once opened,
remain empty
save for the piece of the green stem plucked
from gardens of weeds
laying trampled below my feet,
I let it fall
and it is lost amongst the many
yet unique for the love
momentarily bestowed
upon the blade
now bent and broken.
He loved me not,
He loved me.