will you welcome it with open arms, or cry, resisting its embrace, this riddle of life in which we are enthralled, this life, this day, this place
the fog advances
like a wall enclosing
hiding ridges, valleys and distant lights
till all I see is my own piece of earth
and that, dimly
sounds are muffled and thoughts too
i draw my own circles around me
when I cannot see
my eyes are opened
last best mooring let go
forgotten by the sea’s heart
driftwood floating in the ocean
come find me
one golden autumn
I let go too
peace and stillness made promises
in the dawn
where is my mirror?
i see you there
our old snapshot
when we were headed out
i long for you
like a field of heavy earth receives the rain
you are known to me heart to heart
benthic elementals meeting
What hidden reality is present in life when we see with eyes of wonder
Do we need technology to show us what is always present
Or do we sense it and feel it now.
Virtual reality populates empty rooms
Life lives in open spaces.
May the virtual reality artists make their games poetry.
May the empty rooms fill with life.
Dreams and visions are the conditions of the people.
Reality imagines, even technology can dream.
dance along your mystic path
moon serenading the wild world
dreamers smile suddenly in their sleep
you have given them a gift
dream on into your promised land
the tree there is heavy with fruit
verdant life returns your gaze
read the hidden book there, it is yours
descry within your radiant heart
a fire reflected there that sparks and burns
a voice singing in words mysterious
then dance on until the dawn returns
time is a river
any innocent step
creates eddies and flows
along which we drift
changing without knowing
until we see our own reflection
looking back at us
Veils fall, my mind
A sleepy dreamer.
Painted landscapes coalesce and dissolve
While dust crumbles through my fingers.
A breath, a sigh. Mine.
Stirs dim gauzy curtains.
My eyes fill with tears.
I don’t know why.
I told myself I could fly
I dreamt that my window opened.
i turned the catch my self
and pushed it open, slowly.
the moon was floating outside
and the limbs of the trees were dancing
i stepped out
Lightning come strike
fertile land, blaze.
Leave me my cornflower ribbons
I will put on my dress.
I have a fondness for potions,
rose oil from petals gathered at midsummer,
coconut oil and cocoa butter delivered solid
to be warmed by the hands.
Teas, tisanes, mellowed for consumption by a kettle whistling
and a familiar, beloved, cup. Continue reading “potions”