~ Wildflower ~

Dream of a warm soil that turns nightly, pulling you closer to the stars,
whiling a way to become, always drawn within, an unchosen destiny,
a dream warmed biding this turning.
oh this turn ń turn of earthly flow,
it is just us that speak inside calling a thought to understand,
The seed sharing the breeze seen while you take a moment to look up to the flying clouds.
There riding a destiny that takes ones breath to decipher, or a kismet of wild flowers settling upon warm soils dreaminess to a variable sky.

Otherness

When shadows feign upon grounds once ruled by the sun ,new moon recalls with higher stars what always remains of the suns glow. This quarter season waits, stories are told, starry are these skies of winter. Seen are the breaths escaping bodies to the planets
This quarter season beauty coming from within winter, evening tone, a vespertine array of sentient stars remember, sun climes beyond alabaster sky hidden, a ritual unstoppable, takes time away, an internal strobe flickering moments, still pictures in the album of your mind on a wheel turning, this sol system like an eddy of water turning slowly drawn round and round beside the shore of this galactic river.

~ Winter in a cup of coffee ~

Earth alway remembers. Winters forgotten the warmth autumn paints,
leaves settle unseen,
palette back into earth,
their summer colours memory of spring.
Lower cool sun inks an umber maze perforated from a trees canopy,
shadows stretching from a morning west,
animating pattern,then a slow spilling to where it began.
Rhythmic tilt her body listens, turning forever into this horizon,
so slowly another day winters into night.
Then a memory of the stars at night encroach, evening beckons constellations dance round the pole star.
There is a turning,
a familiar within motion that takes one into night-dream,
like watching cream slowly spooned into a cup of black coffee.
this web of sky spun by the dust of stars, this circle,
Slow spin of earth, full season her body tilts, its a memory of watching sun and moon trade places that makes one count quarters of the winters moon that shines higher.

~ Ripple ~

Linear time, like a chrysalis, holds the body until the rhythm of nature beckons, emerging into collective consciousness .
What gives the spiritual meaning, is inspiring another through being . That place when the magicians table is in a balance. A collage of consciousness with cyclically found objects . Patterns of colouration expressive of anima. A reflective inhalation igniting your mind, body and heart. This gallery of living, finding objects that speak, exploring until that final piece brought to your eye fits. With all the other shapes, like a puzzle, mercurial, nurtured to fulfill your interpretation of gift, of life; a transmutation. I can reflect to my earliest memory the magical meetings that gave intent a harmonic ripple. A tingling of balance, that place between, when you know you disappear into an object you are painting or a shape you are carving, or an alphabet you are arranging into a verse that captures the sense of being part of this earthy existence.
That living trance

Remains this Day

this evening inner warmth,
beneath such crystalline shimmering stars.
pulsing exhale of a thought taken by a chilly breeze.
A whisper, a story once again, beheld within earths being.
Moon comes milky seeding evening east glow.
Crimson mars, dolphin to the ship of the moon,
together sky the western side of night stream.
Somewhere inside a memory today
I watched clouds holding the aqua blue sky hostage,
forever in my moments gaze.
Sometimes I hear a voice that beckons away another reality.
later guides my breath back to the sky.
this mind becomes pictured, drawn the moments
palette of sky thoughtless now,
a soul remains like a spiral shell
cast upon this shore shimmering
This spell dose of beauty.
this dormant place the awoken inside wonder,
remains of trails twine like our fingers braided pulse
recall that once thoughts placed mind into letters,
treasured away inside a forgotten star box,
whose legs carved form an anima to the constellations
Inside where butterflies talk,
pattern new to wolf spider tracing what the clouds were doing,
her glisten of silk a line patterned a touch closer.
Thought became the evenings trunk of the giant oak,
that leans upward to the stars.
that whispered my mind,
to how they hold the stars into earth.

Drop of the Tear

image

Awaking from dream inside an opening eye, this place between, floating upon the sea of sleep, yet not released from the cocoon of sleep. Immediate echo of an etherial song bird, pronouncing a sunlight justly. Listened to this before, this prescience of thought catches up, gathering the decades which this bird remembered, holding a songs memory, a clarity of notes piercing dawn. For the sunrise is ancient, just a stream of moments, this is another melody timeless.
Raindrops sing like a tide does coming ashore, listen just to their descending chorus. For every drop of rain once was in your body, each half of infinity rained together gave many lifetimes to remember you have been here before and before and before. Here you listen to held memories on the song of rain, a spell timeless, together with the red beak of memory and the subtle chime of rainfall. For this dawn is ancient, awash of moments inside the melody of timelessness.
Taste your lovers tear, awakened by the etherial song bird, be carried to a salty ocean shore when placed to your lips. Each drop down the cheek holds a capsule of memory, a microcosm of lifetimes.
Stories told that once spiraled glass vials were crafted to hold the salty tears of happiness and pools of rainwater held exotic fishes that would pollinate the flowers that bent near the surface. Where the sunrise is ancient and the etherial bird sings of another stream of moments.

4 – 6 – 2014