~ Undertow ~

Your falling,
more like a fish settling
upon a vector stream,
a warm vein tendril touching your senses.
Leading your swim’s inhale
a scented stream amidst fathoms liquid soothing a response.
Your floating,
fins fanning, glistening scales reflecting sun shards
into rays piercing from above.
You notice a garden of coral,
colorfully undulating with their tendrils,
a motion beckoning you to swim –
swim closer till your scales rub against their amber current.
Upon opening your eyes
to find your a mermaid bubbling from your nostrils percolate up –
up till you hear popping, they break the surface
waves glistening into a pattern.
This instills a smile widening across your face.
Your settling onto an ancient seabed of emerald jade,
weathered with timelessness.
A school of squid point their eyes,
all turn simultaneously,
Your sigh reaches their thoughts.
they secrete a purple cloud inking pattern you remember.
You notice your chest increasing in size,
you breath this ink and taste sweetness kept secret forever.
Your hair remembers this current
each spiral embraces your shoulders.
You pick up a hollow conch,
place this upon your ear,
listening with the heartbeat of the ocean.

Advertisements

~ the bowl of a quarter moon ~

There is no good night.
below a moon that is hidden by the horizon.
there was a shadow near, spilled from this quarter moon
uncurling her crescent bowl filling evening cool within a selene glow, suspended slow motion of every passing star cluster.
There must be names, none living today can place into words.
No voices to speak this past, memory will cast moons light,
shadows animate minds spellbound upon this earthly shore,
this bowl of a quarter moon, fashioned from opaline materials of earth.
Vespertine dews filled this bowl, an microcosm ancient symbol of earth etched then blended upon the bowl holding a moon
of liquid rippling the mirroring stars reflecting into the half moon cupped in your palms.
Mercurial the waxing crescent that cast light into shadow,
gesture of infinity quenches a thirst as earth tilts the bowl.
moon dresses the horizon, sewn lapis sky pinned beside her tinted rim.
here dreams sleep, stitch of shadows swirls round,
memories liquid as clouds.
horsetails clouds that circle a stirring sky
held timeless entranced upon the bowl of a quarter moon
becoming the gazer that wonders.
There is no good night to the sleepless.
here only night and day play a lullaby
with a moon setting vespertine shadow of dreams.
For if we sleep :
convince our souls to fall and rise deeply inside this bowl of the moon . beauty will ride a winged horse spurred from the wisps
of twilight clouds, gathering dreamers to ride to the milky way.
There is no word for good night.
just a lullaby of anima nocturnal.
a bowl turned from earthly stone,
filled with a moon cycles of dew.
hands cupped warming upon a surface of stars.
for theres no sleep for the dreamer.

December – 28

~ So Quiet ~

So quiet under the stars , always under a variable night, muffled warm under such a stillness.
Yet a breath can be seen rising disappearing
then taken by possibilities of the edge star of a constellation
which on a clear evening would instill an ancient myth.
So quiet under the unseen stars, night after night
a quiet touch in the marrow.
A fireplace smokes a tendril which finds the ceiling grey night.
So quiet under the stars, a heart can be heard,
possible stars allow the stillness piercing through.
Oh so much stillness, listens to your thoughts that ride a slow wind that comes from where you remember the pole star resides. Always under a variable sky, standing upon this earth.
There is a part of mankind that landed on a comet so quiet above these unseen stars.

11 – 15 – 14

Before a breath Quenches

A person that sets themself in the center of the circle, becomes the reflection of mother earth, and is watched very closely by spirit.
When; yes when memories string together.
Pollen dropped at the entrance of the hive, sweet full colours lay. Bowl of water brought to my lips, sighed into my thoughts, the inner pictures of life that quenched their bodies and swam between oceans dream. This bowl of water mirrors this sky while a pearlized scallop of a cloud reflects by. Take a deep steady inhale quenched in the moment .
This mornings waning moon sailed through starry shimmering winds,
catching breath meeting the rising sun. My hair tendril-ing to the voice of the spring leaves, in a hush deeply filling the between, understanding this beauty surrounding,
earth she hears my voice.
Horizontal halo of eastern midnight clouds, the blouse of sparkling constellations surround this scalloped cream between. For this late evening moon, casts her light behind, defining this scalloped wonder.
Kindred, connect the stars, intuitive the dream drawn,
while planets follow toward moon set.
This mornings Burnt Orange yoke of the sun rose flattened as described.
Seed white moon shimmering into the western horizon, feeling the mirror of last night turned the other way around .

Tonight before the sun twilight, young fresh Cedar Waxwings playing between live oaks filling their instinct, catching dinner in flite. Moon waning from full, always overhead birds fly, so silver grey amidst the occasional blue birds, each mask so outlined in pewter cloud cream, with head crest unfolding to the backlit setting sun, following their flit to the wisteria, spiraling this heart into space.
Early morning rain – light infilling senses dream – wind in thought caught quenched – wakened earthly pulse, other earth swallowed moist light with her table of souls, for she quietly remembers and combines senses into fruition an alchemy with light.
Circles in cirle the spiraling sol system, earth we know turns by counting the Big Dipper walk around Pole Star, the trees with emerging green say from the fallen winter branches, build the nest of spring colours.
“Cool glass of water please!” That which you drank today, filled the carved crystal goblets of the Pharaohs, and quenched the thirst of Jaguars, lapped from the bowl of jungle foliage.
” May I have a glass of water, With Ice Please. ”

Awaits a reflective sanctuary in Venus

That star waits,floating upon a vespertine wash of sky.
Some call to her after the sun goes below the horizon.
Sometimes a memory of a loon that floats upon an evening lake,
somewhere in a child’s memory call to me.
This star awaits, a venus chiseled from dreams,
yet remains bright as a beacon passed on through generations.
This star, this orb which captures forever, light washes ashore
becoming brighter as the veil of day is pulled back in a slow motion wave.
For I know she awaits the fullness of tonight’s Moon.
Waiting to tide her with this earth, insert a lucid dream the sleep that makes us human.
This star awaits, making my soul send a plea.
This star makes me sense the pull of earthly memories and wish an escape,
a place where the windows of paradise are seen in the eyes of another,
another whom calls the moon up just by riding earth.
Sometimes a memory of a Loon,
some times a though of a cloud,
sometimes a braided brush paints an empty thought
like a white canvass upon a vespertine evening.

~ When the night bird sings ~

Wishing you a restful sleep full of dreams
walking on this beach looking to our side
here watching colourful birds fly to the top of the golden pyramids while we count moons reflecting, upon the tides sweep to the shore.

Another earth around our red disk, when sets a night full of stars then awakens reflections that ripple ashore
for we know our walk along this shore
the song of awakening this hush of nightfall.

And the I, between of being human.

Wishing you a restful dream as night closes her golden breath
connecting the points we have arranged
stars casting patterns, this anima of being
we know tonight why the night bird sings.

10 – 7 – 14