~ In a Pool of Memory ~

Have you ever collected the surface of water into your palms ? Held cupped while droplets fall strobing inside sunlight streaming though this canopy of trees.
Light and shadow, your thirst filled reflection rippling.
Were centuries held in this liquid memory bringing this moment?
Was this Sun caught inside the bowl of your hands with the glint from each water droplet sounding to earth.
Was it curiosity that landed upon Mars finding an ancient stream bed holding stones smoothed?
Or the deep reflection inside your round coffee cup waking the jaguar inside your obsidian reflection of your emerald eyes being lifted to your lips.
May be as another dream your mind cupped ,
lapping beside the shore as another anima of memory .
Gazing into the future ten thousand years ago .
Watching giant clouds move across the surface of a larger pool,
herds of creamy colours migration slowly setting a stillness of pace.
She quenches her thirst surrounded in reflection,
a canopy of nature as thoughts long ago, never spoken .
She purrs contentment filling deeply a memory,
a glimmer opens upon a ripple ,
of a familiar beasts reflection inside an obsidian bowl.
Dreaming inside a canopy strange.

~ 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

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. ”

Midsummer Night

 

Opaline evening, under an infinite sigh. Selene goddess spills her spell, flowing serene dusting of luminescence. when under her still heart, this body lifts, pulled by her wish, then surrenders beside her silence. Murmur silent, murmurs beckoning this midsummer nights dream.

A memory bleeds an invisible colour, a ribbon yards long, changing like chameleon scales a memory of hues. These fingers laced in another’s fingers, hands hold a slender pole clearly carved, stream of ribbon tied upon the tip held together. We are waving this vast stream ribboning night, creates a strumming, mellow like lips held together, a ripple of a deep whistle.

Then return under an infinite sigh of nocturnal moon, spills her spell, such a serene opaline lucent space between. it is the nocturnal hawk that weaves this night,a crespucular murmur strums unseen, inviting pouring full this spell. A colourful ribbon woven through moonlight.
For when under her glowing disk, this body pulled skyward. Moon goddess becoming, full murmur silent, murmur whispering this midsummer nights dream. For tomorrow will be longer in daylight waiting for evening, surrendering below an opaline moon.

6 – 21 – 2013.                                       image

 

 

 

 

 

Shall we abandon Myths

 
What will the morning be like, when daylight infuses away night. Here under countless stars, some a certain colour like rubies, others glow as stencils of amber, always a disk of silver stars that create some memory that ancients connected, each point into a hero or heroine found scribed upon a flattened surface.

Shall we abandon myths and legends and redraw the stars. Before daylight infuses this night away, dare we raise our minds with each heartbeat gazing into what always will be. You feel this earth moving, is it the stars washing tides through this far away mind.
What will night tides bring into one that settles into a restful dream. Your held with reflection upon this still lake of being. Light even paints in this darkness kaleidoscopic turnings. Sweet upon the nakedness of soul .

 

6 – 2 – 2013