our cells are
one with water air
flower tree
For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. Hard not to think of Monet.
One of the beauties of his water lily paintings is how they draw you in, to a space that is timeless and endless. Like we belong there.
watercolor
on memory’s wind
ghosts of lilacs
shimmer with butterflies
ambrosial
For Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #139 fragrant breeze.
the way out is also the way in
a journey far from home
outside of existence
filled with voices
containing only silence
outside of existence
the mirror turns away
containing only silence
the echoes of opening
the mirror turns away
reflected in portals
the echoes of opening
where time remains lost
reflected in portals
held in absentia
all time remains lost
until the stars sing
held in absentia
amid the unexplained
until the stars sing
souls crossing over
amid the unexplained
filled with voices
souls crossing over
a journey returning home
Another pantoum. Ammol at dVerse asks us to consider portals.
Overtures
Would you be crowned with jewels
or a garland of blooms?
a silence eternal or fleeting?
Would you seek a throne
or a resting place between?
a looking out or within?
perhaps a bed of meadow,
a ceiling of stars–
the earth beneath you—
Would you always be as you are?
or would you have your seasons,
knowing that change contains
both sweetness and sting—
that life gathers
in anticipation of emptying—
that everything constructs
the form that contains
its end?
More questions, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
Also linking to dVerse OLN, hosted by Mish.
interchange
Some thoughts from the Oracle about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above. The photo looked familiar so I searched through my archives and found my previous response. The painting I did was quite different, but the words seem eerily applicable to my present relationship to the world–“this false night, this held breath”. Am I who I was before?
am I who I was
before
the ocean remembered me?–
only a fool’s voice
sailing blue—
I listen for the words
of cloud magic
to open this asking path
into the dancing skies of always
Cloistered
alone
with each
breath, my heart
punctuating
the silence–
ordinary, this life
except
for what
is not there
Bjorn at dVerse asked us to consider solitude.
overflowing
tangled in waters
the sun rising and then
a pause
the center of forgotten
all of us singing
tangled in waters
dreams cascading
between the layers
the sun rising and then
waiting in the deep
the morning that follows
a pause
A cascade poem for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
