Origins

img_0044-e1563626413874.jpgOnly so many heartbeats said a man-

trusting scarcity somehow to direct a life.

But daughters

hold treasured seeds of grandma’s eyes and DNA

inside their wombs not yet full

and they dance.

Winning

silhouette-into-the-sun-DSC_0377.jpgDreams and hopes light the path for tomorrow,

not rushing what can be done to win every now.

Time is never managed

but lived in random synchrony within a moment’s notice. 

Let Light

and Breath

and Love

find my soul ready.

 

photography thanks to Charis Psallo @wordpress

 

Gasp

img_1174.jpg

the wounding is the same

self inflicted in moments perceived through lenses lost in time

birthing shame

eternal scenes rehearsed to protect a shattered soul from love scorned

beholding fear

so taught by mothers and mother’s mothers until each is carried

beyond this

gasping

 

Image courtesy of “Franziska/ Whataboutawaterbottle”

Strandings…

img_5348.jpgThere is no imagination even

to find the journey

with lovers, dance and sacrament.

Evening shadows of vessels block the shore, the portals.

No tides, no swell. No circles of sun and moon.

Just flatland -well calculated, illustrated, dramatized and over spoken.

The daily grind , the inland

of forgotten life and being.

 

 

Image with gratitude via “Capturing The Imagination” WordPress.com

 

Prayer

 

alexander-yakovlev-dance-photography-3.jpgstartled wakened in a scream

threatened breath

strangled dream

yet i lay me down again

a soul to keep

from terror ends

finding morning’s choir of love

hymns of peace

with eyes of God.

photography alexander yakovlev

Catching Light

rhyncholaeliocattleya.jpg

She knew beauty from inside out

flaming life with gentle sparks

When death like cancer found her heart

beauty breathless cried for help.

She died too early for spring’s warmth 

beneath the surface broken, hurt

with hopeful lilies by her side

and dreams of color catching light.

 

-For Janice.

Let’s Dance

th.jpeg

 

They call it a march for  a reason. A military maneuver really. 

I am not inclined to walk in such a way.

But I would like to stand gracefully aware in defiance of a body politic. 

In truth, I prefer to dance.

Moving in rhythm with cycles, life cycles–Unashamed and unharmed. 

I prefer to dance.

Leaping with full turns, legs stronger than his arms.

I prefer to dance.

Stepping high above the platforms built by sad battles. 

I prefer to dance and be captured in full swing by the pulse of divine love.