Can you read without listening to the words?
Can you see without hearing thoughts?
Ignorance protects.
Love opens.
Time to bow to the listening side of our hearts.
Commute
Bags in hand
carried out
up front with doors shut
seated for the daily performance
Invariable anxiety
among the hosted caravan
some more polite than others.
Mirrors shoulder high
from the corners reflecting
the auburn and pink rising
behind and brightly announcing
the commuting of the day.
Photo courtesy of Somber by Sunrise
This place
Hearing something ahead
songs of those with voices only
nothing to touch though reaching deep
Fearing the fall
knowing nothing but the view
of love from inside out
in this place.
Hug
The mountains hug forgotten ones
Souls known in gestures centuries old.
Wonderfully wild and high enough
where clouds can wet their tears and soften edges
All in breathless upward climb in rhythm find
a peaceful soul
and a memory, union sweet.
Then falling down in gasps of fear darker turns and twists
My footing gone
the mountain moves
in outward reach
– embrace.
To know
To know the beat of waves in rhythm
stripping, striking stone to sand
gasping breath and fear together
pushed and pulled in chords of love.
Nothing really.
Empty places are not alone.
They are not so quiet either-
taunting and haunting thoughts
in exploding fragments full of grace
reforming time,
taking nothing really into the soul
and finding there a divine space.
Reconciliation
The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.
The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-
and I pray for reconciliation.
Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt
1st position
Cicadas fading hum meets the cool morning breeze
with a call and response litany among the usual flight of birds
except geese in formation against the wind directly pointed
while the lutheran’s sanctioned bell begs their ordered migration.
It is Sunday.
It is the day the trees dance in 1st position to know Sabbath’s touch.
photography via Stephenltyler.
Eternal Life
Maybe it’s just restlessness
in the perpetual grind of a broken spirit.
Maybe it’s fearfulness
in the gasp of life without meaning.
Maybe it’s loneliness
in want of being home where I can be we.
It’s definitely unstable
with steps not leading to a lone path.
It’s definitely noisy
with doubts out-crying a rhythm in dissonant tunes.
It’s definitely me
in a space holding it all
in a matrix of twisted becoming
in quest for a soul – everliving.
photography courtesy of Pat Cegan
Captured
I am so captured in telling of tales, foreign reflections reframing reveal
fears clouding my sun blocking my view
mind wondering, narrating a hurt or failed feud.
The sound of my steps meter the beat, linked to the pace of breath and repeat
Then fear unto death strikes from the south
eyes widened with terror, scales fallen off.
Captured no more, my heart in a beat
gasps with a cry and swallows a scream
free to regret, confess and relive
knowing the now was
lost once again.
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