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

 

Looking Out

img_1174-2.jpgLooking out with weathered views I find there is much seen from places away from where I stand

The other window,  past the trees where the wind blows from the north is something else

     if I close my eyes and listen closely – I shiver and know.

I am blind though to the color of the eastern view from my western space

Looking out with simple delight– only with framed views I fear.

Photography via Julieallyn wordpress.com

Daughters Sad Goodbye

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His poverty of love betrayed every effort

and he settled for survival-

afraid even of comfort

a man alone in a mind framed by fear.

His death came as could be expected-

outside, nature fallen.

Along his years-

he was loved without knowing how to love, 

embraced not knowing how to hold, 

home not knowing how to father.

Yet in this moment, in this breath

he is today beloved.

 

photography courtesy of Sarah Vaughn

Birth of day #57

p1000007A year of days learning framed love circling hate

   disease stuck and captured

   with thoughts small and great.

Weeds purple miles traveled on mondays commute

     pressed edges of asphalt

     by wild flowered fruit.

Yet not many linger so driven so straight

    bound to mark souls

    captured and saved.

I wake now to birth from life to my life

    from breath to a death

    grace sun-kissed in now.

1st position

20160607_slt4529-197nikCicadas 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

abandoned

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