Hug

by ltestonMay 27, 2018May 28, 2018

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.

liturgy

by ltestonDecember 3, 2017December 3, 2017

Each awakening comes with that moment we rise to a new day.

As the imaginings of night fade with each breath of morning sun, the liturgy of our daily sabbath begins and our soul celebrates.

Strandings…

by ltestonApril 26, 2017April 26, 2017

There 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

Nothing really.

by ltestonFebruary 4, 2017February 5, 2017

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.

Looking Out

by ltestonNovember 27, 2016November 27, 2016

Looking 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

by ltestonAugust 21, 2016August 21, 2016

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

by ltestonJuly 30, 2016

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Each awakening comes with that moment we rise to a new day.

As the imaginings of night fade with each breath of morning sun, the liturgy of our daily sabbath begins and our soul celebrates.

Share this:

Like this:

There 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

Share this:

Like this:

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.

Share this:

Like this:

Looking 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

Share this:

Like this:

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

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Like this:

A 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.

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