The Hat is fit by heads, a tool of weighty stuff
Mighty high and mystical
power placed upon.
It is not stuck forever there but easily retired
Thoughts expand the wearing soul
The Hat is lifted off.
The Hat
All the hate
not so hidden
rising to the skin
exposed to time and life
open air propagates
and the cycle spins
until the fire within
destroys
what once was
only a lonely soul
lost in search of love
surveillance
thumbprints press hard
on the outer part to shape shift being
into a failed construct
facade
hiding a soul looking for the light behind
to dispel shadows and such
searching for life beyond the creep of forced ideals
into everlasting peace
65
More years behind than ahead
Tomorrow with no lasting definitions or weight
Just a wall of trees guiding the way home
kissed by too many suns.
A touch of grace
to have and to hold
this day beginning to end….
Jane
I am a Jane
proud to be and let life be
or not
no shame in that
no apologies made
life embraced in breath not forced
an inward strength and super power
within my heart and head
only I know ..
Jane
Morning Moons
Lighting the path beyond,
the moon leans toward a fate larger than death,
the eastern sun bullied by looming clouds of day.
Life speaks daily in the rise and fall–
hope wrapped in even the darkest morn.
Hunting Season
It’s that time of life when gentle and innocence fall
the eyes of the deer go dark
while the heart of sporting egos reign.
We all feel broken a bit
and generations suffer generations.
As foot prints in the snow crush the buds beneath
we all stay hungry for peace.
Maternal
Not thinking much about god these days,
trapped in stone and stained glass.
Though everywhere I look
tangible, take your breath away visions
most often
strong, nurturing and wise
like a Mom.
Branching
Tangled Twisted.
Winding Wombs.
Birthed beyond edges and endings.
Carried cradled warm with hope.
Veiled
What happens next is all unseen.
A new day, new year all veiled
Each breath treasuring the dark and unknown
whispering hope without light.
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