Not just frayed but edges pressed
pulled away with time
in pieces laid open.
Broken bloodlines crushed
still reaching for daylight
heart in hand
in love-seasoned life.
Photography courtesy of Guldman “TheGolden Hour” wordpress.com
searching
Strandings…
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
Prayer
startled 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
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.
Resist
Bone chilled cold
feeling the force of the day mid winter
I apologize to those tall and green
standing alone with promises of spring
I don’t know their grain within
holding promises that warm
resisting the frozen cover of ice and snow.
Looking Out
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
On a limb
I really depend on problems. They engage my intellect. Energy flows best in me while in the “problem solving” mode.
But it’s killing me.
I spend hours intellectually solving the emotional crisis created in make-believe power struggles to right a wrong. I tune in preferentially to the oppression of wrong thinking, ready to push back. My eyes notice first the thing “wrong” with the picture.
I was educated to do this. My skills honed to fix the broken.
I have the mind of science, dissection as discovery.
Did I mention it’s killing me?
I use the quest for perfection as motivation to create. I think and talk and type until my voice is heard.
I yell louder – and over power.
I think deeper – and over intellectualize.
I focus harder- and over work.
It is killing me.
Can I just hang there? Can I hold a view on the edge that accepts the death of needing to solve the moment? Can I then live within the fall of mind to heart?
Can I live in the pain of brokenness, of autumn’s peace and beauty and know season’s change is not my call to arms?
Can I just die a bit in the strain of change without the torture of failure?
Image courtesy of Brenda-meditative journey with saldage.
