Thursday, July 3, 2014

Spinning, flying, dreaming

Spin through the air

feet flying

a doll in the wind

checkered vortex and stars await me

as I run into the shadows

Inky places

Rushing at me

as the pebble rolls

spinning sidewalk

Zooming cars

Zip everything up and put it in my pocket.

I reach out to grasp

the dragonflies tail

it is hovering

if I could grasp it

it would fly me past the slow motion movie

upon a screen

reclining against the boulder

a man

sipping languidly

from a bottle of dew

watching the water

roll past his feet.

My Soul

If I could
I would write my spirit out into the world,
past these corporal bonds,
the shadows of self doubt.
I would be upheld,
a phantom,
peering out of the golden hued clouds,
gliding this way and that
with the wave of my arm.

My company would be
rocky outcroppings of mountain peaks and valleys;
luscious greenery and fine yellow wild flowers.
My hair, spread behind me as golden beams of light.


A purple heart


bruised but not broken

Royalty cloaked

as a begger


Stare, if you must

blind eyes cannot see

past the darkness of ignorance.

An Old Poem of Longing

The hour has passed

but what of those left behind?

Crimson tears fall

as hope drains away.

Ask not the Robin

why her egg did not hatch

ask not amiss.

Ink spreads over pages

an empty book which cannot be filled

No, not for all the writing,

though ink drips from my pen.

Hold in your arms the soft sighs and joys

when the dawn breaks

my aching arms will be soothed

by a tender head.