Nostalgia (haiku)

Sundays with Grandpa

Happy forest family

Reptiles lurk below.

 

Lumbering giants

friends who come to save the day

Moments remembered.

 

Black and white world then

life filled with easier times

captivated awe.

Went kayaking the other day and saw a gator a few feet away churning in the water, and now images of the old Tarzan “movie for a Sunday afternoon” days keep bubbling up in my mind. Nostalgia at its best.

Finding light

Angel numbers come to seek
good news finds as we wait with open minds,
dreams find themselves on the cusp
fruition of life unfolding
as we sit still in eagerness
anticipation a word spilling through.
Distances to travel
as our eyes close on quiet nights
weaving our way through foreign lands
spellbound by what we find before us,
to leap from heights knowing
the net awaits just in case,
silently we thrust our joys outward
caught in the feeling of happy moments,
we live through each other in dreams
that we too may take the steps
on the path of the miracle
that is our lives.

Dusted off

We shake it off, the cobwebs and dust of dreams

silently rolling in their hushed selves beneath afternoon naps

the prints of a thousand bunnies lingering,

bits and pieces and hairs brought to order

natures cast off voodoo dolls run rampant

dwelling in the corner-space of the post

where I left my mind momentarily

like an old piece of chewing gum.

I had forgotten where it was that I had left it

as I moved away the brick-a-brack to find

the goals that were sifted away unknowingly by time.

I feel the grittiness beneath these worn and calloused bare toes

tripping through the dark in the heart of midnight,

and while standing below the clouds beyond the door

I heard the voice gently chide

knowing it is indeed the time to move forward

and attach the message to the letter sent

to the universe.

Shake it off, these dust bunnies of thought

with the purple feather sweep away

and dive into the depths of fear to know

the path has been found once more,

and as the sage who came by post to find me,

she had spoken to my heart and I heard the sound

of laughter on the wind,

come child lets begin

and in picking up the pen,

dipped in the ink of a thousand thoughts

the page blank before beckons me,

the time is now

and there is NO turning back.

Upon receipt of an amazing piece of work from my beautiful friend Tre, her latest book has found me now all charged up and ready to set that goal of publishing my own first book. What a gift, for a friend to inspire unknowingly and in shaking off the dust after my afternoon nap, tripping on dust bunnies and finding a laugh, the time IS now. Not later, not soon, but now 🙂  A book review will be coming soon for A New Kind of Down: The Breath & Bones of a Writer by Tremaine Loadholt.

 

 

Unburied

We unearth our treasures unknowingly,
lost bones gathered on silent sand
washed ashore like mermaid souls,
quietly wandering in ghostly apparitions.
We gather together
bits and pieces of a dying life,
what once moved with the undulating sea
now tossed aside like yesterdays trash.
Picked by clever hands
stowing away into the gaping empty bag,
fossils of a thousand years away
yesterday cleaned and tucked into jars
kept in the sun and cherished.
We unbury mementos as we walk along
not searching for the particular
just these gifts from the sea offered
waiting for the eye to catch
to silently wonder in awe
just what it is that is finally found.
What once was so strong,
carried on the back and found so deep
majestic creatures that still inspire
yet dwindling in numbers we cast our eyes outward
searching for sight or sound,
for we know they will sing
though we may never hear the song,
we know the beat of the waves
from cradle to the grave,
we become one with this history
unburied and gifted
and loved.

A photo of my finds at the beach yesterday, a whale vertebra, a shell with a peaceful little heart broken through it, and what I think is some sort of dead coral, rather stiff yet pliable….thought it was a fish carcass at first. Just thought I’d share my finds, have yet to wash off the sharks teeth, another small bag in itself. The whale vertebra is the size of my palm. Very cool finds 🙂

Living layers

Lost in the deepest corners of the darkest sleep

hours pass living out scenes with strangers

and eyes that dig deep with knowing

into the soul as we watch the moment

like a television show first seen in color,

with wonder we breathe in the clouded air,

as if a long-lost spirit you’ve once known

watching you intently with a hint of smile,

as you recognize somewhere below

in that layer that you knew existed,

yet had never entered-

the calm moves over smoothing the storm

as the heart beats in time

with the dream realm story before you.

In dreams do we see

hints of those passed on into the energy of now,

connections of spirit that call to us,

we wake refreshed and smiling

for even in knowing the experiences not real

yet always remembered with a certain fondness for their being.

Do we gather lessons we’ve learned

while visiting these corners of the mind,

are the faces unfamiliar yet known

perhaps sent for reasons beyond our minds perception?

Deep eyes looked into mine and I had the sense

they were sent with a message

and as the weight of days were lifted and carried,

I felt like I could fly into the gathering clouds

knowing that movement was now needed

to join the underlying layer

to become one with the deepest self,

to be

to breathe upon waking

into a realm of peace.

Thoughts on a dream I had last night, a stranger whose eyes seemed so very familiar, kind and light and in conversation I left, walking away feeling as if the weight I had carried had been lifted away and that in allowing, I had become free. I like dreams like that ❤

Swaying mantle of silence

We move in and out,

mere breath like wind through open windows

sill waiting to catch a bit of the morning light

while birds of a thousand feathers scatter

as the cat treads stealthily through the grass.

There is always that sense nearby,

the underlying lurking of things unsaid

and moods cast aside with unintentional force,

we become specters of self as feet move

tired in the damp and musty air.

Where has the cool wind gone that I recall,

night of dreams of eagerness through fear

as the words are lost in the shuffle of paper

and we suddenly see we are drowning in our quest,

taking charge before a hundred waiting faces

we close our eyes and slip away to the shadows

wondering where the ideas had come from and gone.

The lighthouse waits to show the way,

penned by a soul I know not well

and I will know her words for I am drawn

into the waves of passing days

and a continent away foreign and unknown,

I will come to know across this space and time

through yellowed pages of a dime-store book

left behind gently used

eager I will learn

what it is, this ghost of form

that called me to hear the wind of yesterday.

Strange dreams came calling last night and today by chance happened into a thrift store and bought a dirt cheap copy of Virginia Woolf’s “To the lighthouse” to read at my leisure. I have not every read any Woolf so looking forward to what I may find within the pages.

 

Roads of the mind

Dust covered roads wait
Patience the virtue for natures soul
steps blown clean after storms
cleaned slate watching the horizon
on these roads of the mind.
Peace calls on restless winds
carrying me back to school days
dreamless times spent knowing
there was always something more,
voices keep company in the midnight hour
as pens scratch across blank slates
spiral books filled and forgotten
as the words fell unheard, unseen.
Grasses grow beside lonely paths
and I never could make up my mind
to Frosts nature and pondering poems,
for my head resided amongst the stars above,
where no path stood
just wide open spaces of galaxies
and planets unknown to all
but the soul that remembers
below the conscious surface,
energy flows
always following
the road home to the heart.

From here

We smooth the surface, filling in spaces

holes dug searching for answers,

outwit the worms for they will never feed

on this soul

for ash will blow on the wind and settle

back into part of the whole

as we stand and feel the energy rise

giving guidance and peace to the mind.

We are the dirt where unknown bones are buried

burrow through like the creatures residing

deep in the unknown,

snakes sleep in gaps where light never finds

and we too are connected

in our fears and our movement through

like curving waves undulating parting the grasses

we bask in the sun where we find it,

wondering how we had forgotten to remember

these moments of a solitary silence,

and words will rise like fog

burning off in the morning light

becoming like the dew that lies on mounds

burial grounds for yesterday,

damp and a ready feast

for the birds that sink their faces below earth

searching for sustenance,

moving to where it is that perhaps they hear

come here to this place below the towering tree

and find the gifts given,

crawling insects and worms to fuel

for another day of life.

Monday meandering thoughts on dirt (don’t ask me why, it just kept surfacing like a small hill) and life. Peace and blessings and a happy day to one and all ❤

Like dust of dreams

I awoke in the home of a new world

bodies of fractured dust blown on endless winds,

storm clouds gather to wash me away

cleansing the soul of eternity.

Built on memories through time

yesterday speaks with a thousand tongues,

who we are

what we’ve become

just another piece in the spectrum of it all.

We climb to skies that seek us out

higher in thoughts we float on calm,

dappled skies in black and white

photographs and still life trapped on film,

turn page after page as day is through.

Where we’ve been we sometimes see

in the mind of dreams we chance to know

the truth of lives through a million years

caught in a raindrop falling down

reflecting our here and now

we know

it’s just a small piece

of the whole.