Wandering

My mind is lost in clouds of bliss

in a land where the silence of emptiness rings on air

and the softness of peace cocoons the soul.

Manic moves come to abrupt endings

and I stand on the edge of the reflections

wondering what it is I now see within.

Lost at times yet still searching,

wandering the mind like a bohemian child,

the lost chord is waiting to be found

and the bells of the winds beckon to follow.

I need to be here in this place

where endless skies kiss the peaceful water

edged by land that left no prints behind,

forging forward to the destiny and faith

breathing in the slivers of dryness

parched lips sing hymns of patience

and set free the song of a time of believing.

I come to ask the clouds for their wisdom,

the drops of harmony and life-giving measure

caught in a cup and sipped slowly,

savored for the life force it gives.

beautiful image found at;  http://vicki73.deviantart.com/art/Endless-Skies-179350061

Angels

Who belongs to the hand that carves the angels

into the cold stone of nothingness

beauty created smooth and serene

touched by the gift of ages.

Eyes that see where nothing sits

etched piece by piece from marble

bringing forth the creation of an angel

never meant to fly free.

Does she sit pondering her moments

as those who pass by reach out to touch

her silent face that cannot cry

for remembrance is her gift,

partake upon passing

to never forget who lay at her feet.

Souls without face and only a name

perhaps a year or day

never why they could not stay

but to gift with the angel for the balance

she rests sadly by,

until years pass and no one recalls

why and who,

she will still continue to touch

and inspire images to signify her being,

the gift of those who loved

once upon a time.

For some reason when I saw this image, the song from Annie Lennox kept playing in my head so thought I would share the words that won’t let me rest until I put them out there. One of my favorite songs from her, Youtube it if you’d like. It is beautiful indeed.

“Dying is easy
It’s living that scares me to death
I could be so content
Hearing the sound of your breath

Cold is the color of crystal the snow light
That falls from the heavenly skies
Catch me and let me dive under
For I want to swim in the pools of your eyes”   Annie Lennox-Cold

Through the day

Eyes forward, moving

the sounds of silence broken

by wayward thoughts and a song

that plays quietly like a hum

I never knew was there.

The sounds of bells in the distance

taking me back to days spent

in tiny shoes and jackets bundled,

the breath visible on the air

but I’m no longer there

or am I.

Parallel universe of yesterday and today

flashes of memory haunt

and I welcome them in as I open the door,

gazing around to see what once was so large,

now so distant and small

but I know these walls and the window view

as I gaze ahead moving forward

to drifting back once more.

I linger in these thoughts like a paper doll,

trying on the different dresses

folding the tab over then off once more,

settling on the princess mode

how lovely is she

and I smile for I know she is me

and the young girl who always sought to become

has finally found the right fit

and tabs in place moves on down the road

and the bells are ringing round her wrist

as she sparkles and shines like fresh snow,

moving through the day she goes

new and whole.

Here

Lost souls moving in circles

I see through the glass so much more beyond,

between words spoken

and I am not lost but found

yet around me they swim searching

for what lies beyond the window.

I sing them the songs I’ve learned when I was so much younger

of life and time and the paths before my feet

that ache from standing for so very long,

yet I can fly if I choose,

but I need to know just a bit

of what it is they know,

what it is that they feel for being there

so much longer than I,

and still I sing

if perhaps it is only in my mind

like reel to reel moving round and round,

soft voices of truth that speak

of lost souls and fish bowls.

I find comfort in the moments

as the night hangs softly above me

and I have no fear,

I feel if anything a quiet

like a humming chord that calls

as eyes feel so very heavy

and the veil seems to fall

and I want the show to go on,

not ready to call it a day

I call it what it is,

another beautiful memory to tuck away

into its soft blanket of a moon shadow

as it lies quilted beneath a blanket of clouds,

I know it watches me

for I feel its touch as if on my shoulder-

reminding me that this ride makes me smile,

that this day ends on another note of amazement

and I am smiling

not that you can see,

but I hope you can feel it from where you are

reading this,

I am the silly orange fish still leaping,

not yet ready to tuck in,

not yet ready to let the song end…

trying to break over to the other side

where the others swim searching

for the way to see beyond,

and I long to just show them,

to engage in the joy

to tell the way to trade in the ghosts,

raise the spirits of heroes

with a warm breeze,

and in the end, if only to say

how I wish you were here.

Blue worlds

We move between places in blue worlds,

ripples on water move through my inner soul

carrying the  feelings of peace through beauty.

Skies meet where the world connects

and we drift on faded memories

music fills the space where silence lays.

We are not separate from these images

for we become a part of all we see

slipping away to glistening shores

we find ourselves always searching for more.

The answers sit on shelves in pages

and we flip each one so eager

like children aware of adventures to come,

and we fall into the dreams of light

frolicking in the waves of mood

diving under for treasure

we hold it close with love.

The thin white line between here and there

ruptured by the rays of the sun

coursing through it finds us waiting

a bounty of blessings come true.

 

“And it’s only what you do
That keeps coming back on you
And it’s only what you say
That can give yourself away

Underground sight and sound
Human symphony
Heard the voice, had no choice
Needed to be free”

Read more: Moody Blues – Blue World Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Hymn

The front row seat

eyes closed under the sun that sweeps

in and out in her finest cloud stole,

the notes play like a symphony

and I am carried away in the peace of the present.

Musical interlude

invisible strings pluck the bars

as the twinkling pitch of sound

drift on the wind to my ears.

I am lost in the hymn of the whisper of breeze

endless in its beauty,

a gift of a piece that marks the moments

as sweet escape into the concerto.

Monday funday

I went to sleep last night after reading way too much about the political parties and I decided as I lay down I would ask for answers in my dreams. Well, I woke up pretty much decided and I must say, besides being sick of political parties, I’ve chosen today to be an anything but politic party. Thinking back to when days were simpler, or at least I think they were, perhaps I was just young and innocent and naive, but I’m going to enjoy my day and not let any bickering, nastiness and just plain aggravation get in my way. This song has been churning in my head and I thought you’d like to take a little listen to inspire your mood in a happier way. Tomorrow I shall vote and be quite happy to see the end of the commercials and strife, even though I know it will just come from different angles than currently being played out. So today is Monday Funday and I challenge you to just smile, dance, write, or whatever it is that brings you joy and carries you away from the drama. Do you know of any other songs that I can replace in my head besides this one? Starting to go a bit daffy….but I am laughing regardless, so that my friends, is a mighty good thing. Peace and love people, to all. Click below link to hear my fun song 🙂

Babe, what would you say?

Black and white photo of fun found on internet…can I go back and be seven again? Please?

 

 

Mixing messages

She drifts into the conscious thought of a remembered dream,

beauty and flowing waters surround

as the images tell of strange futures

and mixing messages between

then and now.

She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolor in the rain
Don’t bother asking for explanations

Music playing in the distance of a memory of a childhood room

turning round the record in the night

as the sun disappears into the panelling

beyond the scope of the window cutout,

damp sets in to the fabric of her life.

She doesn’t give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow ’till your sense of which direction
Completely disappears”

Falling asleep in the corner where the monsters are blind

tucked into the fever as the ball rolls over

seeking her like a hunted deer

quivering and still as she becomes gone from view.

“By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls
There’s a hidden door she leads you to
These days, she says, I feel my life
Just like a river running through…”

Disappearing into nothing

the ghost of form moves into the places

unseen she watches as the men move on

as she slips away like a fallen tear.

“While she looks at you so cooly
And her eyes shine like the moon in the sea
She comes in incense and patchouli
So you take her, to find what’s waiting inside”

She has returned as the heat passes

and the light of the room by the door ajar

reaches to her senses and she can breathe

safe once more in cotton slips

she falls back into the escape of slumber.

“And you’ve thrown away your choice you’ve lost your ticket
So you have to stay on
But the drum-beat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the new-born day
You know sometime you’re bound to leave her
But for now you’re going to stay
In the year of the cat”

Morning comes and the memories of the night

become a distant thought

as she rises to the dawning of the amber sun

she remembers the moon on her journey,

the hidden shadows cast to allow her escape

and she stretches out to touch the softness

of the cat curled at her feet,

smelling the strange perfume upon fur

she inhales the patchouli

content that it was real

somewhere in time she had been moving

yet again.

Words set in quotes- The Year of the Cat from Al Stewart

Dreaming in voices

Lightning in the midnight hour

Accompanied by silence

and I wait on the rain to follow

Yet hear nothing but the sound of your voice.

Whispered hymn like a lullaby 

Changes through the years from teen to now

As I move from shadows into the light

Illuminated song on my lips.

You are everywhere I turn now,

Time not quelling the memory,

But as each moment passes I feel the touch,

The hint of soft laughter

And I fall back into the warmth

Of yesterday once more.

There is no witness here

As I stand in the hour when the world sleeps,

I sway to the rhythm of the wind that stirs

And you are here

Gentle like a petal,

As soft as a dream remembered.

There is no rain yet

And the world turns dark

Lightning passes like a train on its way

And an engine moves past down the highway

The rattle of pipes disappears

And I turn and slip within.

Lyrics to my life #5

“Well, I really don’t mind the rain
And a smile can hide all the pain
But you’re down when you’re ridin’ the train that’s takin’ the long way
And I dream of the things I’ll do”

Rhinestone Cowboy-Glen Campbell

My grandmother owned a diner. Lately I’ve been having glimpses of the moments from when I was younger and the time I spent there. The smell of grease permeating the air and so thick you could cut it with a knife, and the coloring books she kept behind the counter for me were always a bit wrinkled and the crayons even held a sheen of grease. The jukebox in the corner of course always beckoned, and though I wasn’t familiar with a lot of what was one there, she showed me the special place in the back where I could grab a quarter out and play whatever I wanted. I remember playing this song, Mr. Bojangles and of course Happy Birthday over and over again ad nauseam. I think it was a ploy for attention because when I got on those whims to make her angry, she’d give me another bottle of Squirt (sure, give the kid even more sugar and make her sit still), tell me to stop and sit down and get busy coloring. She’s been dead for so many years now, years spent there working her fingers to the bone and “testing” every pot of soup, every casserole and pretty much everything that she created as she wouldn’t serve something that didn’t meet her approval, years of all of it clogging her arteries and slowing her down. I still like hitting a greasy spoon for a cheap breakfast, but somehow, without the jukebox or the bottle of Squirt and coloring books, it just ain’t the same anymore. I couldn’t find an actual photo of her diner, it is a restaurant still after having gone from the Raceway Diner to Donut Land now to the current Pegasus which is more upscale (but still a slight smell of grease in the air though) so this one of Mom’s Diner will have to give you a rough image to set the mood. I think I prefer where the lights and fresh air are shining on me now…..