Cresting 

The resilience of wisdom rising,
carries us through the moments
as we sink deeper into the blue
we are suddenly caught up in the swell
buoying up and over
the crest of understanding
and the dawning awareness
of that which we already knew
deeper within
hidden in the depths
swallowed by the whale
of fear.
We rise in the light
magnified by the glaring sun
salvation saves while swimming in the belief
swirling round like the whirlpool
we lay on the surface above
watching the glistening drops turn
to the rainbows of hope
we lose ourself in the calm of peace
floating on the cascading thoughts
we move to the rhythm
of ever changing tides.

Beyond the seas

Blue skies quietly linger

in the light of a dying sun,

nestled in for the evening

we are swept away on tranquil seas.

Shades and hues of life

linger in the mind sweet memories

captured within for future dreams

washing away the cares of the day.

We watch the masterpieces of the touch

of a universe that gives to all

as our love moves deeper as days pass

rippled on tides of coming Spring,

we slip into dreams wondering

what each tomorrow brings

yet sit content in the now

and the gift of a watercolor image

tucked into the keep

of the heart.

My dreams lie within and beyond the sea,

changing day by day

I dive in a little deeper,

letting it all carry me away

knowing the horizon

is still just a heartbeat in time,

there beyond my gaze and found

by my lingering touch on the water,

I drift on.

Within these spaces

We linger within these spaces

captured in a reflection of beauty

gentle reminders for a deep breathing calm

miracles of time move us from darkness

into the spaces where light finds us waiting.

I had forgotten these things

as the cloud of sadness filled the thoughts with fear

I dove in like a parched soul so weary

hanging onto that which cannot be held,

until I stopped and became one

the color of a sunburst on a stem,

siesta blooms gracing the garden

by a loving mans hands.

I stepped out of the depths that tried to submerge me

eager for the hands that were always patiently waiting

to offer a healing thought,

a loving prayer for the beings I so love.

I need to be in this space more

allowing my hands to move with the flow of the words

pent-up too long needlessly,

not for fear but for the hurt and ache that leveled my mind,

I see the clouds moving in that will bring a welcome rain

and the blooms that are and those that will be

hold their faces up for the nourishment

that only a kind world can give,

and I shall be grateful and humble at the little things

never taking for granted the little or big moments

for they all shine.

I will overcome this moment and it shall pass

leaving me satiated and content

in the grace of gifts.

I have been absent for a little while, scared senseless for our little dog Chi and I thank you all so kindly for your words and prayers. She sits watching me write, and it feels so very good to be a little more at peace. The flower is a Siesta hibiscus that hubby picked out yesterday and planted outside of our bedroom wall, along with a mystery gardenia (2 actually), some spiky pretty pointy palmy things and alongside the pool, another gardenia and some Ixora plants that have dainty little flowers on them. The jasmine is beginning to bloom and I am breathing in and out, enjoying the moments and just letting things work in the way that they have to. Here is another pic of the siesta beauty. Stay warm and safe if you’re up North/East and thank you again for being the beautiful people of my world. Kim

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Rolled

I remember the scent of hay

growing in fields below a setting sun,

waiting

for that moment when ready,

ripe,

ripped,

cut,

severed and laying beneath the sun

drying out,

curling into a remnant of self.

Words pass through days

reaching in deep

pulling out the moisture

the life blood

the force that gave life

and with a last gasp

rolled into mounds

to serve purpose

in new ways under a winter sun,

brittle and cold

yet ready.

Rough and edged with pieces of yesterday

cut down from the beauty of the growth

fodder for life

still of use

sustenance for the hooved beast,

food for the circle

the chain that moves round,

I should be happy to be

when so many lands lay barren.

For I am a part of all,

it is I

and I am stacked and in circles

waiting for the next move.

With the flow

 

We ripple our thoughts on purpose,

watching them move up and down

coming together for but a moment

then watch as they slip away once more.

We wonder where they move to,

what lies in their depths we can no longer see,

feeling them brush by, leaving just a hint

of their former selves

then dissipating into nothing.

I dream in colors some days

as the rain falls beyond the glass

slippery pearls dripping down one by one

and I lie and watch the slow motion of the fan

circulating on its journey

moving the invisible air around

cooling my body with its quiet touch.

So many things to do,

a million words slipping here and there,

sometimes falling onto stone

permanent marker time cannot erase,

for I leave them behind

like stepping-stones for those to come

to wonder whose hand it was

that etched the primitive images

and what did they mean

back in the day

before their time began.

Barest thought

In the quiet of a morning caught

the spellbinding sight of a rising sun

caught whispering to the soul

caressing the mind with thoughts of a day to come.

Eyes find their way through dream states,

memories of lingering images like wallpaper

strung up on the walls to see

moving through the museum of surreal things

we touch the fabric of that which we cannot name.

Resting on the tip of tongue

we hesitate perhaps a moment too long,

and watching as it fades from sight

the mirage ghost-like and cherished

then silently let go.

Who are we in these moments,

caught between wake and sleep

in Neverland worlds of beauty we wander

thoughts tracing words on invisible pads

and indigo ink mark our passage

lest we forget where we had been

on our return to those foreign lands,

as the clouded gate creaks with age

we gentle push forward and enter

the place where thoughts sit waiting

remembered once more.

 

Somewhere between here and nowhere

I made it as far as Topeka before my cash ran out. Jumping off the bus in the darkness of this place wasn’t my idea of a life lived free but for now it would do. I glanced at the map beneath a street light, tattered and greasy from use, suddenly feeling like Columbus on a flat world, the crease and drop off a bit farther from where I currently stood.

I found a bench in front of a window with one of those cheap closed signs hanging off kilter, no hours posted but the place was dark. The smell of grease seemed to ooze from somewhere within the dingy windows and assaulted my nostrils in the night cooled air. A breeze picked up, the sound of metal coming towards me as a crunched can tumbled down the street. I sat my bag down and stood up to retrieve the can, my good girl sense of not littering never far. Lifting it with two fingers, stale beer dripped onto the still warm pavement,  I lifted the lid to a nearby trash can to throw the offending article away. In the light I could see the white rice on the lid moving slowly, realizing they were maggots and were everywhere, unhinging my gag reflex as I slipped the can into the darkness of the plastic tub, the smell of death and decay slammed me full value in the nose and I felt my granola bar I had eaten on the bus, rise to the surface of my throat. “Good God, what the hell is in there?” I retched next to the can and as I stood up, saw a hand laying next to the beer can I had tossed in. I leaned over and threw up anything else that had been left in my stomach, wiping my face with my arm, reached for my cell phone. I dialed as my hand shook and finally took a breath when a pleasant voice greeted my ears. “Topeka emergency services, what can I help you with today” and as I looked back to the trash can, frantically trying to compose my thoughts, a shadow moved from the side of the diner and it was then I found my lost voice and screamed.

To be continued…….

When we were small

Through jungles of thick dense mirages

we quietly slip through the darkness seeking

the light of a thousand daydreams

we know lay beyond the realm of youth.

When we were small we longed for age,

to be like those we saw around us like tall trees

and beautiful willowy women who entered rooms

and silence greeted their demure smiles,

jewels dripping from arms and necks

as the music played and the dances began

we watched from behind potted plants

meager in our pajama clad selves,

uninvited to the ball.

We pretended in front of mirrors,

decorating faces with left-over hand me downs

crumbling blue shadows and dried tubes and pots-

and broken glittering necklaces with missing pearls,

we bowed and curtsied and spun with joy

yet somewhere inside we knew it was just play

the tattered gowns and the laughter we endured

on playground fields from the older girls,

we stood with our faces outstretched to the sun,

yearning to be seen

in the overgrown garden of this make believe.

When we were young we longed for more

and as we became the trees so tall

we looked with love at those still small,

remembering the good

and casting out the sad,

now we long for those softer times of quiet,

the moments of innocence before the dark clouds

of want and need and anger became

a fabric of our lives we had not asked for,

we long for that peace

of yesterday once more.

I saw this image and this is what came to mind, no fears my friends, I’m in a good place, sitting in the shade of a beautiful Florida winter? day, listening to the world move in its own special way and just being.

Shades of gray

Paper mache thoughts
staircase of memory moving in skies of the mind,
he cuts out the stars they say
building his universe piece by piece,
and hanging the brightest
slightly shrouded in mystery
behind a veil of emotion.
Water winds its way through to find
his toes cautiously testing to find
hot or cold
as he leaves the ripples behind
he watches them undulate into
the common answering wave,
as they slip together along the seam
becoming one they move
in and out from source.
He paints to live
in this world of pain,
wracked by unanswered questions,
he knows where his sail is moving
as he coasts along in the playground of mind,
cutting shapes
he puts them together like his worries on a shelf,
one at a time he stares at them all,
knowing it feels like never enough-
he looks for the guiding star he had lost
to find it resting quietly waiting
where he had always left it,
tucked into the heart.

Yellow

I needed to be yellow,

caught in the place between sun and flowers

where the butterflies flit lightly

and care is just a word whispered on air.

I needed to be saffron,

scented addition of things beyond reach,

gathered together like something beautiful

filling the air with want and hunger.

I needed to be the point

where all things meet like sharp petals

reaching into the sky for nourishment,

soaking in the warmth of a new day.

I was dancing in fields of time

nothing meant anything

just the here and now and the reaching,

the endless stretch towards the sky

where I longed to fly like the yellow bird

that returns after the harsh ice of winter abates

and the feeder waiting like a gift

to abate the hunger built

by the endless search

for fulfillment in the movement

from there to here,

returning once more to land

where I began.

Image-Fields of Innocence -Sargam Griffin