Goodness

Lost in the grace of soft white

petals soft like butter fill the hand

heavenly scent of delight

a gift of one from the mystery.

Gardenia bloom hidden behind

glimpse of white brought forward to see

like a shy child awkward in her beauty

unsure in a wash of green.

First borne of the new addition

her siblings wait until their time

beneath a spring sun they will come forth

and share their gift to eyes and a scent

to carry on soft winds on balmy nights

slipping in quietly through the window to find

the dream swept souls beyond the wall.

This is our mystery gardenia….not sure why they call it a mystery but it did give one bloom yesterday that smells so heavenly. I couldn’t help but to share. We planted it beneath the bedroom window so as it grows taller, it will find us in our sleep, kissing us perhaps with sweetest scented dreams. There are other buds so more or on the way, a happy thing indeed.

Peace floating

Thoughts lay in tiny bubbles

color of worlds imagined deep within

meditate the way into the dreams

set free the dark in the silence of a fast beating heart.

Latent ideas waiting to be tapped

with a gentle push they fly higher

catching the wind and disappearing into the thinness,

she softly whispers her wish into the night.

Hours pass in a solitude

not quite confined yet trapped momentarily by images

yesterday and the fast paced beat of the fear

to consume or expel into the light

there is only one way to go.

She wears the scars of a thousand battles

invisible to the eye of those who peer within

the balm of time is the salve to heal

and the holes will close

leaving only a faint remnant behind,

of a day in the life better left forgotten

like dust motes scattered

and soundless they blow

into the eternity of space and energy,

watching the specks disappear

and tucking away the memory

of release.

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.

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

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.

Painting life

Blending the colors just so

creating the perfect shade to suit the soul

adding a little of this

a little of that,

testing to ensure proper hue.

Like life  if applied too heavily

easily thinned out a bit as the hand moves,

delicate curves to add shade and dimension

a little dilution to achieve the effect desired.

To be content in knowing we can go back

correct the mistake gently

easing the lines into a quiet blend

like a sentence spoken through silence,

the perfect specimen found through diligence,

patience and harmony in each stroke

I see this creation like life in its own way,

always changing

like mood that can be softened with the right touch,

as the water moves the mark across the cotton

I see what I feel

was a calm and quiet peace.

Day number two of my watercolor class and I found time disappearing as I lost myself in practicing the techniques taught, creating the perfect shade I wanted and leaving with my mind lost in a quiet place, pondering the sun upon me as I drove away and just enjoying the moment and happy for the lesson. Peace and blessings, K

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.

Work in color

He opens his box of shapes and sizes
No surprises
colors fleeing on windswept clouds
astounded he stares
for each time he opens his box of things
he feels the joy it brings.
He pries back the board so tenderly
afraid for the day
they don’t come out to play
but they know him well,
his favorite shades that bring a light to each day,
playing their role
they soar like birds on ocean breezes
above him, his box releases
without further adeiu
for me and you.
He has to create
these pastel whimsied worlds
for it is his nature
and he knows no other way,
a magician of life he gives away
a piece of himself each day
from the bottomless well he says feels often dry
so his tears he cries
never knowing that each drop that falls
fills that magic box he carries,
he openly shares
for in beauty and love he knows will grow
as the color moves outward
touching each soul
his work in color is never done,
each day has just begun
and the supply paints the world
glistening drops of beauty
filling voids where broken ugliness hides
keeping him alive.

Delicate

Our lives-

pickup stick games

from youth to death

sliding out so carefully

each thought from beneath the balance,

never knowing if one jolt,

one movement affects the next thought

and so on

as we pull each one with carefulness and agility,

observing what is to come next

and then beyond

weighing our choices

as we look from each angle

making our decision

so thoughtfully.

How did they become this jumble,

for this is how the game is played

they are not Lincoln logs waiting to be built,

a pile of shapes and varying sizes,

these slim fragments of color are all the same

as we are all the same

we try in earnest fashion to win each game,

sometimes succeeding

sometimes moving and tipping the scales

this way or the other,

yet we keep going as if there is no other way.

Until the last stick is picked up

we pay close attention to each detail,

if we do this, what may happen?

Not until the game is over,

do we finally realize it was simply a game after all,

it became more fun when we took the risk

and chanced failure to do so,

there was always a do over until there wasn’t.

But if each stick were a person in our lives,

and we kept adding instead of removing

oh what a beautiful shrine we could build,

higher and higher into the sky

we would win every time,

everyone would have a chance or say

and we could live in balance

and harmony

until the end of our days.