Awash in beauty

Life moves forward, twisted bumps and turns exhaust

the feelings of uncertainty- here we gather in single formation,

buds on the line weathering storms created,

as indecision inspires the muse of words, spinning out of control she bleeds on parchment and weeps for the skies.

In the middle of nowhere the song rises, reaching ears in prisons without walls, flying high to gather safe,

One bird, two bird, ten come forth to mock as life unfolds,

Minutes, seconds, ticking by in their haphazard way-and I watch before drifting into afternoon slumber, the flowers unfurl from rest,

Uninhibited by the goings-on of us mere mortals who cower, afraid for the invisible madness that may or may not strike, perhaps it is we that now gaze in jealousy of a young cardinal on the line who sings a song,

Flying high and away, things we can only dream of in this hour.

I am watching the unfolding of creation and have found a sacred peace as witness to that which I had forgotten.

I spy greatness in the Orchids, and thus, I am alive to the forgotten calling of allowing.

Quicksilver moon

Words slip…
sliding down paper tongues,
nestled amongst forgotten tomes
of history remembered
in dusty attics.

Sharp tongue slays the beast
of a procrastination hour
left lingering beneath the quicksilver moon,
waiting for the crystal cleanse,
the heart hastens to grasp
the birth of an image.

Who we become when no one sees
the hands moving through the story’s rise and fall,
splayed like paint across barren walls,
we write our future in the clouds
that descends over the light
of luna’s delicious irony,
here and gone,
the void deep and wide.

Hasten the mind to bring forth,
in reason and madness the spirit toys
with the lopsided circumstance the creation rising,
becoming one of itself-
a silly song sings of a child’s logic,
and nimble fingers draw the way
down the page of a new story born.

Simplicity

Essence of a thought
drifting through in a dream,
words falling down like water
on the edge of a deeper sleep.
Slipping away in the ether
of cloud-like images born
in memory banks now opened
and blooming in the blink of an eye.
We remember the fragments,
the smallest petal of beauty
the shades of moods
in day-to-day dealings,
words of simplicity slip through
and ground the mind in
a quiet peace.
Where is it now,
those things remembered
having rolled off of the tip of the tongue
in the dark hours of calm
I can’t recall the name
of that moment
as I had then,
saddest things of magnificence
once alive
now a ghost of the shadow self.