We are but ghosts of our unknown selves

mysteriously drifting with timeless stealth

apparitions of our former lives

caged, entwined throughout our life

we slip the bonds of tired thought

and move to places we’ve often sought

while floating on high we find our course

and disappear into nothing voids of the source.

We give away the best of worlds

within imagining endless source

till the cup is empty

the well runs dry

it is only then we begin to try

to find our way back on the road of us

we take each step on this endless path

and gaining ground we sometimes fail

in lessons learned we still prevail.

The spirit strength rebuilds the shell

where a magic lived that we had heard them tell

and we close our eyes and see anew

a beautiful moment of truth shine through

and so close to source we begin to feel

each birth, each death

each good and bad

and in between the thoughts we’d had

we finally stand and take our place

whilst gowned in our redeeming grace.

Blue room-(endless thought)

My mind drifts to the ocean shores as I sit within four walls of blue. Waterfall waits for need, as it sits forlornly on the floor, waiting, endlessly waiting to be heard. Eucalyptus mason jars give scent to those who enter and the outer light plays like a dappled steed rushing through the creases of the blinds, coming and going like waves dependent on the cloud herd high above. A tired dog naps in the corner of the sandy colored couch, pillows pushed aside as she sleep dream chases the endless quarry, muttering in her dog sensible way, perhaps as she quiets she has won the chase, perhaps she is merely waiting for the next chase to begin. Her ocean, unlike mine, is concrete, and she puts out a paw in consent to meander around in arms, cooling her hot body, perhaps she dreams of this-champion diving swimming machine, which she will never quite be, but I will not crush her hopes of the dog olympics that surely must take up some space within the confines of her dreams.

I sit at the corner of this blue room, the desk of dark brown and the chair that supports my frame as I type, and dream, and wonder what should be done today. A day like most, waiting, like the waterfall waits, wanting to go somewhere, but no sure where and yet content to sit here in this blue room whiling away the time in endless thought. I watch cars move by occasionally, off to somewhere in a hurry, and it will be another hot one today and later the blue skies will give way to the threat of storms. Thunder will be heard and the winds will blow a shade cooler than hot and we will leave the comfort and wetness of the pool to move indoors to a safer climate. We will watch and we will wait, and the thunder will move closer and grey will turn to black and like the flip of the switch, turn quite blue again as the storm moves off without a trace of ever having been here. A storm without having a storm,  and we will venture out to watch the skies as the sun moves close to the horizon, painting the clouds with a sheen of velvet pinks and oranges. I will gaze into the beauty, holding it close to my heart like a blessing and smile. But for now I sit here, watching a tired dog sleep and as she stretches out a bit to get comfortable again I know that it’s just another beautiful day, I don’t need to be by the ocean to hear its song as I feel the peace wash over me like a summer day.

Rain on cedar

The scent of rain on cedar

removes the self and moves the memory backwards.

Days of dark houses and cages of big eyed beasts

that carry the innocent look until teeth sunk in to tender skin

and the damp wet smell of tree bark pieces

perpetual job of scraping cages and cleaning glass.

I remember how we caught a praying mantis

and on a lark decided upon a battle of the big eyed beast

and the stick-like green alien.

Headless the stick moved after battle

just like the babies that were devoured

because the beast deemed necessity

to rid itself of itself.

Rain on cedar now sparks light

pleasant thought of peace

leaving the darkness of glass walls behind

and the foul stench of soaked chips for pets

that upon realizing escape could be had,

ran loose through the night

before a tired demise

at the hands of an unlikely sump pump

becoming the watery grave.

I drift in adult days and blurry haze of yesterday’s

and leave it behind beneath mulch on the path

walking forward from there,

from childish thoughts and nightmares

I reach dreams on the fly

staring at the falling drops

from the grey clouded sky.

Thoughts today for some reason kept revolving around rain on cedar and like my mind has a mind to travel on its silly paths, kept heading back to hamster cages of my youth, of darker days I like to leave behind, but perhaps to let it into the light here, I can move along on my merry way to better images and topics. Thanks for letting me vent out some not so nice things here my friends….but I most felt bad for the poor praying mantis…I didn’t know they were endangered, even in the 70’s…Peace and kinder thoughts, K