Tucked in the lake’s far corner
Amongst the mud and driftwood
From shattered boats
The most beautiful flowerings
You could possibly imagine
But who could’ve thought
That such wondrous flora
Could have barcodes?
More at https://medium.com/@ha_coverley.
I like to feel the sunshine
And the grass beneath my feet.
I like to see the wily weeds
Peeking up through the concrete.
Some things we just cannot contain:
The wind, the truth, the sky—
Animals we can never tame
No matter how we try.
The world is such a mystery
By which I am beguiled.
So I sing of liberation—
I sing of all things wild!
More at https://about.me/dklawitter.
You were a king,
I was a peasant,
Our universe was built around us.
People revered you,
And people ignored me,
It was natural for me to be drawn to you.
One day,
You looked at me,
With the deepest care,
Our universe crumbled.
The images blurred,
The knights revolted,
The princesses envied me,
You embraced me into your world.
You ignored your role,
The world categorized us,
Within months, I felt like I belonged.
Then the cloud dissipated,
I fell to my death,
and landed on a plain,
full of yellow flowers,
and brown horses.
He came near me,
and I jumped on his back.
No saddle,
No bridle.
I rode out,
Into a new universe.
A beautiful land,
with no horsemen,
No princesses,
No kings
and
No peasants.
Sipping silently, sacchariferous tea
Made from the sap of foreign trees,
borne in the far flung mountains of Peru,
I hear the wind chimes chant in the distance-
The steam arises from the calescent cup of tea,
That sits quietly on the table stand waiting
And waiting, ever so patiently to quench my thirst,
Oh how the taste is enriching and warming to my soul!
I bring the cup to my lips and I am elated,
By the rich igneous mixture of tea, and
Mystical herbs that take to me to the hidden
Distant land of my soul’s longing.
Come and join me, o friend, in this beloved
Ritual of tea–I am waiting.
Rapturous orchestral maneuvers
performed by bees and butterflies.
One to each symphonic chair,
they sit upon these colorful structures,
measuring each refrain
with the beating of wings.
I lie at the edge,
enchanted by this euphoric ensemble
that plays out the course of life
while perched upon nature’s own
soft seats.
“And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
Act 3, Scene 2, Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
stalking the sun
moonshadow
overtakes a blaze
a brilliant crescent of the furnace sun
penumbra of celestial movements
as the shadow spreads
like a silent bell
like the eyes of a wolf closing slowly
in the summer dusk
stealthy in the daylight sky
moonbreath
respiration
like lifting of the deep green leaves
grown fat with summer
breath as silent as a hungry cat
moving slowly on
the flaming prey
moonfrost
the curtain cool with darkness
spreads its shade
sending thoughts of sleep
into the darkening air
to the obliging beasts
who sleep when cool dark
comes
moonsong
we stand below
we listen
through the hush of glasses
shadows humming
whispering like silent snow
music soft behind our shaded eyes
moonfire
as the moon arrives
the solar rim ignites a
crown, corona
dogged moon scrapes
its ragged rim
conflagration
blazing beads of fire
and thoughts of diamond rings
and then
totality
The sky is full of omens.
The clouds form faces
And shadows dapple the stunted grass.
Like a legion of rowdy Romans
A phalanx of thunder passes
Over the mountains & into the basin.
Drench us in this weather.
Give us a rain to remember.
For we are scorched beyond endurance.
Our desperation shall be your splendor.
On the far sea horizon,
a mirage of light ships,
a trick of my eye,
for only I can see them.
No human mariners
can be on board
such luminous craft,
such unearthly vessels.
High on a mast, beams a lamp,
winks, sends a crystal signal.
Five colours I count,
sapphire, red, green,
violet, blue.
Advanced aeroplanes,
silent, otherworldly
helicopters,
for a few moments,
in a wider expanse,
circle above them,
vanish with seagull cries.
Suddenly, sand
feels hard beneath my feet,
my body numb, empty,
my eyes clean, certain.
Vision of light ships
swept away
by natural cloud,
distraction of waves,
seaweed tangle
on the shore.
Finest hour to honor her.
The clock is silent under Evening’s hand.
Her voice will soon sing out
over insistent crickets.
They cannot keep
her crackle of footstep
through dying leaves
to steal the first pumpkin.
Happiness is quiet too.
We are waiting for her.
More at https://christineemmert.wordpress.com.
