Categories
Poetry

We Are The Poets

We are the poets.

The ones who listen to the bones of the earth.

The ones who feel the wind,

who know the wind,

who are the wind.

The bridge to the aching quiet.

We build it

and we travel its winding path,

searching for more than what we see,

the poets.

We are the poets.

We are the song of aching life.

Categories
Poetry

It Seems Simple

It seems simple.

To live

as I am

always.

It seems simple.

To live.

Categories
Poetry

Unlimited

I feel the way I feel

because I feel the way I feel.

Because I am soft

and gentle,

because I am wild as the rain

and free as the sky.

But I am not free,

not really,

not in this world.

And that is surely

a tragic day

for the aspect of me

who knows she is unlimited.

Categories
Poetry

I Became The Sky

I could have stared at the sky for hours.

It was glowing.

Grey and orange; still against the crashing sea.

But it wasn’t the vision of the sunset that moved me.

It was the feel of it

within me.

So calm, I became the sky.

Peaceful.

Still.

And quietly waiting

for nothing at all.

Categories
Poetry

The Sound Of Night

My body is alive

with the sound of night.

How I hunger for this bliss.

How the melody of a simple tune

makes love to my senses,

and I am whole

like the wind,

like the sun,

like love.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Sleep

Each moment is new and beautiful in my eyes.

This heart has been touched

by the wind of change

enough to know that everything begins

but nothing ends.

Not really.

Not really.

And so I sleep in the arms of the one I love,

knowing I am safe,

knowing I am home.

Knowing nothing has ended

or broken.

Knowing that everything goes on

and on

and on.

Categories
Poetry

Now They Are One

Shadow dancer on the wall.

Darling of light and form.

A body.

A wall.

Each but a fragment of life

until they find each other.

Now they are one, yes.

Now they are one.

Categories
Poetry

Today

I have found myself, today.

Once again I am everything I am.

I am the passionate stroke of theatre,

and the softest touch of poetry.

My colours are pastel:

peach and mauve,

whimsical tendrils

and earthy wooden grain.

I am woman,

and I am the ocean.

I am life

and I am love.

This day.

Authentically beautiful.

I shall sip on it and call it home.

Categories
Poetry

Still I Dream

With these soft eyes,

I turn to the angry mob

and I speak.

I tell them to leave me be.

I tell them I want no part

in the way they raise their swords

and bring each other down.

I ask them to spare me their daggers.

They will not understand my requests.

They will see my silver sky and call it grey.

Still, I hope.

Still, I dream of a new day.

Categories
Poetry

The Web

It is beautiful,

I think,

to be a very small thread

on the web of it all.

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com