Categories
Poetry

Sensible

Shall I be sensible

a moment?

Oh, dying to live,

dear dreary day.

Let you find me

twisted beautifully

among the berry vines.

Let you be the one

to be sensible.

Categories
Poetry

Feathers

She fled her body, to where the poets fly.

Her heart lived in that place,

an angel by night light.

There were feathers on the wind of day,

and music, like a lovers kiss, drifting.

Oh, how she loved, there.

Oh, how she loved.

And how she missed that beautiful whisper

when down to earth

she fell.

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Categories
Poetry

The Orchard

As I sit quietly, alone,

with the birds as my friends,

I watch the orchard

sway with the breeze

and I ask myself:

Is it the orchard, alone, I see?

Or has the orchard become

the miraculous creation

of the wind?

Categories
Poetry

The Wind

The wind, I think,

is peace.

The breath of the earth.

The song of the trees.

And we will bathe in her softness,

today,

and every day.

The wind, I think,

rolls all days into one.

May she catch us

and show us

the truth in her song.

Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Flowers

The flowers opened with the rooster’s crow and closed as the sun went down. Everyone called them weeds, and that’s what they were if you were someone other than me.

Whatever their name, they woke and fell asleep with the sun, like us, and that was just so beautiful to me.

I’ve lived in several houses where this sort of ‘weed’ rose upon the front lawn like a problem to be dealt with, and though the grass was neater upon their official doom…it was never quite the same. Never as alive. Never as lovely, such is the vibrance of dynamic life.

And so it was that I loved that lawn much more when the weeds were alive.

Because Shakespeare was right.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

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Day One. Thank you for stopping by. ❤️
Categories
Life

Elf

I just watched Lord of the rings, again;

I’m certain I’ve missed my calling as an Elf.

Twirling leaves, swaying, falling.

Flowing gowns, floating on air.

Softness.

Romance.

Light and trees.

I’m certain I’ve missed my calling as an Elf.

Oh well.

There’s always next time.

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Categories
Poetry

Sweet Aching Quiet

Sweet aching quiet.

Soft night, curled up beside me.

I know you.

I know your fragile whispers, well.

Categories
Poetry

The Wish

It would be okay,

I believe,

If you were to make a wish

and put it in your pocket.

It would be okay,

especially so,

if the wish was sweet.

For a wish made carefully

is often much sweeter

if forgotten

(in a pocket)

and found

somewhere along the drifting line

of life.

Somewhere lovely,

of course.

Somewhere really quite lovely,

I would think.

Categories
Poetry

How Lovely

How lovely.

The wind of peace.

Here.

Now.

My

how lovely.

Categories
Poetry

Lovely

Good morning, sun.

And river.

Flowers and trees.

Happy day to you, wind,

and the bird song you sweep over mountains.

(Good morning, birds, and mountains, too.)

I will let you be, this day of life.

I will let you all be as you will,

and I will call you

lovely.