How still….

Winter Field

Willow boned and hollow breasted,
I wander into the winter light
drifting on careful wings
lifted by uncertain urges
to sky and cloud.
How often will these days drift
into loneliness,
bearing little artifice of reality
and none of the grace requested.

How still the breath when flying.

How still the heart when praying.

Is this the apocryphal tale
of water into wine
or the great flood
in which our souls will wash away
down the mighty stream
of some great river
washed to the shore with copper pennies
to pay the ferryman’s toll.

How still the breath when praying.

How still the heart when dying.

She waits, willow boned and heart still beating,
wandering into morning light
from the deep nights dreams.
The sound of wings urge her flight
to clouds and heavens door,
bearing little of her waking reality
and all of the grace requested.

How still the breath…

How still the heart…

Re-vision

Feb morning sky

I cultivate clouds
raking them just so
into rows of wings
and birdsong

I cultivate clouds
raking them just so
into rows of birds
and wing song (revised)

I cultivate clouds
raking them just so
into rows of wings
and wind song (revised)

I cultivate wings
raking them just so
into rows of clouds
and wind song (revised)

I cultivate winds
raking them just so
into rows of birds
and cloud song (revised)

Small Stones 18/2015

First spring bath after a long winter!

morning wakes
to robin song
and the rumble of earthworms
in the thawing ground

January thaw 2

We have had glorious weather the past couple of days – warm and sunny after so many that were cold and gray.

Now I know that we have a long way to go before we see the last of winters many charms (!) but we revel in the warmth and do chores that had been left to wait until weekends just like this.

So spring will come and with this little respite, we are ready, come what may!

Spinning Yarns

paisley

With each silken thread,
she pulls through and over
each tiny knot
tied just so.
Round about,
woven and plaited,
casting on
sharp pointed
needles to make
the perfect point.
She spins a yarn
entangling and intertwining her tales,
each with rich color
and resplendent texture
until the final
tapestry glows
with enchantment.

The January Thaw – Ten Word Poems

jan morning 2015

dawn
her cheeks blushing
as the sky reflects her beauty

stretching
old oaks mutter
dreaming april dreams
warm winters day

scent of damp, leaf mold
and earthworms-
the january thaw

from the gray morning cove
mists rise
on heron wings

with warm wings and song
clouds of small sparrows
rise

shivering
the bare boned willows
fill their branches
with sparrows

pale moon
slips into the light
of the morning sky