Category Archives: Nature

Nature.

A bird is still
A bird though
Her wing be broken.
She will not suddenly
Become a serpent
Because she cannot fly.
The gentle nature within
Will not corrupt
Though it be driven
Into hiding spaces
In places only shades
Dare to go.
Though she may pretend
To be content with
Skipping about on
Feet never meant for
Walking, she will soon
Return to her high
Spaces when given time;
For all do mend and
Heal and return to their
Nature true in God’s
Due time.
A bird is still
A bird though she may
Not sing – whether t’is
From injury or grief for
Her beloved sky.
She’ll dream of singing
Songs anew, soon as
Strength returns
And she takes flight.
One who’s made of
Love and light
Will always return
True to form – despite
All false belief
And cloudy sight;
We are but vessels
Toting stardust
Through the night.

Harvest.

I’ll not tell you
Not to clip your wings,
For I’ve done the same
For the love it might bring.
I’ll not tell you
Not to muffle your song,
For I’ve done the same
Thinking it was for love all along.
I’ll not tell you
Not to hide your light,
For I’ve done the same,
Thinking it would brighten love’s flame.
I’ll not tell you
Not to silence your voice,
For I’ve done the same,
Thinking love’s best choice.
I’ll not tell you
Not to give your whole heart,
For I’ve done the same
Thinking love’s playing its part.
I’ll not tell you
Your love is a crime,
For I’d choose the same
For love I’d take any punishment –
I’d do the time.
I’ll not tell you,
Not to bend, crawl, or stoop;
For I’ve done the same
Thinking love would deliver, true.
Love as you choose,
Like the breath in your chest,
Holding it inside
Becomes as toxic as not inhaling at all.
Allow it to flow in and out,
As natural as a breeze,
Attempt not to control
Lest it die to be free.
But when the love you offer dies
As fruit on the vine,
Do not blame the wild tree
For another’s crime.
Uproot and seek fertile
And rich earth to replant,
And watch as new love flowers
And all that was spent
Is returned in full.
See how in due season
Richly harvested fruit
Pressed into wine of the divine
In the fullness of time.

Depths.

Shadow
Automatons dance
On gently stirred
Air
Like motes of
Mother’s dust
Eternally agitated
By the motion of
Movement –
A rollick of
Memories born
To flesh
And the forgotten
Yesterdays
Which whisper their
Foreboding tale
On vibrational staircase
Winding ever upward
To lofty tomorrows.
She pirouettes in place,
Her thick-tufted
Pajamas clinging to
Thighs whose
Regresses and egresses
Have become more
Shapely with children
And baring the weight of
Many men
Who would give her
Their burdens to
Carry
Like water vessels
On her back,
In her heart and mind,
On her soul.
The stars and crescent moons
Bend and bunch
In places which
Attract and distract the light
And in symphony with
Grace
Do there create
Winding roads
And lonely paths
Many have wandered
After the lights of
Day have retreated behind
Expectant moons.
What use have
You of me?
She asks the shadows
As they swirl about
Her and she gathers
Them like fish
Caught in the net of
Her flaxen hair.
What use have I
Of your echoed
Lament?
She does not hide
The abyss of her
Seas
But only those
Who venture into
The bed of placid
Deep
May find that
Treasure which she
Keeps.
There is no binding
Nor secret map,
She offers her stores
With open access
But few should wish
To see
That which could be
Inwardly plundered.
Attempt to narrate her
Movements,
Guess at her motives,
Create your own story
Which explains her
Free spiritedness –
From your high vantage
Only mirrored reflection
Return shadow-
Prancers to mind.
You’ll need to dive
Deep
Unencumbered
By false pretense
Or expectancy –
Plunge depths previously
Uncharted
And see the secret
Gardens she keeps.
Those who would
Delve unbidden
Into forbidden troves
Will find themselves
Puzzled – perplexed,
For the
The laws which govern
All others
Applied here
Leave visitors quite
Vexed.
Not upside-down
Nor inside-out
Nor distorted reality –
No, that which paints
Ancient walls here
Depicts strange
Curiosities indecipherable
And indescribable by
Those whose frequencies
Keep to low-tides.

Silver SHADOW.

Ancient
Formless
Flowing
Placid
Fluid
Timeless
Feminine
Wise
Divine
Connected
Source
Abiding
Translucent
Directed
Steady
Peaceful
In the recess of
Consciousness
Behind thought which
Steers the thinker
She is me
She is mother
She is the universe
She is god.
Faceless nameless
Soul-self
Beyond what time
Measures
In lines
And hexes
And spirals
The space
Between
The breath
And the breathed
The exhale
Which births
Life
The nothing
Which gives definition
To all
She is neither
And in her neitherness
Others
Are sown
The void
Which divides
Masses
Unto
Masses
Her voice is
The rumbling of
Earthquakes
Hum of
Silence
Ringing
Piercing
Pulse beating
Like the tide
Rustling of fingers
Through wild
Manes
The voices
Of billions
Murmur
In prayer
She is the spine
Of life
Connecting
Heaven to earth
You may see
Her faceless face
When the mask slides
Or the windows
Forget to hide
And when wholly
Surrendered to
Christ is
Alive.

Foreigner.

Writhing vines
And crunchy leaves
And twisted
Snarly snares
Bare witness to
Her treasonous
Trespass,
While
All the while
A surly
Landskeeper slumbers
In his shed,
His head
Drowned in absinthe
And anise dreamscapes
Divine.
Maiden fair
Untended,
Intended,
Betrothed to the
Snapdragons
And dandelions,
A blanket of
Pollen
Her dowry,
Into crickety
Rickety
Canoe
Climbs.
She gathers her
Skirts
Of baby’s breath
And fastens a veil
Of honeysuckle,
And pushes
Off into
The wintry winding
Bubbling
Babbling
Brook.
In Ophelia’s
Repose she
Exhales a lilac
Breeze.
Hawthorne’s
Child
No longer,
That ambrosia
Formulary
Forgot to unbind
And found itself
Apoptosetic;
The inner clock –
Dickery-dock –
Does chime.
Time’s hands
Turn back
Like windmills
Unfettering
Millstones
Long tied,
They slip-
Drop splishy-
Splash-splosh
Like unhitched
Anchors
Into the depths
Left behind.
Gentle current
Carry this maid
Steady forward
As the winding
River widens
And bends
Round tangerine
Clouds stretched through
Indigo skies.
Those yester-shores
Now are foreign
And old tongues
Twisted to
Dialects new,
And slumbering
Landskeepeers
Forgotten,
And multi-chromatic
Schematics lose
Their hue.

Heaven.

There is a green
Plane of life
And a young god
Digging in
Rich earth.
There’s a
Maturing goddess
Still very fond
Of her own infancy
Watching,
Gently swaying
To the rythm
Of the breeze
Trough guardian
Trees who stand
Watchful and true.
There’s a rainbow
Wall of swirly-whirly
Magnetic tide
Which carries
What’s wanted
Swift and succinct.
The occasional
Winged warrior
Flits from verdant
Watchtowers,
Encircling this
Heavenly haven
Carried on
A stream of
Grace.
There’s a fiery
Father
Sending warm wisps
Of love from
His high-throned place
And round and
Nurturing mother
Receives his
Delicate embrace.
Eyes which
See the lens –
Eyes which pierce
The veil –
Eyes which
Frequencies dissemble –
Study the playful
Exchange.
There’s a private
View of heaven
Which opens into
The expanse,
And all who
Venture inward
Enter and wish
Ever to stay.