One of the benefits to being an early riser…
is I am blessed to hear and see the interplay
between the night as she clocks out
and cedes the mountains to the day.
There is a lonely owl who, if I’m early enough,
from her spot hidden in the trees
sings a lovely nightly swan song and sets it on the breeze.
She sings in a beautiful soprano…
clear, peaceful and bright…
as she anticipates the day…
with one final nocturne to the night
I think of it as the concluding song of an opera
and how, once her final song is through,
the birds who wake up with the day
begin their musical revue.
Perhaps she’s singing a wake-up song
A gentle musical number
into the ears of the morning birds
awakening them from their slumber.
And perhaps their singing in the morning
once their music fills the sky…
which to me seems like a symphony
to the owl …s a lullaby.
At any rate is it a wonderful way
for each new day to begin…
watching and listening to the nigh clock out
while the day is clocking in.
Detecting a red hue on earth’s outer edge,
we cannot deny heart anticipates dawn,
which although seems promised, we yet take no pledge
in predicting how and when we’ll be reborn.
When bliss magnetism rises day after day,
why would we pretend to look the other way,
more so when now we do clearly understand,
that it is God Who lovingly holds our hand?
IN THE EYE OF THE STORM -:-
serenity
momentarily
tunnelling
torrential
pandemonium
in a BUBBLE OF ORBITS PEACE
annihilation
awaits
aerials
temporary
silently
AMIDST TURMOIL
whirlpooling
blue
enchantment
tempest
anticipates
EXPECTANT THRESHOLDS
suddenly
conscious
of
perceived
patterned
memorials
beginning
to
crystallised
in
strange
experiences
reflecting
the
uncertain
mixed
tense
activity
indicates
transparent
unearthly
anticipates
awareness
immediately
surrounding
shadows
creeping
pictorial
spheres
veiled
unmoving
dissonant
transitory
fragments
Frozen Blossom
Cold lips, sun-kissed.
Rose-crimson comes to life,
unfolding bliss,
opening aperture -
hear the rapture.
The tint of snow, bright-red.
Frozen sunset
in ev-e-ry petal.
She shivers, with delight,
anticipates
animated brushstrokes
fondling velvet.
Revival, early Spring -
sings angel wings,
tinged with silver detox.
As she breathes out,
she warms inner stamen,
awakening
potent place in Eden.
Frozen blossom,
fragile in dormant state -
latent shatter,
but she is beautiful,
and capable
of weathering the snow.
A blushing bride
with wedding veil, of white,
in April’s hold.
Espoused daren’t let her
out of his sight.
skipping, twirling, dancing,
whirling twisting turning bonfire
popping, burning, smashing,
leaving ashes, flames going higher
there is a sizzle and a whizzle to the whirling of her dance
she is a spinning, swaying, dipping, whirlwind
her super power is playing and swaying
a quintessential kind of faerie prance
her reds and oranges, splashing up into the forest air
crackling with eagerness, showing that she doth care
into the night she dissipates
forest watching, anticipates
She is showing her anger,
her rage, her honesty lovely and pure
explosive and, dangerous, she is me and I am her.
Earthly
Your dear your love
Remember your smell
Wanna call you know but cannot
Lingering in your past
My life is without you like a empty box of wood
Where are those wet hairs of yours on my sunken face
Like the fleeting moments your memories do not go away
Whereas your embrace is , only I anticipates
Human life is sublime creation of Him
Every birth has certain intent.
Preaching or praying
Can’t get you the unsurpassed Moksha
Indeed, He never anticipates them
Identify the chore and accomplish it.
Obstacles may hamper your attention
Continue the journey without stopping by woods
Action and result are like water and a lotus leaf
Water can never make a lotus leaf wet
Let not your mind get agitated by the outcome
You carry out action ; He manifests result.
If you rejoinder your conscience,
You can steadfast in front of God.
But God questions only those who evade
What is stupendous? Living after dying.
In the golden beacon of time.
In a shroud of darkness, a life will shine.
The rocky path was illuminated with a glow.
To show your beating heart in your soul.
A leaf gently swirls in the wind as it blows.
Surrounding you with kind whispers as it flows.
The sinking twilight red sun embraces your sorrow.
As you wonder in joy if your life ends tomorrow.
Singing crickets with their song enriches the starlit night.
As hope anticipates, tomorrow will be bright.
I woke up with a beautiful, loving face waiting for me.
As my brother Jesus hugged me warmly, setting me free.
Silent October forest
Frisky fey feel jolt of anticipation
Dwarfs, brownies, fireflies and faeries on ready alert
Something is about to happen
One tiny faerie is particularly clairvoyant and perceptive
She stares at a small fern, knowing this is where it will happen.
An inner voice urges her to keep focusing
And so she does…..
Halo of illumination slowly oozes out of the top of the fern.
Tiny star glimmers radiate from this halo.
Faerie begins to get answers to her lifelong questions.
An inner knowing reassures her, faerie godmother is here.
She knows she can return to this spot
Meditate to her heart’s happiness
And get other answers
It is more than enough
Yes, everyone knows of the reindeer that fly
Guiding dear Santa through Christmas Eve sky
What of one who waits
One who anticipates
What of the understudy
No one even knows his name
His heart is always broken
No one really is to blame
He longs to fly with Santa
And he’s ready to compete
Yet he feels underrated
A “Rockette” with two left feet
Yes, he’s the understudy
“Swiffer” is how he is called
Instead of Christmas flying
Dusting is what has him stalled
His name, it has been trademarked
And he’s mighty rich to boot
He’d rather empty pockets
Just to wear a Santa suit
Next time you think of Rudolph
Just remember Swiffer’s name
One day he might be flying
Understudy is his game
she felt her body go limp
her head was down
her hair flowing toward ground zero
but did she wake up?
no. this was not what the gruemeister had in mind
and he was in charge of her
for it was Halloween night
the eve of the Day of the Dead
he was here to enter her dreams
manipulate her feelings
terrorize her in the ways of the old ones
ancient being, dark with rage, was the gruemeister
he reveled in knowing she would feel terror
when he decided to waken her to her predicament
nightmares would follow her for many months
maybe years, and this delighted his evil heart
he heard a baby cry which angered him greatly
if she woke up now, he could no longer anticipate her horror
he went to the crib to shush the baby
Extempored Etiquettes
Elaborated conversations of old
Mildly in motion
of words to express
Synesthetic syncopations
silenced inner egos.
Naived out soul
Anticipates long enough
for a change to show-up
As Clouds faded
and day showed up
Life whispers a note
Of Now
Like the feel of resurrection in the Spring,
or like great bridges over troubled waters
connecting landmasses, Autumn bridges Summer
from the coming cold. She may well bring us the
devastating destruction of hurricanes and wild
wind-driven fires of Fall, but she's only harmonizing
with the ways of nature. Perhaps I'm partial to Autumn,
being born one September morn, but I'm also overwhelmed
by the way she turns the color of green into a beautiful gold.
She takes note of what has been and what is coming.
She anticipates a hefty return on her laborious investment.
She creates a calming beauty before Old Man Winter.
She whispers words like 'harvesting' and 'gathering'.
She quietly utters the sounds of 'reaping' and 'storing'.
In a sense, the coming of Autumn is like salt
giving seasoning to the Fall Season.
Composed, he walks towards the podium.
At first to applause, until a hush forms.
His heart beats like a water pump,
sweat drips - eyes fixed at his ensemble.
Audience anticipates,
as he stands at the nexus of musical creations.
With a brief glance - nods and closes his eyes,
baton in hand and a flick of wrist,
an oboe penetrates the silence,
violins trill and bass begin to roar.
His empathy connects with each note,
as his wand moves to the tempo,
conjuring symphonic magic,
softly then dramatically,
as emotions ebb and flow,
like waves weaving solo tones.
Spectators lost in imagination.
Gradually the melody flows faster,
as trumpets and trombones blow.
He feels a sharp pain in his chest,
as his pores drip like little rivers on his lips,
but he still guides the harmonic mood
with precision and clarity.
As the horns blare and percussions echo,
he loses grip of his baton - falls onto his knees,
clutching his breast - the music stops,
pianist plays her last key - audience gasp
he falls to the ground - curtains close.
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