We ride the shimmer, stardust spun/
Between the birth of dying suns/
A groove of galaxies unwinds/
The pulse of silence, vast, sublime/
Nebulae breathe, in violet streams/
We waltz on waves of astral dreams/
Comet tails curl, a cosmic tune/
Our shadows cast by fractured moons/
Through veils of gas and drifting light,
We pass from day into the night/
Where gravity’s embrace is loose
We dance, unanchored, star-induced/
Electric hearts, in sync, align
With every ancient, pulsing sign/
We cross the nebula, become
A groove eternal, endless drum/
And when the universe exhales
Its secrets, stardust, cosmic tales/
We’ll still be moving, you and I,
Across the nebula-lit sky/
knows the moon
is on the other side
Night doesn't offer
a flashlight,
or a map
God is on your side,
my soft-footed love
I am a lost pilgrim
hunting blind
amidst blackberry bushes
that don't want me there
One sure foot before
the other
across an ink-hearted night
Mighty small one:
that I had your direction
that I shared
your intrepid focus
Great dreams settle
in small ponds
I hope that God is smiling
"OUR LIFE PATH SONG"??
(written by Michelle L. LeBlanc
April 26 & May 4, 2026)
Life goes on and on and on
Just as sings the beautiful song
Communicating on different planes
Soul connection forever strong
Meanwhile, amidst it all
Between your world and mine
We are finding ways to exchange our love
Beyond the rules of time
I don't need to wait till I cross over
We're learning the codes here and now
Exchanging our heart messages
And all I can say is wow!
I've seen it slowly coming
At first, subtle, seeming so small
Others guessing coincidence
But you and I know above it all!
Matters not what others think
That's part of my soul's path
Learning to let go of the anxious mind
Opens me up to the spiritual math
As we look at the horizon together
We know it won't be very long
Our connection to strengthen even more
Learning the melody of our Life Path song!
I love you so much Jayden! ??????????
____
Written in Memory of my Sonshine:
Jayden Donald LeBlanc
July 14, 2006-Sept 4, 2022
Every door has a line
you cross without thinking
the one between outside
and in.
Most days you don't feel it.
Some days it is everything.
That line holds more than weight:
it holds the will to move,
the choosing to go through
when going through costs something.
Not just the body
that walks on good days
but the one that stops,
breathes,
then walks anyway.
The one that rolls.
The one that takes the long way
because the short way
wasn't built for it.
You carry yourself across.
Not the version
with the right papers,
the right words,
the right way of moving
the real version:
warm,
already enough,
asking no permission
at the line.
The crossing costs nothing
except the willingness
to move.
And on the other side
is the same sky,
a little lighter now,
and you, arrived,
carrying what you carried,
which was always
everything.
We live in what a world
that
whorls
and whirligigs with giant feet
upon
its
waters splashing along as if
its
coastland
His hem not even
wet
like flying fish Peter’s hands
flip and
flop
into the palms of Christ
who
sets
His disciple back in the boat
mercy’s
in
Christ’s eyes His Father smiles
shines
the Holy Spirit
Angels applaud all the glory
as
for
earthlings there’s a story
Why have you reversed your spins,
unfolded moon,
dancing widdershins
across the bridge of noon?
Circle, circle, line and line
make up a quarter:
cross them, cross them now to shine
from this day's starter.
Sliding high against the night
twists the snake's song.
Again, again the crossing light
returns to where we belong.
------------------------------------------------
When crossing the road
or walking the sands
come rain or shine
we'd hold hands
less a habit more by design
I'd gently enfold yours in mine
and while sitting on the sofa
always held you tight
wrapped my arms around you
as we kissed goodnight
then dancing to the music
you were the Belle of the ball
it looks to me we seem to be
in a holding pattern after all
I had no need of a lollipop man
in my younger days
as before crossing the road
I knew to look both ways
right left then right again
and if the coast was clear
I'd see myself safely across
without a hint of fear
but if traffic was at a standstill
thinking 'Here goes, pell-mell'
without blinking do a double-take
and then run like hell
Linking each highway
Are secret curves, seeking signs
Stop, yield, star crossing
We’re at my son’s house for the weekend.
The doorbell rings - who could it be?
The son of the previous owners,
In the neighborhood, hoping to see
And show off to his wife and her mother
The home he grew up in and missed.
“Could we see the backyard” he inquired.
“Please come in,” said my son. “I insist.”
So we showed them around and he noticed
All the changes, plus things still the same,
While we chatted and somehow they mentioned
Where they currently live, which became
Such a strange bit of chance to discover
That the place they reside’s half a mile
From the home where my son spent his childhood
And where we live (and have all this while).
Unexpected events sometimes happen
And although this is up for debate,
When a circumstance comes up like this one,
I believe it’s connected to fate.
Weathering all in its fold,
Awaiting her to bare her soul,
Velvet waves calling her near,
Ethereal sunshine paints her clear.
She, determined will cross the frontier.
The ocean
Gave a gift to me
A coin for passage
Across the sea
To pay the ferryman
Should I need to cross
To light the lanterns
So I won't
Get lost
Sense isn't as common as it once once was
is it because
the more we use our smart phone
the dumber we become
and dance to the same algorithm
(and blues)
each and every one
whereas before we used the brain
now others do our thinking faster than blinking
and if things go awry we have them to blame
whereas before we did all the talking
now we're content
to let our fingers do the walking
before crossing the road
I didn't need to be told,
'Look both ways'
when not so very old
as a matter of fact,
is there an app for that?
Crossing the London Bridge by trike,
I observed a head upon a pike.
So, I politely doffed my cap
and returned home to take my nap.
Consider the man in the street if you will
what's he doing there standing stock-still
maybe like the chicken he's crossing the road
and half-way over with nothing better to do
only slowed to admire the view
perhaps he's pushing his luck
for remaining stationary no doubt about it
he'll be hit by a van car lorry or truck
let's hope it's not so as hearing them coming
the man in the street beats a hasty retreat
making hay he hits the ground running
and his narrow escape's a clean getaway
to dawdle or dilly-dally down all his days
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