This Moment
Silence echoes a hum: listening for a whisper in static.
That rests away beyond the mountain path, at waterfalls,
Edge. While moving back and forth, in a loss for a listener.
Muteness then becomes obscure.
On the shore that was silent;
As silence in sounds now echoed, but only felt.
Softly in the atmosphere.
Became more curious while anticipating even the faintest
White noise. In search of a hidden cove.
Dotting between places unusually.
In that moment, imagine, imagine!
If you could?
Simulated realms appear between sounds and air.
Inner motion, it's like kissing someone else, or what remains.
Memories of those soundscapes while embracing a new soundscape.
To this moment, it's quiet.
Drip, drip, drip—
The rain falls,
Dotting the pavement
With an abstract design.
Buckets of water
Pour from the heavens,
Soaking the waiting grass
And quenching the thirsty earth.
Spit, spat, spit, spat—
The clouds offer
One final farewell
Before falling silent once again.
Walk with me holding hands in forest green
Breathing in the jasmine wind
Like blue jay’s song soul sings
Psalm that lift hearts to heaven where love mends
Curing cabin fever mountain a fountain free
Flowing glowing where love and nature blend
Together united so peacefully
Butterflies dotting blue sky
Living fulfilling wildest dreams gleefully
Making memories to treasure for life
Keeping us warm even when cold
On one knee asking to be my wife
For you complete my longing soul
Anywhere you are I want to go
An Epiphany Dawns 2-13-26
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An Epiphany Dawns
I wander in step to the rhythms of wind and chimes,
In the first light of astral darkness,
Slowly shifting in pirouettes through unconnected labyrinths
Of cleareyed dreams
Ascending in flimsy silhouettes from reborn hours
Dotting the flowing hills of my dreamscapes
Where fields of moonbeams bloom
In shades of ivory passion
And clear shadows of gossamer.
Sleepwalking with focused eyes
Through naked validity
Like a butterfly I lightly touch
On moonflowers ephemeral love notes
To drink of their nectar
From a chrysalis born of the nascent
Before the amber fingers of aurora
Spread through barren limbs
In ruffled dawns of new stars
So I may journey into epiphany.
I awoke
Wondering
Why do they pick up the trash so early
Why can’t someone invent a quiet trash barrel
Why is my pulse pounding in my ears
How many angels can sit on the head of a pin
And why would they sit there
How much is too much
How many is too many
Are poets frustrated orators
Denied a stage
Untidy painters
Dotting the page with words
The long extinct Paper Boy
Shouting
EXTRA….EXTRA
READ ALL ABOUT IT
Nature is canvassing…
pollen and rain falling;
polka-dotting earth:-
Each year I make the matzoh balls,
Which come out pretty good.
My husband cooks the chicken soup;
Our roles are understood.
He always wings it when he cooks,
Just uses what’s on hand
And never needs a recipe,
Which I can’t understand.
I follow the directions
When I cook or when I bake
And measure the ingredients
So there is no mistake.
My time-worn recipes are stashed
In cookbooks or in files;
The drips and spatters dotting them
Evoke nostalgic smiles.
Yet always for the matzoh balls
What has the most appeal
Is the recipe that’s on the box
Of any matzoh meal.
That’s up until this year – there was
No recipe at all!
I Googled and saw dozens,
But not one my matzoh ball.
Until I saw a posting
From a woman who, like me,
Asked if anyone could help her
Find that box-back recipe.
Voila! Someone responded
With a picture of the box.
It’s amazing what technology,
From time to time, unlocks.
I made the matzoh balls
And hope they’re good as they appear,
But I copied down the recipe
So I’ll be set next year.
My mind could well from a million alts choose:
Marvel at beauty of that moonless sky,
Re-live that meandering slow boat cruise,
Recall fragrance from her love wafting by,
Re-enjoy bluebell blossoms of late springs,
I could have dwelt at her demurring dimple
Which, seems to show deeper dent when she sings,
And whilst at it, could have delved on her ample
Presence— any of her prime beauty spots,
But worries weighed in, crowding out my joys,
Why, but I kept on dotting needless dots,
Not on the pleasant dream, what it destroys,
Which, made me twist and turn in bed n times,
Dwelling on life’s peripherals, not primes.
__________________________
Sonnet |01.02.13, revised November 2024|
AUTUMN IS SNEEZING,
RELEASING POLLEN AND RAIN...
POLKA-DOTTING EARTH...
The cerulean sky suddenly turned grey.
Cumulonimbus clouds covered the sky.
The gentle wind turned into a noisy roar.
In the sweeping wind, the trees arched and bent.
At every gust, the dead leaves began to fall.
The blazing sun got veiled by dark clouds.
The day turned dusky as if the sun was about to set.
Lightning, like clashing spears cut through the sky.
Thunder was heard roaring in the distance.
Suddenly raindrops began falling in tandem.
It was such an exhilarating feel to watch water drops,
Hitting hard on rooftops and breaking into tiny droplets.
Its pitter patter, to me, was like a melodious refrain.
Curiously, I watched raindrops dotting the window panes,
And the water globules glistening in dim light.
Petrichor rose from earth's surface, wafted by the wind.
* * * * *
From then, it rains and it pours down nonstop.
In a week, our land has become a river bed
Now how we wish to see the clouds dissipate
And the rains stop and the sun takes over!
sun rays chiseling
hieroglyphs reflections
on lake ice blanket
raindrops dotting lake
with circular rippling mist
shadowing mirror
geese flight arrival
liquid lake serenity
parted by curved waves
Of humanity's many members,
of smoky mountains standing in the clouds,
of the heavens You sprinkled with an infinity
of stars,
and valleys of the goodness of crops and
the moonlit magnolia trees,
oceans, lakes, rivers, and streams came to
life from You.
Of the joy of birds at the feeder,
I love You first.
My Jesus, my Christ,
the bats whoosh out of their caves
at twilight in their hunting of insects,
my grandchildren play on summer's lawns
with buttercups dotting the expanse,
whilst autumn stirs in his slumber,
as the days age more for me,
I love You first.
You're my morning star,
my evening comfort,
I adore You most sweetly,
You came for me when others didn't,
to rescue me from the hurt and the
mourning for the earth and her people,
her animals,
as hatred, as wars, as pollution
mars her glorious face,
I love You first.
You, Dearest Redeemer, Deliverer,
sent some of Your angels to watch
over us-
in frosted nights,
and in spring's awaited rebirth.
Truest One,
my heart in reverence to You,
I love You, always first. ~
Silence was my friend
no one knew of the harm done
to this body, no one knew of
the banging screams against
this smiling door that everyone
saw.
Our parents damaged the innocence
that laid in wait
We remained silent, this treatment
Is normal is it not?
Silence killed the beauty inside,
welcoming idle guest that became
permanent residents.
But still we remained silent
like ease-droppers, hearing but not
helping.
Silence became our enemy.
For who would believe the dotting parents are monsters under our beds
keeping out cries for help silent among the world.
white wind pushing clouds
blueberry birds dotting sky
twinkle in cats eye
To run for President here you have to be old
You have to have wrinkles and smell like sour mold
You have to have brown age spots dotting your hands.
and pretend to care about competing high school bands.
It is best if you have white hair, no other color will do.
Our politicians are between ninety-nine and a hundred and two.
If you have dementia and cannot remember your name.
We are likely to vote you in repeatedly without taking any blame.
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