The autumn silver moonlight is bright
Wild winds whisper secrets to ponder
Inviting raptors to hunt for prey at night
Mirrored reflections upon the river in white
As nocturnal scavengers come out to wander
The autumn silver moonlight is bright
Cries and screeches echo from their plight
High up in a barren tree nests a young condor
Inviting raptors to hunt for prey at night
Seeing moving shadows can be a fright
Creatures out to hunt and conquer
The autumn sliver moonlight is bright
Owls soar along the riverbank in flight
Curiosity evokes a vulnerable responder
Inviting raptors to hunt for prey at night
Dawn now quiets as some lost their fight
The cries and sounds fade in yonder
The autumn silver moonlight is bright
Inviting raptors to hunt for prey at night
Late spring light drifts across the room,
a cornflower wash that settles on everything
the way dust settles on keepsakes
no one means to forget.
You lift the mirror,
its edge still cool from the windowsill,
and the glass catches a glimmer
that doesn’t stay still~
it f l i c k e r s, almost shy,
as if deciding whether to show you
what it remembers.
Your reflection w a v e r s,
not dramatically, just enough
to remind you that memory
rarely arrives in straight lines.
It comes in small echoes,
soft ones, the kind that lean
toward you when the afternoon quiets
and you finally have time
to notice what stays.
Feel the air wide open
her arms crave carefree days
hips sway swivel left and right
electricity in momentum
a whirligig of laughter
she can feel the swoosh of her skirt
is she alone she can tell
the air’s scented their breaths hold
clues…her body listens quiets
at his approach they move
apart together
having learned to avoid
control her palms rise
and gyrate with the oxygenated current
she has no idea
how slender and graceful
her form appears in the wall mirror
petite soles arch
and she dares tippy toes
now her sisters
narrow the gap shadow
her agile movement
her eyes open or closed
matter only to her audience
her eyes are pretty they stare
into the past and the future
blinded by an unseen light
dancing dewy delight
moving, washing clean
weeping course of broken dreams
river’s song quiets
Though heavy the garment of logic and name,
And fragile the ego that fans out its love.
To seek the pure dawn, we must loosen the weave,
And unlearn the illusions we taught to mislead.
Layer by layer, the fabric gives form,
Melting the shadows that govern the day.
No longer trapped in brilliance or dignity,
The soul sheds the armor it needed to hide.
As intellect quiets and the ego lets go,
The radiant essence breaks free in its glow.
Stripped of all the veils, we no longer seek—
The light stands unveiled, and the silent truth speaks.
You’re laughing
And nothing is real
And I am here and you’re not coming
Maybe there was a time I wouldn’t have
My experience has always been joint
But now is different
And as I take my first step
You’re watching
And laughter quiets down
I don’t know what you saw
You didn’t say,
be careful,
don’t do it
You told me,
You’re okay
You’re okay
You’re okay
You’re okay
And now you weren’t watching me
Like a slice through ego
Through laughter,
Through me
I was being seen
To stop twould make but active
Those quiets, this emptiness
Does amplify:
'I am nothing!'
Shudders, the worst, naturally
Of the panic-struck bring on.
Confronted by
Its head-ringing.
When you're a kid,
lines seem mundane.
They're on paper, patterns and books.
getting older I've become familiar
familiar with lines on red.
Older white lines,
newer red lines
and the lines of "I'm sorry".
I feel like my lines are different.
They make me feel peace.
However every time i draw a new one,
I've let someone down.
I know i should stop drawing,
put down my silver pencil.
But when lines are all that quiets my mind,
How can I?
red
orange
yellow
the colors of my childhood
of getting up early
to watch the sunset
the colors blending
the silent moment
of nothingness
when the world quiets
just for a moment
you never know when you'll have your last sunset
when you have to chase that nothingness
because
because its the only peace you get
your only moment of silence
when all there are is you
and the colors
yellow
orange
and red
For its composure of mind
One's at peace state
Of all quiets most felt
Angel-wrapped in.
Hang, as in your memory
Whose image of.
Life unto death's staunchest
Anxious-warding.
This special green chills the mouth after releasing the burning truth.
Mint asks to unclench your jaw.
This is the green of relief and collected cool.
This green quiets when the world is too loud.
When your thoughts are full of gloom.
Mint helps steady and clear the soul
Leaving each breath with enough room.
Mint is the green of instruction.
It keeps your shoulders loosened.
It tells you never to erase what you have clearly been given.
Mint caresses the body
It appears with no demand.
This green is a green of self control
A green who knows what to withstand.
I write these words from my heart, just to say to you,
that in this world, many things are not true.
Our eyes can deceive us, as we’ve been deceived,
not everything was right, just as we believed.
There are those who do things, without choice,
they are seen by others, with out voice.
Always be gentle, always being kind,
no matter what situation in life that you find.
Its time for yourself, when you’re alone, you see,
replenishing, everything, drained from you and me.
Solitude, and peace, quiets a beating heart,
while yielding and surrendering do there very part.
Be careful of how you see yourself, no matter who you are, I say,
Our own eyes can deceive us, in a very subtle way.
Priestly, abide in stillness.
Cloistered in dim hid
Woods, walled up gardens.
A reverence breathed! Of mind
Where the best ripens.
From their chastening effect
Who, for to think deep
Has kept far away
An appealing courtesy
Not so deemed this day!
I stitched my Wounds in borrowed Dark —
Where comment cannot pry —
The Noise of mouths was everywhere,
Yet Silence endured I —
From serious Pain — the Chronic kind
That teaches Breath to hide —
I fled the marketplace of words
Where weary meanings died —
The Chatter spent me poor of strength,
Each syllable a tax —
I learned to leave with empty hands
And fewer looking back —
Terrified of the self that feeds
On mirrors, not on Truth —
I guard the gates of my own Pulse
With almost holy Ruth —
So quick the Tongue is now to pause —
A practiced, sacred brake —
For speech once loosed cannot return
What careful quiets make —
My Ears remain — wide-open Fields —
My Eyes — an unslept Sea —
I watch the world without a claim
That it must answer me —
And privately, the Healing grows
Like roots that work at Night —
No witness but the tender Dark,
No proof — except the Light.
More and more a comfort
Restful-lamped eves
Of consoling. In short
Home. Rest begets.
Whose nerve-stilling quiets
Soon to seep aid.
Back from off a street blown
Which hour of life
All joy for has outflown
A heart. Afraid.
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