Written: September 11, 2026, for a contest Sponsored by: Eve Roper
Note: You may listen to this poem lyrics in the attached sound video.
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Close your eyes—
let the music find your feet,
let every heartbeat be a drum beneath the street.
No need for light when rhythm knows the way;
the night has learned the language of your sway.
Reach for the sound—
let it circle, let it rise,
feel the thunder blooming softly in your hands.
You are not lost;
you are the motion in the song,
and every step says: I belong.
Sun drenched clouds beam oe’r,
twin flames whose euphoric hug,
a red rose embrace!
My eye is a small brown bird
that won't stay in its cage.
It slips through the bars of my lashes
and flies straight out the window,
chasing a real bird across the sky.
Grown-ups call this a non-focusing,
the eye should perch on the page
like a good, quiet pet.
But I think my eye is a bee.
It wants to land on everything sweet:
the crack in the ceiling, shaped like a river,
a shoe shining like a black lake,
a little galaxy of dust
turning to gold dust in the sun.
And when my eye flies home again,
it comes back full,
its wings dusted with honey,
ready to pour all that sweetness
back into my work.
So let your eyes fly.
Let them drink the whole wide world.
Sitting still isn't the only way to see,
sometimes the best seeing
happens in flight.
Truth
is invisible
Its effects
are not
To know it
to live it
Like the wife
of Lot
It hides
in plain sight
In judgment
per se
The air
that’s inside us
Life’s breath
— of our stay
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
candles
wax standing tall
a bright light glows shining warmth
dark rooms are filled with a bright light
what a beautiful sight
I love walking on a forest path,
in the stillness of a new morn',
listening to tranquil birds.
tweet me a symphony.
Oh, a blue stream flows !
Wrapped in green hues,
calm, serene,
in sweet,
peace.
I walked around our farm’s “block” one day,
Each side of which is a country mile.
Noticing details along my way;
Sights, sounds, smells, and feelings made me smile.
Cows in a pasture gently grazing;
Some glanced at me but not with alarm.
Now horses who at me were gazing;
Sensing, I felt, I meant them no harm.
I strode past a wood, hiding a deer;
Watched two squirrels clatter up a tree;
Crossed a bridge above water so clear;
Passed some hives but not one buzzing bee.
I smelled freshly cut hay in the field;
Farmer’s crops help him pay his lender.
Pondering the joys my walk did yield;
Loving this simple country splendor.
Engaging The Senses - Sight, Sound, Smell, Touch, Taste
Sound
I walk with white a cane where valley life is breathing,
The water showers near the shop, soft, soothing,
Children’s laughter drifts from far, sweet and teasing,
While rickshaw horns crash loud like a storm seizing.
Smell
BBQ smoke and chai rise warm from stalls nearby,
Rain wakes the earth, and tea steam meets the sky,
Lily and jasmine bloom where flowers softly lie,
Their scent recalls her name I cannot let die.
Touch
My fingers read the world that eyes cannot see,
Silk on my palm moves slow as worms on a tree,
I shape the clay and feel each curve carefully,
So every hidden detail speaks to me.
Taste
I sit where coffee dreams were broken long ago,
Naan khatai with tea tastes like clouds in rain’s flow,
Cold tea has lost its warmth, like past tastes I know,
Yet this bazaar keeps all the days I won’t let go.
Sight
At my craft desk I build her face from touch and breath,
My inner sight sees clear beyond the night of death,
I mold the love I lost, defying silent death,
And hope one day she’ll see what my hands bequeath.
("Eye of Storm" aka "Tibetan Blue Poppy", 2017, original mixed media encaustic)
Winds blow
Shifting around an axis
Intuited unseen
Alone I feel in the dark
Alone just me and It
And the shifting wind
Waiting for something
A kind of clarity
A kind of knowing
A kind of wisdom
That only time will tell
I was so young
And now so old
But nothing
Ever really changed
Falling ever falling
Without a ground
And still here I am
Working to see
What is always only
Just sight unseen
(6/9/26)
Thought forms swirl around our core,
a bliss mist, which has no door,
so since there is no fulcrum,
we but sense the cosmic drum.
Heartbeat of space is cognised,
the light beyond realised,
from here, the in between place,
where we imbibe boons of grace.
Body-mind is a balloon,
charged with bliss, that as we swoon,
whilst in deep meditation,
we behold God’s creation.
Along spine, from root to crown,
till third eye, then dipping down,
bliss magnetism loops our form,
ensuring that we transform.
As is God, we’re living light,
a spark, dancing with delight,
a wave, merging with the sea,
the stark truth, we clearly see.
crimson purple waves
streak across blue canvas
as sun emerges
From out each beautiful sight
Is Heaven-broke light.
Of all dawned revelations
Souls, to wake, incite.
Still the feel where I can't get to see him lingers
as an Emille bell —
piercing on my mind
like an echo.
Not the song.
Not the fame.
Just the bell.
The distance.
The sound.
It pierces my heart —
not being able to see him near.
Hiding.
Like the bell under the curve.
The wave caught my eye—then broke, as if it couldn’t hold.
A single grey cloud lingered, swollen, refusing release.
Sand in the wind needled my skin—proof I was still exposed.
The howl of it leaned hard against the path I chose.
Blue bled downward, sky dissolving into shifting ground.
Nothing held its place.
Nothing seen.
Nothing heard.
And above it all, the sun—
fixed, distant—
indifferent
to the failing of my sight and sound.
Some times I may want to flirt,
some times I like to play in the dirt.
I could be right,
or is it plain just out of sight?
Please don't look under my skirt.
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