Still
photos
suggest movement
and story
and memory~
as do words
on a page~
but both words
and photos
are never other than
Still~
Stillness speaks~~
SOLITARY RUN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That morning, I set out for a solitary run noticing the clear blue sky with only a few wispy clouds floating by. The grass stood silent, the multi-colored leaves barely moving, looking as if they had been painted there. A faint touch upon my skin made me wonder, ‘Should a person be able to feel the beating of the birds’ wings?’ Time stopped, stretching endlessly in the quiet stillness.
silent, empty space
thoughts like seeds begin to sprout.
a voiceless whisper
births words upon the still air~
creativity takes flight
The hat hangs on the wall,
not as a relic,
but as a witness—
to mornings that began before the sun
had made up its mind,
to arguments with weather
and the quiet pacts signed in sweat.
Below, the boots—
faded, cracked, obedient,
still loyal to the shape of a man
who walked with purpose,
even when purpose was
just getting through the day.
They are not symbols,
though we make them so.
They are not sacred,
though we treat them gently,
as if disturbing them
might sever the bond
that holds the past
to the present.
And yet—
the window is open.
The light is not wistful,
but new.
The boots do not mourn.
The hat does not sag.
They wait,
as all things wait
for the next hand,
the next step,
the next story
to begin.
A soft wind lifts the curtains.
light spills across the wooden floor.
dust spirals in lazy circles
and the quiet hum of the house
feels like a gentle heartbeat.
I step outside
the earth smells of wet grass and stone.
a bird’s song cuts through the stillness
small, specific, lively
and i bear in mind I belong here.
The sun melts my skin
the world extended, slow and planned
shadows bend and bow
a leaf meanders, holding the gleam
and i am awake, completely.
Spring — Passion
Kintsugi dawn—
white plum scents night air
tea rises in stillness.
Cranes cross pale sky;
child laughter drifts on moss.
A garden remembers.
Summer — Vocation
Tatami breathes—
cicada shells cling
reborn softly.
Koi flicker below
ripples fade in quiet hands.
Evening thunder calls—
incense drifts
forms bow.
Autumn — Mission
Fox lanterns kindle
shoji float through silver mist—
ancestral spirits stir.
Stray dog nestles
by the gate;
even strays seek warmth.
Tea vapor
recalls morning.
Winter — Profession
Snow settles
on stone lanterns
pine needles in palm.
Cold brushes fingertips.
Crane arcs slowly—
silhouette lingers on old walls.
Work kneaded
with laughter;
fire clothes darkness.
Completion — All Seasons as One
Sakura scatter—
petals dance
mirror tea vapor.
Breath holds the garden.
Circle closes
opens anew.
Tea cools,
reflects sky—
time folds gently.
Here
we are,
in this cage
of body-mind,
limited by space,
taunted by flow of time
and if that is not enough,
the light of our being is veiled,
since we’re hypnotised by illusions,
indulging in which, our trance state deepens.
Choosing to rest both thought forms and senses,
by choosing to become a witness,
fulcrum of our awareness shifts
from form to the empty void,
where thus by being still,
God’s blessings in-pour
and we ascend
to heaven,
here on
earth.
How You Feel and How God Feels Poetry
Contest //Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
( 1st Place )
Written: August 10, 2025
( Inspired by Isaiah 55 and reflecting on hope and faith. )
I come not full, but open wide,
With hands unfurled quietly yearning.
Your vows fall like gentle rain--
Words that flow from wells unending!
Through the clouds silver-haired persist.
I count on the daybreak You foster,
The meadow's bare-- still run deep.
Your stillness does not imply You sleep.
Faith takes small steps on shaky ground---
trusting quietly in what You’ve planned.
Your word-- like mist may sometimes fade,
but harvest waits for gentle hands.
You say, “Come and take, no cost at all,”
so I bring trust, not trying to fall.
My heart feels weak but still reaches out,
toward waters flowing without a shout.
You see me, not just struggling hard,
but waiting patiently, and yet still thrives.
And in your eyes
I'’m not alone--
I’m known and loved
deeply known.
In broken silence,
a single breath rises--
flickers of hope through the cracks,
light spills where shadows clench
vigor birthed from the stillness,
victory whispered softly.
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Poetry Contest //Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
( 1st Place )
Written: August 07, 2025
They say stillness is absence, an empty space between worth noting,
but I have heard its melodies in the pre-dawn chapel where stillness reigned
and still the walls exhaled calm.
I have found stillness and not loneliness---
but in two hands clutching without speaking,
the heart knowing inside out
language would only raze.
Silence is like sunlight before it shines,
the tranquility after I sleep and
the reluctance before "I forgive you",
It grips what chaos cannot express--admiration, agony, dread.
Even when grieving and when at a loss for words,
calmness is at hand and says it all.
So let the world fill with echoes.
With clamor and vivid proclamations.
I will still turn up beauty.
In the lull between storms,
In the hush between instinct and doubt
In the sacred calmness, that hark,
Not to respond, but to understand.
STILLNESS*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In stillness they stand,
deep roots sip from ancient streams,
time's hands slip away.
Branches weave through endless skies,
the heart learns to stretch and breathe.
*Note:Poem originally written for and submitted to creativeramblings.com (Haiku Shack) for its anthology contest. This is my original poem.
We all search
for prescience
the future
on hold
As each
dying moment
forever
unfolds
We all crave
the silence
preparing
for death
Its welcoming
stillness
a last
— final breath
(The New Room: July, 2025)
silence cloaks silence as we dive in deep
into the void that holds all existence
and we do so by shedding resistance
that seeks outcomes causing presence to sleep
so we remain still and let God’s grace seep
into our core that thus blurring distance
our heart’s persistence without insistence
paves the way for our soul’s consciousness leap
moment to moment, all moments entwined
flowing with ease, mode embrace and release
be it dusk or morn, epiphanies dawn
simply by our being divine aligned
that thus flowing unfettered like the breeze
soul ascends even as we smile and yawn
I turn the leaves of my old diaries.
Wherein my passions and anxieties
Together with your dried rose petals, sleep.
They savor your scent and bitterly weep.
Our glances, touches, cuddles, and kisses
Fun-filled, playfully hopping-mad hisses
Our desires, dreams, hopes, and aspirations
Did all these, like sheds, have no foundations?
Creeds and credos weren't causes for our split.
What's the root of our emotional rift?
You left me as though I were a stranger.
Did I not guard you from every danger?
I wandered as though a mad man for long.
You refused to hear this nightingale's song.
I went on mending my shattered spirit.
What could I esteem as my true merit?
I had, indeed, moments of happiness.
My diaries have scrawls of soft stillness.
Yet, a pain, like a sword, pierces my heart.
I feel as though my soul is torn apart.
R-emembered
I-n
N-ature's
A-ura,
V-oices
E-cho
R-adiant
G-leam
A-mid
R-ippling
A-ir
©bfa061725
Monocrostic (Birthday of Rina B. Vergara)
my crescent moon whispers softly
as dusk fades to dawn
and a soft mist settles
the morning rolling in
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 26, 2025 for contest 1393 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - Honorable Mention
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