¦¦¦ one who sails ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ blue sea
Far out of sight of land, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sailing ¦¦¦ his little boat,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Hears suddenly, across the restless sea,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ striking of ¦¦¦¦ towered clock,
¦¦¦ wakes from thoughtless idleness to time:
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
So through ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ life
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ you cross my path and bring
The ¦¦¦¦ solemnity of passing years.
For you I have shed bitter tears, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ relinquished that for which my heart
Cried out ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Having just left you, I can say: ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Thank God that I have known a soul so true,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ so worthy to be loved!"
(Blackout of Venetian Glass by Amy Lowell)
From my door in a lovely town,
I look straight ahead in wonder,
clouds, seascape, distant boat,
are core of an early morning view,
a homely place now awakening,
the sound of each window heard,
people sense this charmed spot,
has depth, magic, and mystery,
which is such an attraction say,
as the day of passage in sunlight,
a green and brown leaf exponent,
from tree top towered ring fence,
on blissful watch as passersby,
aware of sage eager eco eye,
that glances o’er round the clock,
plot, play, pursuit, and presage.
of an urban gathering on purpose,
with infectious soul stepping forward,
in directions of a wonder world dream,
which at this point has only begun
If but one- roomed for
A dim lit shy one's
Quiet corner view
For a heart at peace, so lodged
And so fixedly
A more bless'ed place
What towered, royal
The ancient past o'er.
Facing, what for world's dangers
Scanned, defensively.
Hidden in the valleys
Towered by mighty peaks
Lies the church of rejects
The church of those called weak
Those the powerful sent home
Out of strong belief
That they were a contaminant
Not worthy of the Chief
Rejected by mankind,
And seeking hopeful refuge
They travel long and far
To the Church who comforts me and you
They feed them bread and give them wine
And embrace them as they dine
See, the Church of rejects--
Who bear the pain of unacceptance
And watch rejection of the truth--
Is ministered by the one insulted
Humiliated
Murdered
Mutilated
Used as justification for those elected
The very men who cause rejection
Is ministered
By the one and only God above
The giver of light and truth
No prior POTUS has admired
Towered pyres for esquires they’d hired
Tired not by work hard
Now wired the trump card
That commands retire or You're Fired!
The shadow in the night beckons.
I slowly rise from my warm and cosy bed
Only to follow the urge that drives me mad
Into spectral half-fledged woodland,
That spreads beyond my lonely tower.
Without volition, I approach slowly
A great, gaunt gate that towered
Over a ghostly path among the ashen trees.
A pale moon lights the blanched greensward,
That covered thinly the winding trail,
And from afar, I hear a river,
I hear its humming, throbbing, low, ferocious call,
Meant to disturb the serenity of my soul.
But I force myself into my somnambulism,
And perhaps, lull myself to dream of angels.
I met someone who looked just like you.
The same brown eyes, set back enough to make out the outlines of your orbital bones.
The same smile lines that house years of laughter, joy, and perfectly frame your grin.
The same nose that harbors several insecurities, but is perceived as beautiful through my gaze.
She looked just like you.
Her voice was clearly different from yours.
Yours soothed me in the times I needed to hear you. It became my favorite song.
Her stature varied from yours.
You towered over me, but I felt colossal in your world.
Her scent was dissimilar.
Yours encased memories I would give anything to live again for the first time.
She looked just like you.
I will likely never see her again, like I won’t see you.
Both figures dissipating into a life that has no place for me. Walking along paths that won’t cross with mine.
I find peace in knowing that you are following the trail created for you. As I am doing the same.
Limited but yet empowered,
we prevailed, triumphed and towered
over the demon of desire,
amazed as heart lotus flowered.
Thought flow stilled caused ego to tire,
which burns at the funeral pyre
but that that so dies, never was;
what we are is God’s cosmic fire.
In the void of stillness, heart thaws
and then mind aligns with God’s laws,
paving way for us to reclaim,
love and light’s primordial cause.
Treating earth life as but a game,
we’ve become that that has no name,
resplendent in the light of Self,
transmuting, becoming the flame.
Deep sleep wrapped me in its majestic arms tight.
Hold thrust me into a darkened hole quite vast.
Ambling forward, I see a faint pinhole light,
luminosity enhances view to last.
Finally, shaft opened up to beauty bright,
and not once did dark feelings take me aghast.
He towered on a modest, small, grassy mound.
Overpowering peace - calm was all around.
Brilliant white glow surrounded His hooded frame.
A radiant halo crowned His covered head.
Who was He? He did not offer me His name.
What He did next was all I needed instead.
Through our minds, He spoke words to lastly proclaim,
That it was not my time; is all He had said.
Elevating His arms away from each side,
My eyes opened, yet certain I must have died.
06/19/24
Badgers were planning a picnic extraordinaire!
Red Jell-O mold towered high in the spring air.
Shall I put a cherry on top? Asked persnickety Claire.
Why not? Said another. Baby muskrats are here.
Where is your mama? Asked Mrs. Badger then.
The babies giggled and rolled and hung down a chin.
I hope she is safe, Mrs. Badger told her husband man.
If not, we have three more orphans to join our little band.
I strolled upon the crests of darkened hills
reveling at the fragrant aroma of daffodils
Suddenly, stardust glittered in a nearby field
Its enchanted power was amazingly revealed.
A single sunflower towered at great height
Shadowed orb wide open, unusual in the night
Its leaves sparkled, but could a star cause this?
An unlikely occurrence ~ something was amiss.
Was I imagining the vision of this phenomena?
Perhaps it was a heavenly sign from Andromeda
The moon dipped lower in the cerulean sky
as I watched the bloom with the cyclops eye.
Had a mystical spell been cast over my mind?
If so, it was a gift of the most wondrous kind
I was enrapt by the aura of a sunflower in glory.
Sadly, bereaved when no one believed my story.
For the Let's Rhyme Contest
Shadow Hamilton
Placed 2nd
Across the field, covered in white
Stood a gray barn, closed for the night
Still as the snowy pines, in sight
That towered tall, with all their might
A soundless landscape full of light
From sparkling snowflakes, shining bright
Brought peace that took my soul in flight
I flew higher, by my own right
It was an evening, pure delight
Without burdens, nothing to fight
Now it was time, to rest in firelight
To bask in warmth, with gained foresight
A soft impression, but not slight
A barn in this field of insight
Heidi Sands
12/6/23
If "we" are a sin,
Why is my heart bleeding for you?
Why is my soul screaming out your name?
Chained by the links of horrors that hold me against you,
Towered high up above the ground,
Little did they know I'd crumble every bone just for you.
I would not wish such adversity upon my adversaries, such as the animosity which chastises our hearts.
Every precious petal in my garden has turned black, waiting for your lips to rejuvenate their vibrant hues.
Why must love be cursed by society's blindness,
or has Cupid's ignorance plagued our forbidden fate. Maybe death is the only freedom for our devotion
~ Mary Fields…
Was born into slavery somewhere back east
she thought it was Hickman County, Tennessee
Growing up, she had learned how to read and write
though she'd spent her childhood in captivity
Came to Montana to live life as a nun
but learned she was better suited for fight'n
She stood six foot tall and weighed two hundred pounds
wore a six shooter she could draw fast as light'n
She had arms and hands looked like battering rams
she towered o'er most cowboys here in the west
She smoked cigars and chawed a tobacco plug
a flask of whisky hidden under her dress
She came to fame one day when a green cowpoke
said that no black woman could be his better
She'd laid him out flat when he went for his gun
Mary shot him before he could clear leather
In her left hand she could hold the reigns of six
of the orneriest horses you'd ever knew
while shooting a shotgun with the other hand
and could still keep them horses a runnin' smooth
She'd out shoot, out fight and out drink any man
Was mean, stubborn, cantankerous and scary
Specially if you was a meaning to steal
from a wagon driven by Stagecoach Mary
"All a man really wants, is a girl who looks good in a bikini." - Jack Freestone
New Jersey feminists burnt bras to send swimsuit pageants up in smoke,
Iranian women drove along mountaintops, daring the wind to loosen their hair.
Colleagues in Canada removed high heels but still towered over counterparts,
tennis players trimmed dresses so they could run, fought to change white to red.
Felicity cut her hair, #nomakeup became self-care,
a mourning Queen wore black, AOC ‘taxed the rich’ on her back.
Geishas sang and danced, more than mere servants to men;
through Coventry rode Lady Godiva naked, bravery rarely seen before then.
Women have always worn their battles, embroidered their history into lace.
So, when to save lives, we all covered our supposed selling point - our face -
surely, we can do better than want only a bikini for over half the human race.
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