It’s a beautiful empire
Elms are standing in a row
In their autumnal attire
As if putting on a show
And the road is strewn with leaves
Down the Durham riverside
Where’s the car? Ah, here it is
Couldn’t notice at first sight..
Where we’re going? No idea..
Who’s the driver, I can’t see..
What’s your new address, my dear?
If you somehow hear me..
miles away from town
the screen door opened for me
to gentle breeze, letting in summer
escape from those who troubled me
the lake down the slope glistened
stillness and reflection of open land
while I idled and gazed at the sky
in the place I learned to wonder and dream
and each passing cloud I named
in the place learned to wonder and dream
while I idled and gazed at the sky
stillness and reflection of open land
the lake down the slope glistened
escape from those who troubled me
to a gentle breeze, letting in summer
the screen door opened for me
miles away from town
*palindrome form
There was a time when happiness
seemed to me the only way of life.
Summer seemed to last forever
as if freedom had been served to me
on a big beautiful silver platter.
Youth was timeless and grand
with rainbows forever adorning the skies.
Whatever went wrong?
High above the cobblestone and mud,
The first church towers began to rise,
Not just for bells or stone and wood,
But chasing something in the skies.
They stretched like fingers through the air,
To bridge the ground and holy height,
A quiet, lifting call to prayer,
A sudden catch of morning light.
From pointed arches, bold and new,
To sweeping curves of Baroque space,
With every age their beauty grew,
Adorning each cathedral place.
Above the streets of Paris grand,
Or standing tall in Roman air,
They anchor all the quiet land
And hold a city’s history there.
More than just timber, brick, or spire,
They mark a spot where neighbors meet,
A steady point of shared desire
Above the busy, crowded street.
And though the modern world moves fast,
Their timeless silhouettes remain
A gentle whisper from the past,
A touch of peace above the plain.
The dirt road lined with a wooden fence seems traveled and long
Its direction straight forward with maple and birch;
- where can I go wrong - ?
The steps I take settle in the dirt and relaxation ensues
Clouds pass like ships in the sky full of shades of blue
A bird is chirping nearby, almost beeping in the air
When I try to see it there it goes, flying in the air
I feel like I am part of a world of beauty, engulfed by what I see
- A place full of freedom, where I can be me -
Heidi Sands
10/1/26
(C)opyright
my wants in this world are few
a pleasant day giving way to gentle rain
a softness embracing reality
as the sun's warmth returns
successions of gratefulness
that hesitation in my kiss
lingering longer in eager anticipation
as i lightly press deeper
into the celestial realms
the only want divine
eyes an event horizon
foreshadowing a depth into forevermore
the light at the end of the tunnel
where want ends
Oregon 9/27/26
"There is nature, shade-repressed
Shyer expressed".
That wall, beyond, one's face, too, in
Sweet violet's, hid?
"Moss-damp, but of none such crept
Slug, snail-eyed wept".
Which path, to whose doorway as well
Soon, love-gleamed, mid?
Go where the sunsets spill from sapphire skies,
Where mothers are rewarded for how hard they try.
Where parakeets dance and sway as they fly,
And where men are punished for the lies they supply.
Please take me to the place where we play in the rye.
I want to go where crows no longer cry.
How like the flowers she seems,
the whimsy of daisies,
spread wild with the breeze.
A sunflower she blooms
in fair golden rays,
yellow petals proclaiming
the simple wonders of each day.
She's splendid as the lily,
bringing beauty to life,
vivacious and graceful
in the eve's setting light.
To hold her brings joy,
her fragrance a delight.
She's splendour to behold,
my flower and hearts light
There is a particular kind of hunger
That learns to live without being fed.
And perhaps the cruelest mercy:
Even the compass bends towards the star it cannot touch,
And mine has never learned another north.
So I let the longing stay,
Knowing I was never meant to find my way out
From wandering beneath the same unreachable sky,
For I feared
That home, once found would wrench the way to you.
At dinner today,
My Mommy and
My Daddy
Were being weird
Instead of them
Usually being tired,
They smiled a lot
Too Smiley
And also
My Daddy made
The food today
Mommy is supposed to make the food
The food didn’t taste yummy
The food tastes yummy always
Mommy and Daddy
Are starting to be
Kinda
Sorta
Just a little
Scary
At night
When I got up
To tell them
I had a nightmare
They were not asleep
Mommy was just
Sitting on the couch
Wide awake
Daddy was smiley again
Too Smiley
Daddy and Mommy
Are starting to be
Kinda
Sorta
Super Duper
Scary
I don’t think
That Mommy
And Daddy
Are the right ones anymore
I saw them pouring
Saltwater on my
Flowers
The ones I got from Mommy
I’m scared
This Mommy
And this Daddy
Are not my
Beautiful
Mommy
Kind
Daddy
Where did they go?
Where Did They Go?
WHERE DID THEY GO?
I want them back
Pressure came knocking at the door,
And slowly, love began to fade;
The laughter heard there once before
Was buried underneath the weight.
Two hearts that once would softly meet,
Now speak in whispers, cold and brief;
The days are filled with endless needs,
And nights have little room for dreams.
Where pressure grows, pleasure retreats,
Romance becomes a distant song;
A tired heart has little strength
To give the tenderness it longs.
Love needs more than roofs and bread,
More than bills that must be paid;
It needs a smile, a gentle touch,
A little time that won't be traded.
So ease the burden, hold your own,
Remember why you chose to stay;
For when two hearts make room for love,
Even weary souls can find their way.
Pressure and pleasure cannot coexist;
Where peace returns, love finds its bliss.
An anchor forged of dust and bone,
we keep our footing on the stone.
The world demands a quiet weight,
a patient, unyielding state,
where hands stay rested on the wood
and do the things they always should.
Yet in the space behind the eyes,
the architecture starts to rise.
No heavy earth, no pulling line
can tame the sudden, bold design.
The walls fall back, the ceilings clear,
and distance simply disappears.
You step across an ocean shore,
unlatch a long-forgotten door,
or stand atop a wind-swept height
without a single fear of flight.
No rules of earth, no pull of stone—
you build a cosmos of your own.
And though the waking world will claim
the daily posture of your name,
it cannot reach, nor can it bind
the infinite map within the mind.
For when the heavy eyelids close,
the spirit goes where no one knows.
The late-summer track runs blue with deep shade,
While cicadas rasp in sun-whitened trees;
And ask what secret lives inside the breeze,
You clasp my hand where sandy gullies fade.
I show the compass, by the years decayed,
Whose faithful needle leans, and never flees;
We watch the foam that feathers on the seas,
While on the shore our wandering steps are made.
You ask where north goes, in your small voice calm,
As though the world was just this morning born;
You spy a blue-tounged skink beneath a thorn,
And hold a broken shell within your palm.
The compass points its north through dusk and foam;
Your wondering hand points farther still—to home.
Who and what.? Are words more relevant.?
Spirit in flesh..Fears foibles desires and
A realm of intentions.' Veering off occasionally, of the better path.' Could
Have been me.? I happened i saw it! The
Rain came twice against the forecasts ( in January ) in L A and in
Victoria..The fires died, I got up the next
Day and tripped over.' Banged my nose
Had to wipe my eyes.' Struggled through
The cold English rain, a car just missed
mine..Mundane stuff people.'One day my
Car will be part of a robot.? Could be.? Or
Just a rusted hulk.? Can you tell me exactly.? No you can't I can't, there are many things i cannot do.' What is valueble? Whar is the imperative.? A glass of clean water, or a vase of it, with fresh flowers.? Is that fullfilling.? Its not the whole, yet part of the sum.' Its in its place
The same as the river, the mountains the
Plains and the valleys, works of antiqity
Observed in museams, or looted.' And placed on a table somewhere.? I do not know, what the next hour will bring ' the
Unseen post service, that always delivers.'
Unpaid i'll grant you, but always aware, of
My existence, in the great somewhere.'
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