Image Credit Tommy Stone

red petticoats just a swishing
scent of spring that sets me wishing
for a finer time, a shiner time
a dancing in the moonlight time
a spring that rings the heralding
of warmth and yellow daffodils
that drink their fill of summer rain
when blooms come out to play again

Image Credit Tommy Stone

seed pods nod their heads in time
to music ears cannot discern
gathered at the waters edge
as though a lesson to be learned
from passing time and rising suns
from mirrored stillness softly waits
from silhouetted treeline tall
brushed by heavens sleepy face
and I would write this fading dream
for suns last glow will not last long
but stilled I hold my pen aloft
a nightbird sings a lonely song
what are words but poor attempts
the lyrics of a finer tune
I fill my eyes with painted skies
the darkness comes too soon

Image Credit Tommy Stone

and the sky went screaming streaming
toward the darkness rising all around
the ground is melting in the heat of speed
the need to spin it, in it, go to any length
too far the stars are pulling us the moon and soon
the colors sink into the waters hiding light from sight
within the depths, the trees already soaking up the
black, we lack the stars but hope lies just beyond
the pond, the pool of fools of light of life
the cloud raked, sun baked, slide into the night
a flight of fancy colored by a broader brush
the rush of planets turning, yearning for the gravity
of sleep, of rest, of watercolor dreaming

Am I the only
wire in the wind,
whipping around
on currents I don’t understand?

What is the soul?
Am I a tiny being
Ensconced in the pilot seat
of this aging Kamekazi  robot?
If so, how did I end up the driver?

Me who gets lost on
a piece of cardboard?
Me who cannot make a decision,
for fear I will hurt the feelings
of someone else, then end up
causing damage because
I could not make a decision?

Is the longing to be removed
from the decision making, direction taking,
crazy, lost, driving seat,
the only hint
that heaven exists;
that my soul longs to go there,
even though my body isn’t ready?

Still the rain keeps falling
and I keep watch, a bird with wet feathers,
afraid to fly.

Tommy Stone Sunrise Peeping

like the blood of our veins
black as night till set free
turning red when exposed to the air
like the darkest thoughts lie hidden
in shadow then chased from our minds
as the dark is chased from the sky
by the cleansing light
laying us open to the world
we, like every living thing
reach for the warmth
that creeps across the dawn
waiting just at the edge
for our turn to shine

photo credit Tommy Stone

Not completely happy with this – may re-visit later

perspective is a wondrous thing
all wrapped up with silver string
assured we have the truth pinned down
we clutch it tight with certain claws
we move ahead with scarce a pause
until the wheel of time spins round
and now we see in different light
the thing that gave us such a fright
has worked to make us sing

we cannot see the ship in full
but only glimpse a piece of hull
a fish leaps off the starboard bow
we run and point, we see it all
then sure we know entire sky
a single billowed cloud our thrall
we puff ourselves so knowledge filled
the dragon sleeps, the monster killed
the anchor weighed, a gentle lull

the anchor holds us stuck in place
secure and safe, we rule our space
a nod to the horizon far
we smugly turn our vision in
and close our ears to worldly din
as though sealed in a jar
but circumstance can punch a hole
that motivates the grounded soul
again to join the race

though there are valleys deep and dark
and pain and sorrow oft abound
the sweetest music can’t begin
until we learn to make a sound

Last years’ finery still in style
The classics never fade you know
Elevated fashion of a higher call
The dawning steals the evenings’ show

Photo courtesy of Tommy Stone

In stinging cold of falling dark
skyward icy finger flames
claim space and all the firmament
as theirs and paint with broader strokes
as even clouds of crystal feather
creep across the blazing canvas
bowing to the ebon shadows
mirrored on the burning pond
never giving up it’s secrets
deeper than the darkest night
burned into my awestruck sight
even branch tips seek to hold
left grieving loss of winter light

Photograph by Tommy Stone

Peace seeps in through pores
through doors of twilight
last light when royal purple
spreads in soft strokes
across the earth
silhouettes of trees
as profiles turned to feel
the last of warmth
wrung dry of blue and so
in deepest blackened shadow
shades in glades of
pine and scrub oak
pond lies still in wait
as evening evens out the sharper
lines and finds it’s way into
my mind and I am calmed
and still as surface ripple
where an insect skips
and slips into the weedy
reedy edges sing the frogs
the dusky chorus
whip-or-will joins harmony
and says it for us
says what we can never say
goodnight
goodnight
goodbye to light
now sleep you people
sleep til day

Beautiful photo by Tommy Stone

waiting for a meeting to start and had my notebook handy.

A collision
of collusion
a dark and deep intrusion
of past and present

corridor of jumbled
up confusion

of melancholy gathering
of memorable clamoring

attention oft divided
wandering unguided,
swimming in a starry pool
I flounder with no shore in sight

Mistaking wisdom for a fool
I close my eyes, turn from the light
but find I’m not alone the sea
is filled with all
the fools like me

thirsty dirt drinks
gulps and gallons of drips
and drops that draw
the clouds down low
and slow to ground
below and plaster hair
to heads and leads me
in and out in boots and hats
and fancy dances through
my mind as cloud stares
flash the eye lash dripping
ripping dreams from grey skies
time flies for the rainy
grainy black and white
film pictures on my mind
my time spent watching through
the window pane as sleepy
lazy Sunday rainy afternoon
turns night and moon hid
clouds slide down the darkness
softly into sleep as blue sounds
rain songs say goodnight
goodnight

soft rains fall
with showers of leaves
as though an inner timer
tells them
it is time to let go

Image taken by Tommy Stone

every season
has the right of it
the colors lead us
harbingers of inward turning
preparation for walls and roof
a fire and a cup of tea
we light the lights
and start the process
of huddling in
but linger for a few last looks
glimpses to carry us through
the dark and drear
until the earth can open up
and feed us again
the grasses wave
reminding us what waits
underneath future snow
as we gather
and tend the hearth
it’s sun-like glow
the smell of bread
the cycle carries memory
we will see dreams in flames
and sleep in flannel
old bones know the chill
that comes after a fall
that follows a walk
through fields of grass

It has been quiet here for so long – I know. The summer was busy – we are still finishing up projects we began before school started. Now I am back at work so it is weekends (until I get adjusted to not having an afternoon nap I am not worth much in the evenings!) Writing is a habit and once out of it, it becomes increasingly difficult to return. thank you to my friend for this photo that inspired me to write. Thank you Tommy Stone.

I will be the sun
rolling the darkness
out of my way as I climb
to take my place
I will bring warmth
and light
clouds may hide me
for a time
but I will wait
and I will shine again

I will teach the rainbow
where color rules
are made to be broken
and artistry can be pastels
setting fire to the sky
and delicate brushstrokes
can bring tears
to the coldest eyes
lift the saddest heart
spark hope in the hopeless

I will end the day softly
easing my way into darkness
dancing last steps across
a watercolor sky
slowly turning on soft lights
as I sleep under a deep blue blanket
sharing cloudy dreams
until my time comes round
again