Portland, OR -Tucson, AZ   
Being in nature and the wilds, this is my truest love.


Tim Buckley - Pleasant Street
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hz8EoMOVHBM

My Poetry on Thru Media
http://www.thru.media/poetry-of-ca-guilfoyle/
Being in nature and the wilds, this is my truest love.


Tim Buckley - Pleasant Street
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hz8EoMOVHBM

My Poetry on Thru Media
http://www.thru.media/poetry-of-ca-guilfoyle/

Black, a hollow world of sky - starless
and now I'm alone in this darkened room
only dreaming of the star showers that fell
from your lips last night
quivering.

Ashen white clouds, pale as these grey bones
strewn across this desert floor and lit
by the glint of a million sparkling stones
these diamond pixels shine amid giant saguaro people
moving slow and trailing the sun, they fade with flowers
that come to close and hide away beneath the moon
underground, with deep rooted tubers
they move, pushing away cold stones
pushing through darkness
star gazing they dream
of Spring, dream of
the coming sun.

These winter trees
cold and shouldering winds
their bending branches unhinge
falling limbs crash and break the snow
further still a secret world of mud and bulbs
that in the spring blooms of tulips and violet mossy lawns
and too, the sun that comes to warm and fills with green the tree arms
this wooded home that breathes with sheltering birdsong.

Outside my door a cawing crow
of blackened wings and indigo
delivered by night's shivering storm.
The wind and winter's howling call,
scattered nests and down the feather falls.
Crack of limbs, cold and bare branched
mesquite leaves and needles spiral to the ground.
In a swooping field he flies into the tallest pines
deep and slow, the trees creak
wild in cello tones.

The afternoon sky with its wine dark clouds
red blushed and blue, moments before the rain drenching greys
the scurrilous skies, the black winged silhouettes that fly
amid the cactus trees, thick with chaparral
a total reconstruction of sunny soft memories
this cold tumbling storm that moves overhead
to form, this desert raining lake.

  Jan 4  CA Guilfoyle
beth stclair

i.

impressionist,
where the grey
clouds and the blue
ice of winter
gather their ghosts,

winter, too cold,
too white, the
woodland hollows
dent,
summer love

discarded in
the frost,

the sky oaken,
the moon’s forget-me-knots
silvery dream.

ii.

clouds like wintery steel,
sunken, in a night pool,
the golds of my heart,

the lodestar gathers
moss and rook,
glimmers in a sky
of woven cloth,
her leaves, the trees
of winter,
her leaves, the dark
breath of the storm.


iii.

winter and quiet stars
brooding emperor
sleeping in the twilight
hour,
winter dreams of
strange ice caverns
where ice ghosts
dance with twisting
hair.

iv.

pond of ice,
snow bear,
snow dream,

sleep unwraps

wide avenues of
trees,

sleep, the dark girl,
the falling tide.

v.

twig breaks under foot,
earth’s thrones
settle in the lizardy light

the moon rises in the sky,
soft centuries of sky.

i should add that this is waterlilies in winter the original poem was autumn inspired. i'd like to do spring and summer at some point as well!
#flowers   #dreams   #dark   #light   #magic   #monet   #waterlilies  

In this desert
I touch the ocean within
here where I abandon all plans
I spend hours watching cloud formations
of flowers blooming violet, red.
I travel to the sanctuary of the soul
each morning, sit silently
at the altar of dawn.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment