The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on the wanderer's back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that the inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude enough for all the sunshine of spring?
A gift from a friend, this piece comes from the Penguin Classics book 'Poems of the Late T'ang' translated and introduced by A.C Graham
She speaks in clouds,
her curves drink lost
Her dress entrances.
This marketplace so full
many fragrances merge.
I watch her dance with
gypsy jazz tones.
Olive skin and dark hair.
She beckons me forth, to
a flaming beauty.
With her clouds I
Yellow figures gather as the rains fall. Single splashes become puddles. A great Oak stands tall. Sandalwood incense burns. The old monk prays. Images come and go, flashes of the mind. A petite woman slices an apple, then points to a star. Like the apple, her words are shared: "Nature's signs are everywhere"
The flames rise,
Tonight I erase
lost in the waves.
Walk the old road:
ancient ways heal
As the coin falls
my wish remains.
In long grass
a rain cloud
wishing for a
Square boxed boy, green legged girl,
watching the world turning around.
Helicopter pads float upon the pond,
one is a Venus flytrap lost in thought.
A single leaf dangles from
Dancing in the breeze
The spider's web captures
Into the wind where her voice rides, the sound of my heartbeat lost.
When yellow marigolds
A simple flower stands
Satisfied with little, these clothes I wear, the food I eat, many riches within this heart.
In darkness I listen as
the moon is shrouded.
Hands turn. Earth spins. Ants march. Snakeskin.
Green leaves. Orange glow. Paint-splash. Legs bow.
I am the marble in motion,
following the same track.
Bottles explode, shards fly.
Flames lick the walls, tears
Sweat pours in the dark of
night, still living with fear.
Taking it one-day at a time!
Sometimes the world revolves like your favorite CD. The sunshine beckons, great adventures await.
Sometimes the world is slow, like a 45 on 33 - taking the long-play to the end of the day.
Sometimes you twist and shout.
Sometimes you hide and cry.
I am sometimes the rain which falls. My middle name is silvertongue. I am the honeybee in dance. I dive like a kingfisher into the wild river.
Today I am the sun, warming the day.
Sometime I'll dance your way.
Yellow-framed, she's trapped in the rain,
her smiling face appears unchanged.
Silver lined &
a clown -
Her rainbow curves retain the sound.
To become the arrow in flight,
I must first take aim.
Green-eyed wanderings. Taken by surprise as the rain soaks us to the bone. We sit surrounded by foxgloves and nettles. A collection of magic and green medicine, her knowledge of folklore soothes.
The fallen oak offers shelter. We strike a match, the fire warms. Huddled together once more. Another moment to share. Outside the crows caw. Flames flicker, smoke rises. Our clothes begin to dry.
Blue sky breaks through the clouds. Like the sun we rise. The homeward path is long.
A violet petal sparkles,
sun glints from the sky.
as water flows.
It's hard to rest. Rain is pouring. No sunshine. Mind is swarming.
We used to clasp hands. Philosophical fingers. Long and lean. Exclamation marks. Bluest eyes you'd ever seen.
Today it rains. I watch it zip down the glass. Pouring drinks at a bar. The neon sign becomes her gaze. Lipstick smudges the rim. Russian ***** encore. Wild Horses couldn't drag me away.
A quarter moon
A lantern marks
March 21st 2017 -
Early to rise... breakfast served. We face one another. Hazel eyes meeting blue. Idle chit-chat accompanies the Nescafe. The morning post sits unopened. Tomorrow everything will change. But for now we remain innocent.
The book falls open:
"Be Your Own Lamp"
A small candle flickers as darkness descends. Her photograph hangs upon the wall. Faded by time yet the memory stays strong. The days linger. Together we await the future, but not in awe. Watching the hands on the clock has become a full-time occupation. Time is elastic, every minute longer. Shadows of a former life flicker on the walls. The flame is fading, darkness is descending.
A flame burns.
Before the dawn, that was how it began. Trumpets sounded and my name was called. Henceforth you shall become a story worth sharing. She smiled immediately. Her curves were the seasons. Images of a valentines heart and Cupid's arrow. We danced upon the fresh grass.
Eventually cloud obscured our vision - to return, renewed, to remain consumed, grateful for the gift of life.
The sun-baked earth surrounds us. Tired eyes barely sustain the view. Our hands are coated with a red dust. Together we have lifted bricks, and shifted stones. Tonight, by the campfire, we shall relax.
Tonight I will sleep with the black cat - tonight I will dream of the Jinx. Tonight I will dance with the mad ones. Tonight I will relish all that I see.
To be jinxed is a sprinkle of gold-dust, to be jinxed is a blessing disguised.
Patched these stories together. Looked across the seas. Whistled amongst the winds. Heard the words of the eagle in flight. Danced with the dragonfly deep in the night. Darkness erased, bring on the light.
Glitter sprinkled against the dark of night,
that's what you are -
A token of appreciation long forgotten.
Many memories fade:
Lost property minus
20yrs, 5 free.
A smart user ?
Freaked out by early morning alarm calls. This life we create - symbols on monopoly boards, roll the dice, wait ya turn, play your part.
Drips bounce, the puddle becomes a mirror, my eyes reflect on bygone days. Tears form as icicles melt. The snow is my canvas. To scribe my name without a care, to know the identity of a future love. Upon the white a red heart beats... my love calls me forth - "adventure dear boy for all your worth" - an ice-rink beckons me .... New York, New York, oh the big apple bites!
A clown's rebounding. Traced on paper. Her life-line laughing. Yellow stained tobacco teeth, white-washed into make-believe. One colorful vision in a carnival scene. Welcome in, and start to sing... this mirror respects your long-lost dream.
A broken hinge rests alone as freedom ripples in the wind. She stands tall beside the red tricycle, fenced in white and rusted green.
Snapshots fire sepia-toned memories. Farther down the road, where the crossroads hit the stop sign... phones lines cross the skies.
those blue eyes
The wild dreams return. Another moment swirls. The leaves of the oak capture me. A blackbird swoops. The rain falls, puddles form. Again the butterfly ***** her wings. The nature of music sings.
The page is yellowed
Tomorrow we'll dream
like ripples on a pond.
Watching the butterfly
as she beats her wings.
When the curtains are
your shadow becomes
the setting sun.
Across the ocean with invisible lines. Tracking yesterday's dreams. Upon her waves I float. My eyes meet the clouds. Calling out for land. Sunshine, sand, and pebbles. Another person to caress. Drifting through lonely days. These lines entangle me.
Wild as she wandered. Lost in the lights. Seeking solitude. Her art expressive, her painted skin. Ink stains on the pathways. She's sentenced to blend. A torn reciept, the crumpled playing card, a seven again.
Weeks passed in years, moments in days. Tomorrow is a broken rainbow. Lost in thought, the breeze remains.
Dust swirls on the old road. A white cross stands alone. Further ahead a preacher kneels. Prayers are shared, and thoughts exchanged. His black robe ripples in the breeze. Bent twigs for fingers, deep-set eyes like beads. Sacred like a scarecrow, yet inside he flows.
The blue jay flies,
a wild flower grows.