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Preciso de um refúgio, um santuário etéreo,
um espaço onde o vazio se estenda sem limites,
onde minhas mágoas se afoguem, dissolvendo-se no tempo,
e, ao emergir, fiquem à deriva, sem âncora para retornar.

Não apenas as tristezas desejo abandonar,
mas também os pesares que ecoam na mente,
os tormentos insondáveis, os pensamentos errantes,
toda sombra que, impiedosa, se aninha em meu ser.

Almejo um refúgio, um bálsamo sem toque,
onde minha própria consciência me embale,
pois já não espero gestos nem promessas,
talvez nem mesmo de mim próprio.

Um refúgio onde, após a água fria em dias abrasadores,
eu possa fechar os olhos sem temor,
e, na vastidão do pensamento, encontrar descanso,
certo de que, ao despertar, serei renovado.

Preciso de um mergulho profundo,
tão intenso que, ao emergir,
seja eu outro, despido do peso do passado,
meus fardos escoando pelo ralo do esquecimento.

Que até minha essência resplandeça,
e a escuridão oculta, há tanto arraigada,
seja iluminada por quem deseje permanecer,
pois tal redenção não se dá por acaso,
mas pelo encontro de almas que veem além.

Tão restaurador será esse refúgio,
que nele reencontrarei o que há muito se perdeu:
a centelha que, adormecida,
aguarda apenas um sopro para arder outra vez.
Way
ducks with muddy feet
waddle slow, stuck, shuffle legs
spring rain, earth resins

-cec
voice like tinnitus
prompting more revealing thoughts
what's past is present

-cec
Psychologist Carl Jung's "Shadow Self"
Sun-yellow pointing branches
soaking in a sky steel lake
straight and smooth sway
wind in the willows prancing

geese fly low on waters, dip wing
let loose lively horn honks
aiming for the other shore
to gather gaggle from the skein

old and new coots paddle near
not too close to ease their fear
they dive and disappear away
to bob like corks from bottom's buffet

this blind is blind to feathered eyes
a chance to glimpse from this disguise
the leaps and games of fauna's bath
and real a frame through nature's lath

-cec
Music, sweet music plays its instruments
filling these caverns of glass and steel
a giant bowl of melody's bubbles sloshing
until the swing of rhythm walks and reels
each bypassing person made whole
with bass, fiddle, guitar and peak mandolin

Music, sweet music dreaming a tune
bringing together musicians, ants to sugar
each grain full of heart's energy, swoons
interludes exhale to breath resurgent
whining, tunning up, plucking old timey
song and prance to cort generous chiming

Sweet music's music, strolls through, lofted
making way's sway to new combinations
singles and couplets, thrum out, turn softest
slow then at pace, not race, in syncopation
no humdrum here but humming and druming
you're invited, incited to join in this strumming

-cec
* * * * *
It's getting on to 4, the sun has not shown itself
all day, the snow is melting, some bare spots of
grass appearing here and there, it's 34 degrees.
The little piles of bird seed I put out at noon on
the walkways have all but disappeared, gangs
of birds have mostly consumed it all, pretty little
ground feeders, of one kind or another. My inside
fat cat has had his nose pressed to the window all
day observing them with wide eyed interest and
quivering jaw, maybe licking his predatory lips.
Even though he has never eaten anything that did
not come out of a bag or can.

I too have enjoyed watching them busily hopping
around feasting, I always wonder where they go
when they disappear. Maybe just passing through
headed south for warmer pastures? Or are they year
round locals? Do they have any idea who put out
the feast, and how does the word get spread, do
they have scouts or lookouts, or some kind of aerial
bird only telegraph system.

At least the freezing weather kept our Barn Cats all
snugged up and off the street, at one point I quick
counted between 40 to 50 winged visiting diners
out there. The cats never even knew they were here.

Watching them feed was almost as much of a treat
for me as it was for them. It made me feel useful,
and that does not happen very often these days.
When we get old it is these little things that matter
and sustain us.
More snow, rain and cold forecast into next week.
I may have to brave the icy roads into town for more
seeds for my little winged friends.
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