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Sara Brummer Feb 25
Early oracle of harmony
as a swift tide of rays
kisses the world magnolia.
The day is rinsed in purity;
breeze whispers its first song in
the tree’s opalescent sepals
where a colorful blooming
above is glimpsed by the
watchful eye of now.

Here mind is free to invent
its own ballet, a host of
feelings rising like a flock
of birds with each passing

Here are depths of time
suspended in the stillness
of palm fronds as moist heat
lays its lazy blanket over
beach and sea.

This season is peopled by
idea ghosts haunting the
corridors of thought left
idle for too long, the ever-
moving tide of change
soon turning.

Oh, to be invisible as wind,
simple as air yet constant
as an orchestra of waves
rising, plunging, withdrawing
and returning again and again.
Sara Brummer Dec 2022
The year is old and ready
for re-birth. Spirit moves
on dawn-gray wing.
Wind is shaken in and out
of darkness.

Thoughts brim up from clouds,
rising among shadows, casting
starry beams on cold pastures
of the mind. Frozen grasses
tremble under the breath’s flow
like fingers reaching for the heights
of air enclosed in silent gloves
of prayer.

Across the distance and through
time, sacred song echoes at
the forest’s edge, a precocious
sign of what’s becoming.
Sara Brummer Dec 2022

Pink convolutions of sky
blow faint breath on silver air-
Morning, a blank page,
a pale world stepping out
of the empire of night.

The first quick showers
of light shake sleeping
spirits awake as gentle
waves of motion wash
away final dreams.

Gray-coated fog mingles
with bright air as blue sings
in the eyes of early hours,
readying the world for
the first brushstrokes
of wonder.

Mist creeps low and
milky-white over fields.
Cliffs stretch white fingers
toward the heavens as tailors
of time begin to measure
the hours.

Earth’s heart pulses with
new energy, but morning
is a stranger in a foreign
land traveling alone.
Sara Brummer Nov 2022

They begin with phantom emotions,
perhaps of past moments dreamed
or a future not yet revealed.
They whisper soft winter music
in the pines, making shadow sounds
on the voice of air.

They are faint pencil lines
on a transparent screen,
a glimpse into the little sky
of mind.

They are sometimes sung
among the clouds or dropped
in silver words upon a soundless sea.
They are a moment breaking open,
a sip of understanding, an arrow
piercing the heart with a surprise
of unknown light.
Sara Brummer Oct 2022

Mind is blank before a white page
and imagination a new way of seeing.
It follows a pattern , coloring thought,
forming question marks like ripples
in still water awakening with a quiver
of heart, a soft and tender energy.

It lifts the momentary strain
of memories, the worries
of uncertainty. It lets us live
outside the darkness of our
inner world; it leads us to
the edge of earth beyond
nothingness, where was
and not yet hang in the air,
to a sensual moment where
self creates its own perfect
Sara Brummer Sep 2022

It strikes without warning
savage and primeval --
the menacing obscurity,
the turbulent obsession,
the rubble of confusion
leaving bays of impasse
in the aftermath of fallen trees.

It overwhelms, it devastates,
rising in a crescendo of moods.
It scatters broken dreams,
lost in the search for belonging.

Is there a way out of darkness?
The cadence of the soul seeks
a surface of calm renewal,
freed from captivity.

It sweeps away the broken pieces,
clearing the sky of clouds,
expanding the colors
of returning peace.
Sara Brummer Sep 2022

Dawn, take my sorrows.
I tired of being a passenger
of the dark.
Make me awash with sensation.
Let me forget despair.
Let me feel the city’s vibration.

I want to be a carefree wanderer
upon wide open boulevards,
piercing the veil of shadows’
oblivion, following a series
of endless crossroads
towards some conflagration
of urban lights, captured
by the conjurer of thoughts

I reach into all the hidden spaces
searching for the essence of myself.
Only there in the vastness of starless
unconsciousness can I perceive
that celestial expanse of light.
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