Inside curtain of wind,
senses rise and focused mind
begins to hear.
Stream of song reverberates,
as music of breath balances heartbeat.
As vibrant twinkling stars lead thoughts
into pastures of lighted clouds.
while words tumbled off finger tips,
and road to poem starts
its pulsating journey.
as if air particles are filled
with jargon untouched by human mind.
“Who speaks in yonder hall
of prism faceted mind?”
I ask at 3AM
when many sleep?
Is it Shakespeare's shadowed form,
as guide perched in realms unseen.
He echoes a “to write or not to write,
that be the question.”
He tickles senses
to awaken breath with,
“he who writes harbors gold.”
Or could it be Hemingway
who invites self to dance
amid sprinkle seedlings of a vision
to paint on a rainy night.
Perhaps it’s Poe a grand puppeteer of words,
who once lived in human form.
A talented soul in matrex of universe
who wishes to share
with transfusion to tweak my prose
with Ravens song.
Maybe its an alien who stops a while
in earths space
to reveal message for those
craving wisdom half awake.
A message to move as pioneer
of ones sacred self.
Inside stage of moment
even the bird sleeps,
and crickets hibernate on winter night.
Inside the solitude of
gentle sparks of creative energies
They march on
tapping into holding tank
meant to deposit on page.
Alas time moves on,
as daybreak hints to arrive
and moon slowly ascends
As undercurrents of sound
shift and writer guides ceases to feed
with their divine song.
As I bid thee fine reader good day,
and my cavorting fingers rest
making way for self to return to sleep pastures.
Till we meet again
parting is such sweet sorry.
When sleep eludes
and I can't sleep I connect.
Connect to the breath
to my divine gifts
to that vortex of those in other realms.
Perhaps you believe not oh reader which is fine
as we all have our paths.
Or maybe you think its possible
but still wonder how.
It is a process of purging the doubts
as was the journey I traveled
for quite some time.
It was with focus and surrendering
to the power of light that allows me to scribe.
It is something I am grateful for as well as
those who come to visit my poetic stage.
Life is indeed a gift meant to experience
both the dark and light
the tears and laughter
the gratitude and excitment.
WE ARE NOT ALONE
and that in itself takes time
to really understand.
Once known life becomes a holiday of experiences,
(even the challenging ones)
May you all connect to life's magic
and be that clown performer
(plain cloths division)
P.S. I am and have been a professional clown for 32 years