Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Maybe I'll just sit here
In this stillness
Surf the unbidden
expanse
of silence
That fills my mind
Imagine an enchanted;

Yes!

Clearing;

A flourishing verdant
evergreen grove,

Raining
oxygen-filled particles
of Wish Light

A vintage letter falls
from the elder oak boughs;

Floating to your feet

Sonorously you read,

"Breathe
In
Deep"
After a week sheltered inside from hazardous wildfire air in the Northwest, it's time to scribe a change.
.
High atop shining mountains,
Where Gods glint as they spy
On wanting mortals, cast in heat
And toil, in heavens that are always
Basked by sun and days of grape,
That flow from the endless pour
Of golden casks, give mirth to always
Blue veins as they revel in mighty
Perfection and beauty, enameled
With imperishable face and statuary
Form, who thunder above feathery
Cloud, rumbling beyond all earthly
Ken and dream— in these heavens,
Is there myth only of desire?

Or do they yearn in cradle sleep,
As all those landed babes in need
Of mercies and fable, do gods shape
Subtle creations with the music of love,
Of blood in a touch, of dawn and hope
In the flowering of family and learning?
Can the gleaming child ever know needs
As they are met, held by eyes and lip,
The windy caress of kiss and nod
And rarest time as it wanes?

On radiant, fabled Olympus, where
Eagles, golden in the sun, only rake
The rims of Elysium as they song glide
So effortlessly, unlike the perilous, shy,
Wandering tribes basely set so far below,
The sun clad Titans home eternal, who always
Are held, perpetual in ever engulf of skies, rest
Starry, in their sparkling, immortal cloaks
Of milky cosmos and ambrosial aethers.

Above the murmuring clamours
Of the under strays and dogs of plain
And sea, do chose children of light ever
Quake or shudder in awe, never moved,
Or are they but wielders of storm and fierce
Lightning strikes, burnishing in judgement flame,
Never to be struck by leaves that come in fires of autumn,
Such monumental peace in a seasons turn, the simple joinings,
Of lovers, by a hearth, by a road, by rush of mountain streams?
In high heavens do even the Gods not dream
Of deep, down, sole earthly pleasures?
.
Nolan Willett May 18
Truth is found when one can
Reconcile the irreconcilable
That’s why it’s so elusive
And Illusive
Because you can’t,not completely,
At least not humanity,
Paradoxes obscure, but also vindicate,
The all
And everything.
And creation is a scientist
And we are its Petri dish,
And creation is a mystic,
And we are its parish.
Science the soul
.
Soft is the caul of breaths that seethe,
Loosed in the ears knowing
And light is held as a knife is sheathed,
Hard at the breaks reckoning.

Ebbing crawls in old cradles outset,
Clutched promises engulfing,
Death is a toll which gathers at sunset,
Ending seeps seaward in chills.

Listen for moon as it sails into lime,
Digging lost trails for journey,
Smell the salts as the sands run time,
Boarding penny barks turning.

Black birds soon flutter at drips window,
When dark winds cry crosslegged,
Lightless wings whisper— lit knowings,
Wraiths tapping three score and ten.
.
This is
A great sign
You will rise and
You will forever
S h i n e.

✒ ℐamil Hussain
.
I left the house of the tempest brewing,
Spinning like a rod, spun into flame
And came upon the redwood forest,
Eternal, shouting out heavens name.

The sun was indifferent, the creek shuffled
Its lament, the birds fluted their dirge—
I was so small, in the red giants grove,
Yet, felt so beloved, my pain was purged.

And I warmly came to see again—
My eyes, through the needles drove,
What a trifling is ones fleeting mood,
How true, heroic, immortal is my love.
.
Kathryn Apr 23
I don’t know the last time I felt so light; as a cloud on a summer day or a sigh from a sleeping baby.

I think there might be daisies or daffodils blooming in my rib cage-

I think the sun may have seeped into my skin and found its way into my bloodstream turning it to rivers of honey-

I think my skin has begun to smell like pine and my breath like frankincense and myrrh-

I think the moon is watching me tonight with her wide mother eyes, wondering how I shine so bright-

I think I may ignite-

I think I may collapse like a star into the dark beauty inside myself and burst forth again in even greater splendor-

It’s almost too much and yet it’s not enough! I could drink of this river until I drown in agonizing bliss.

Heaven! Earth! Seraphim! Desert dunes! Raging seas! Cedar trees! Frozen fjords! Hummingbirds! Are you watching?

I think, I think I am becoming!
I’ve had that line “I think I am becoming!” stuck in my head for days. I’m glad it found it’s place.

Today I felt this. Ecstatic bliss. For a moment it overwhelmed me and I had to write it down. I hope I did it justice.
.
I came to a courtyard of my own making,
To a cottage by the sea at the worlds edge.
I furnished it with my left over life, complete,
Barren and colorless and I wrote the newest
Book of psalms out of tinder and flame, a tome
Of grey and useless poems, unheard of songs
And reams of flesh.  There in the lightest dark,
By the Druid stone that was placed just for me,
I planted a creeping yew tree.  And the moon
Sang in celebration and silence like a fallen
Priest.  
                    Under the covering hazel trees,
That sprung to life after the longest winter,
Which taught me to forget my name, I now
Struggle with light and my body, warring, torn
Is fading slow, like the always arriving, down
Turning solstice, the climates of the mind,
Where it is digging the never ending shallow
Hole only the spreading eternal yew, that I
Planted, will ever know and only the Lazarus
Moon shall ever rise above.

I came to a courtyard of my own making,
Was it dream that led me there or my eyes?
.
(Sonnet)

What length are days so dearly trodden,
Riddled in stocks, museums of mind,
How can one soul with heart commend
And play these martial fields unkind?
We are wages cast about four corners
And spun to globe of coordinates web,
Sailing by moon, lit oceans of scorn,
Rudderless, blind— innocently led,
Yet here, one star, the sun is a beacon,
We are bathed each day in ****** light
And gifted to morn with new beginnings,
From dreams we wake with newborn sight        
And gods watch over with stellar eyes,
We are babes knowing— cradled in sky.
.
Next page