The Owl finding,
The Crows shade bathing,
the bird bath,
an oasis,
a refuge.

Listening to
CBC Radio,
Saturday morning,
stories about miracles,
about healing.

Today is cooler
(cloudy)
than it's been
in the past
couple of months.
Last night was
clear,
moon and stars,
a chill in the air,
more darkness,
fall approaching.

Worrying
over
every little thing.
Weary,
worn,
resigned.

A deep fear
of losing face.

aged
raged
caged
ragged
bagged
gagged
inconsolable.

So,
a­ writer friend
passes me the
baton,
to inspire me
to inspire you...
I catch it
it is light.

It is light
like the
wing bone
of a small
bird,
perfectly balanced
for flight.

What to do
with this
lightness?
This gift?

I hold it
for a
moment.

I feel the lightness
and the balance.
I feel the flight.

There is a sense
of impossible
tranquility,
my spirit
lifted
suddenly,
as this
lightness
carries me.

© 2014 Verlie Burroughs

I am a naturalist, I find inspiration in nature.

Lost and confused -
like the first snowflake
uncertain
but unknowingly the harbinger
of a muffled night
the herald of a silent night
not destined for aloness
but ready to reflect
a glorious night
of light

Like the first snowflake
you're destined
for something
glorious

Happy New Year.
Zach 5d

If you asked me late last night, I'd think things are hopeless

If you asked me an hour ago, I could still be easily persuaded as such

If you asked me 5 minutes ago...

I'd tell you that I'm more sure of myself and my decisions

If you asked me now...


I'd tell you I've never been more sure of anything in my life


I refuse to let this happen again, I will fight to make it happen and I will not give up till an exact conclusion is made


Either we are


Or we aren't

My true love lies
In an open field
Of hills, plains, and daisies
With mountains on the horizon,
A vast calm sea,
A vivifying breeze behind me,
And a bright, clear, wide open sky.

https://youtu.be/IduWDFurtf0
Listen to this <3

One more hour in the job I love
Then they snatch it all away
Too many letters in my last name
And I won’t join the games they play

One more hour in my office home
Before it becomes not mine
They took away the reason why
I need a space to spend my time

I’m sitting in a dunking booth
My chair held by a pin
The balls are going to come my way
Which one will tip me in

Which lame excuse will be the one
They hand me on a plate
Which evil lie will be pronounced
To seal my future fate

Fifty minutes left to carve
The end of my career
Until they push me out to starve
And turn a deafened ear

Or maybe only cut my time
To watch me slowly bleed
And later do the coupe de grace
As they eliminate my need

The time is slowly racing by
My calm is wearing thin
I’ve tried so hard to handle this
To walk out with a grin

But jitterbugs have made their home
In all my quiet places
My throat is learning to seize up
And spoil my placid faces

My mind has owned the coming doom
But my belly missed the memo
I vowed to not succumb to gloom
And ride out in a limo

The hour is up - the hatchet bitch
Has done her thing and gone
It hurts much more than I had guessed
I’m not sure I can carry on

What goes around will come around
A saying tried and true
I grab the courage I just found
And know I’ll make it through

ONE HUNDRED HOURS LATER

I’ve found a way to stay afloat
I’ve given it much thought
Perhaps the Gods will smile on me
And I’ll end up on a yacht.

The people I’ve dealt fairly with
Have rallied round my cause
They’re going to help me find a way
To sidestep hunger’s jaws

There is a path that I’d not seen
That leads to greater riches
And I will now begin that walk
And spite those loathsome bitches

Who thought that they could throw me out
Like Sunday morning trash
With never a thought of what I’d use
For weekly grocery cash

What goes around has come around
To me - I’ll be just fine
The people that I’ve served so well
Have helped me cross the line

The storm has finally passed me by
I see an end to sadness
I now know I can carry on
Despite their evil badness.

So now my time has ended here
I’m wistful but not crying
I’ve seen a sunrise just ahead
And I’ve new wings for flying

ljm

I'm going to become a Site Rep for various filming locations.  I gained experience at it as part of my past job, and now the location scouts I worked with are banding together to help me find either a location to Rep  or agencies to send me to various locations. It's the part of my old job I liked the best anyway.  A bit nervous, but come Feb. I'm taking a go at it.
Ther IS light at the end of the tunnel.
Sam Bowden Dec 2017

Take me to the river,
wash me clean,
wash me clean.
I want the stain of her removed,
from every scrap of everything.
Take me to the river,
wash me clean,
wash me clean.
Singe her stench from my soul,  
burn every fiber of my being.

Take me to the river,
wash me clean,
wash me clean.
I want to be free of her memory,
and the song that we'd sing.
Singing, Oh, Lord,
Grant me renewal,
give me grace.
I can still taste your love,
though now it’s a bitter taste.

Your heart is so big. The capacity within it; seemingly endless. It is filled with caverns, rooms, channels and layers. Stories and ideas, songs and poems, memories soaked in pain yet dipped in beauty. Whispers and giggles and shrieks and howling and melodies and moans all resonate in the halls and leak through on the wind. I stand, gazing at this labyrinth that is you. And there is an adventurous part of me that aches to explore its depths; to know every variety of yourself within. I approach, grimacing as I reach out one hand, and hesitantly knock on the gate of its great walls. My breath is held; hoping for acceptance, dreading rejection. I know you may not wish to, but you must share all this with someone. Have you heard what happens to those who refuse to open their doors? To trust? They barricade themselves in this endless mansion and become lost within. They are alone. And when they walk into a dark room and the door closes behind them, no one is there to hear their cries; to open the door and pull them back into the light. That is why I have been sent to you. The keeper of your heart has searched me and known my ways. He has deemed me not only worthy of your trust, but necessary. So please, let me in. Open the gates. As each second ticks by, slower than the last, I begin to fear I have been shunned. This is my calling. My purpose. My own heart has finally had the doors flung open, the walls torn down, and the contents are flooding out; a raging hurricane of myself finally set free. I need somewhere for that flood of me to go. If I try to hold it in any longer, I will burst: shatter. Please! Take my love! I will trade you. I beg you for your burdens. I long for your loneliness. I will share your scars and love your longing. Let. Me. In. At last, movement. The rusted gates groan in protest as they are forced open after so many years of stoic rejection: standing unmoved. They grate far enough apart for me to squeeze through and dart inside. I am met by endless corridors, vast hallways lined with doors leading to every emotion, experience and thought you have ever dwelt on. Golden rays of sunshine behind one door, a forest full of giggles and children and innocence. I run and laugh with those sweet young faces, caressed by the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Behind the very next door, I am plunged into a blackness deeper than a clouded night. I fall into a deep pit, landing on jagged rocks and shards of broken hopes. Crouched in the corner, trembling and alone, with tear streaks down their face, is you. My heart swells in my chest, and I know: this is the moment for which I have been prepared. I kneel before you, taking your cold hands in my own. Our Father wants you to come home now. Follow me. You are terrified; I see it in your frantic glances. But here, I have something that will help. I am entrusting you with my own heart, here in the depths of your own. Let the hope I have received be a light in this darkness. Let my trust and vulnerability inspire your own. I couldn't hold it back anymore even if I wanted to. And with that, the last piece of my wall crumbled down. An outpouring of love, peace, joy and hope flooded the pit, filling it to overflowing. We sailed out into the sunlight, hand in hand. As we ran into the meadow, our eyes looked up and locked with the Father’s. And as we were swept into his embrace, our hearts were made whole for the first time. I glanced at you, my kin, hopefully expectant of the life we would share: in the light.

Jess Rainswood Nov 2017

I tore the pages from my past
and smiled at you
as I offered each writing to the fire
flames consumed beautifully
the jagged words
that for the longest time
my head stabbed into my heart

bindings loosely held together now
missing the bulk of the stack
the stiches have been torn
but the hardcover still remains

in a book that I no longer carry
ashes are the words
that no longer serve me

On making attempts to clear out the clutter of sadness and heartache
Benie Nov 2017

The wooden floorboards no longer speak
Dust no longer resides in the air; a cleaner breath to breath
Though cracks still remain as a reminisce of the past
A past that no longer exists, not really
The old swing on the old front porch still sways
Where I used to sit and think alone

This isolated path of self discovery
It came to an end not too long ago
My house was rearranged
Books placed neatly on the shelves
Furniture were placed in an order peculiar to me

I’d call this feeling exhilarance
Or serendipity if you prefer

You moved into my hollowed walls
As if spring came for a second time
Everything is renewed, my dear
You made this house my home

old emotions for one who almost caused my death
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017

archangels banish the devil
in the depths of your heaven
like a non-violent exorcism
the likes of which I haven't witnessed
sentimental plague covers our
binary consciousnesses
until the veil burns off
and the ashes feed the land
till it softens
wiping clean the mourning
desiccating grief
from the haunting
worshipped debris
embedded rootless
to the thick of the longing
to the excised fat
of past-time reveries
yet the ivory towers
still stand bared
amidst newborn flowers
sparing no sand
from the hourglass
for an epitaph
for only tomorrows
carry redemption
promising blossoming

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