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In this small cathedral we meet
I sit here waiting for you
and it is not long before
our joyful reunion.
I weep tears of joy
being wrapped in your arms
feeling your creative energy
flow through my mind
into my fingers and back out
on this small screen.

I have missed this intimacy
that fills me with poems
and lines along which you travel
from me into the universe.
Those lines pierce my heart
and it overflows with life and love
because you have entered.

This is a sacred space
for here I bring all the trials and pain
and lay them out
for your creative plunging being,
plunging past the terror and hate without
into the deepest part of me
a chamber of reunion.
Since this time last month (May 2021) I have been suffering some intense pain in my back due to spinal disk degenerative disease that hurts most intensely when I sit and a bit less when I stand. So that sends me to bed of the couch where I can recline and allow my pain killing measures to take effect. I can really understand how people get hooked on pain killers. So this month has filled me with compassion for those who suffer chronic intense pain. I still await a more permanent or at least a longer lasting solution to this problem. The medical profession sometimes moves slowly. I have missed writing and this morning I forced myself to sit here, meditate, journal, and allow my muse to enter the small space of our garden room where my little computer sits and I can enjoy the feast of green life around me and through the windows AND the feast of creativity – inspiring this my first poem in more than a month. It is amazing how the creative impulse arises when we just stop and allow it to do so. I have missed you all and your poetry, your spilling out of your soul life. I hope I can force myself to return to this small cathedral more often even though the pain continues to nag and pulse.  Peace and poetry to all of you, my dear friends.
Diljeev Jun 10
The meadows of his visage,
soil cracking with age,
all it takes is her thought
and the meadows
cease to rot.

Each one in his dream's domicile,
tears racing down their eyes,
for the day may not be far
down the aisle,
when the prolonging dreams
and the reality blend,
and so do they, in the end.

It isn't a certainty,
but a man can hope can't he?
hope made it viable,
he made past the ordeal,
now it comes to a close,
it is but human to think
a reunion is undeniable.
Beckie Davies Mar 29
A butterfly once flew into my life
A beautiful friendship was formed
She stayed for a quite a while
Until there came a vicious storm  
Bringing chaos and hardship
In all of the confusion
I found that she had departed
I grieved for my friend
Unsure of why it had ended
Eventually like most things
I found closure and acceptance
Out of the blue
On an autumn evening
A butterfly stopped by
Fluttering her wings in greeting
So there, time stood still
Call it fate if you will
A reunion of two butterflies
Who never truly severed ties
a reunion of two butterflies who never truly severed ties
Bolaji Temilola Dec 2020
I woke only having you in my heart, Mynat
And looking at the clock,
It reads  5:55 and so I got the feeling that you too are thinking of me
Our angels are working on our case.
Huge change is on the horizons
Massive change is for my highest good
I am prepared for this shift
Things are getting excited.
555 Thank you
preston Dec 2020
D Vanlandingham

Boundless, in its ability to extend beyond all forms of containment;
the big circle contains within it, the little one
and if it is true relationship through genuine volition of the beloved
that is to be desired most of all,
then spirit, wrapped in flesh is the autonomy most needed
in order for the dream to become true.
Spirit is being.
Spirit cloaked in flesh is being--
feeling its relationship with its own self.
Spirit, mastering its own flesh by reigning in  its emotions  along
with the synaptic-firing of every one of its nerve endings into full
submission of the spirit's own core nature, is the root-basis of all true volition.
Spirit, in its raw form is perfect-- wholly unable to undergo
corruption, or decay..

but the flesh..
the flesh,
Always needing to substantiate itself through its never-ending layers
of self-promotion  apart from the realities of its own spirit's  core.

Yet,  pure love--
wholly unable to see itself as that which is to be rejected,
enters in to the very act of the rejection, itself;
that autonomy may  continue to contain the uncorrupted core--
     and the smaller circle becomes established:
     smaller.. yes.. but in truth,
its parameters self stretch all the way out to those of the bigger one
And so, with the necessary advent of autonomy
into the relational equation,    comes also
The necessary advent of God's wholly-volitional
self-depletion of God.. entering,  in to it all
so that, in time, God alone might take the full brunt
of rejection's unjust hit--

in its autonomous movement  away
from its own incorruptible core..
away,  from its own true self.

So, follow the smaller circle, if you will, my beautiful--
either way, you are still following God.

"where can I go from your spirit?
or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Hades, behold, you are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
even there your hand will lead me,
and your right hand will lay hold of me.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
and the light around me will be night,”
Even the darkness is not dark to you,
and the night is as bright as the day..

Darkness and light are alike to you."
~The kingdom of Dave
Kaliya Skye Nov 2020
It isn't selfish.
To wish things were as clear as a window,
when all you have are two way mirrors.
annh Oct 2020
ᗩ ᗷᑌTTEᖇᖴIᑎGEᖇEᗪ ᖴEᒪᒪOᗯᔕᕼIᑭ Oᖴ TᗯEᒪᐯE
ᑭᒪᗩYIᑎG ᑕᗩTᑕᕼ ᗯITᕼ ᗰY ᑕOᑎᔕᑕIOᑌᔕᑎEᔕᔕ.
'When all the archetypes burst out shamelessly, we plumb Homeric profundity. Two clichés make us laugh but a hundred clichés move us because we sense dimly that the clichés are talking among themselves, celebrating a reunion.'
- Umberto Eco, Travels in Hyperreality
One:  Bridge

Is it the bridge
Between, Now and forever?

The bridge of fear
When will you be crossing over?

Is it the bridge between
Possibility and doubt

And will we stay strong
Or are we willing to drown?

Is it the bridge between
Who we are and
Where we lust and love?

Would the distance, Abide
Or will it be us merged, eventually?

Are we ready
To venture, to cross this bridge
To our destiny but no future?

Freeze your breath
and listen to the breeze

A bridge, the transparent gap
We are inclined
If you are, to cross the bridge
That leads to one. Love.

Two: Reunion

When seagull whistles
we all came together at this reunion day
World has changed since we've seen each other
Although remained love never goes away

Where covered faces shades blessing
Without understanding of their souls
We think we know a lot about each other
But some things we will never know

Disgust in uncertain eyes and exhausted looks
A lady in red walks off into silver lake
As a space shuttle pulls away
they will never know her hidden pain
At least not on this reunion day.
The Qixi Festival is celebrated on every 7th day of the 7th month according to Chinese lunar calendar. The festival is known as the Chinese Valentine's Day. In the past days, girls are the major part of participants of this festival and the main activity during the festival is asking for light hand
SomaSonata Aug 2020
Holstered at high noon
Blistering with festered wounds
First of many moons

Fire raining down
Tap a vein of blood in the ground
Void of life and sound

Shelter for relief
Burn the place around my feet
Respite that I seek

Perish in my youth
Yellow candles light the room
Cultured yet uncouth

Painted red the town
Carnage glistens all around
Gone and left to drown

Woken by the cries
A place I still recognize
Dreams arrive to die

Atone and bleed the sin
An evil presence descends
Quell the rage within

I won't die in vain
Nefarious and insane
Poppies soothe the pain

Worn upon our sleeves
Phasing unpredictably
Nature of the beast

Tread lightly forward
Origin of vile scourge
Yet ventured onward

Grains of salt and sand
In reunion holding hands
Flee this barren land
Missing you,
is like my second nature now,
But on the day we meet again,
I know,
We will pick right from where we paused,
And will walk together our journey,
To the one I miss the most . . .
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