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traces of being Mar 2016
synergy in the mist
of creations' breath...
multitudes croaking so loudly
drowning in eventide dew,

all the wind's timbre
is hushed;

overcome
by earth’s
communing symphony,
creations’ living
pulsing thrum..

alone in a crowd
proclaiming
the glory of now...

whelmed,
and i wishing
i were a frog,
and unalone
in the throng

maybe evolution
as this—
is reversing...
ouroboros    

i need to search
for an intimate kiss

metamorphosis,
another incarnation

that will turn me
   back into a frog—

a speck of stardust
in a sky full of stars
seems better than
feeling like ashes

a burned out candle
muted
by the gypsy choir

the call of the wild
sung in the wind



*wild is the wind © march 2016
traces of being Mar 2016
.
                  It was the arc
                        of the rainbow
                              strewn above  
                                  thunder showered
                                     dawn;
                                         sun rays
                                           bending  
                                             into another
                                               resurrection
                                                 freshening hope
                                                   ..., or   
                                                      is it only
                                                        flecks
                                                          of colored light
                                                            curving
                                                         ­    in an arch
                                                            ­ your supple
                                                          ­  vestige
                                                            risi­ng to the sighs
                                                           of passionate touch ?
                                                           ..., perhaps just
                                                          leftover stardust,  * * *
                                                        spilled­ from                  *
                                         ­             someone else’s                      *
                                   ­                impassioned twilight ...                     *
                                                 becoming      ­                                         *
                                               nothing more
                                            than a hollow
                                          waning memory,
                                        a yearning ache,
                                    fading
                ­                like a  sunrise
                        daydream’s
                   afterglow



                                        wild is the wind © 2015
                                                ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩
while looking out across
the empty silk sheets of dawn,
where you once lay..,
a rainbow filled the sky
the colour & shape,
the memory of moonlight upon
your body's sway....
traces of being Feb 2016
.
Musical brush strokes paint
               the pink honey moon
               full and bright ;

the melody wafts lightly
               with a sensual scent
               of Jasmine fleur

Lonely hearts sip the sky’s
               lambent elixir’s gentle persuasion
from separately dispersed novas

the perennial blossom of the perpetual tide ..,                                       .
               merely pined moonlight

Immersing wholly in wistful reflection
               alight on wellspring emerald pond

Verily unspoken words cavort
               like musical rivulets spiraling flow
into the crystalline echo

Luna’s haloed heavenly sighs ,
               emanation bestrewn
               shimmering through dark nebula

like shooting stars shattered
               by the weight
               of their darkest radiance,
echoes upon the tide-less mirror pond

               the nimbus of moonlight
               imbuing all the ways I want you
. . .


wild is the wind ...© 6.17.2015
from a year ago, still longing for the touch of solacing song in the breeze as the waning last winter moon stirs the ache of loneliness
traces of being Feb 2016
.
blue clouds drift lazily
across variegated hues
of aubergine skies

shapeless shades of dark purple
open brilliant framed portals,
urging thoughts
beyond a feeble ray
of dappled light
upon sensual fusion

softly caressing
twilight adorned canvas,
the way moonlight
basks upon
freckled skin

brushing intimate flesh tones
perched atop a swinging star;
sketching the moment
a pink moon’s ebbing tableau

breathless sighs surrendered
in an intimate circadian rhythm,
our mingled moon shadows'
cadence unleashed

glow drops glistening
like heirloom diamond tiara constellations
swimming naked
between the jealous stars



*wild is the wind
traces of being Feb 2016
Caught up in the urging undertow
swimming against the stream's surging swell
awash in swirling back eddies
succumbing to natural undercurrents
relentless ebb and flow

we are not helpless
to swim against the leavening tide
lest we be breathlessly swept away
when spring melts the winter solitude
the  creeks do sing of rise and fall

yearningly drawn by a deep well of gravity
as high fountain snow-melt waters mingle,
steal away on the rise; migrate
unrestrained runoff rolling unturned stones
against the wind to the sea's abiding drum

oh river rouse from deafening silent winter slumber
oceans beckon to the confluence swell,
where all great journeying rivers diverge in perpetuity;
meld where the tide water’s restlessly lie
absorbed, unsung, infused unto - -
ever rolling currents roil
      
it's not the weight of gravity carried
nor the distance coursing burden's thorn
a faith in believing in this journey's unknown destiny,
how the shouldered load is borne

I was lost, alone in life's raging river;
in the river I did not drown ...


© ---
traces of being Feb 2016
.
mourning dove coos echo
across dawn’s dappled silence--

only these quiet pauses of breath
hush the dew droplets passive trickle

poignant traces of a solacing gravity
seep down through fogged portals,
cascading earthward from above

a symphony of pining pleas
from dew impearled wild feathers

a simple prayer of hope--

          to be held
in breathless warmth,

          in the amity                                                            ­                   .
of compassionate comfort,

       nestled intimately

beneath another’s assuaging wing



©  *wild is the wind
traces of being Jan 2016
there remains a stirring pang
churning around within

a soothing ache invigorates
an insatiable, yet suppressed ,
untamed appetite

a gnawing hunger craving
never curbed ,
abiding a leaching aloneness
that piercingly tingles inwardly

veritably suppressed fever
burns out of control
like a tameless wildfire ;
flames fanned
by the feral forces of nature

reviving
an intimately passionate
verve

~


*© wild is the wind
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