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Aug 2018 · 270
Entanglement (sensual)
traces of being Aug 2018
.
Nascent love blossomed

          hidden amongst

          the lazy river's

          moonlit summer vines
                  
          as we swam blissfully,

          stark naked as we are,

          drowning in a dulcet river’s spilled wine


Burning rapture garnered somewhere

in the starlit goosebumps shine

sensual healing released like spindrift

from every breaking wave;

splashing impassioned ecstasy

within passion suffused sighs


          The cadence of our moon shadow's dance

          reveled in the midnight reign          

          enslaved by an insatiable

          stardust rhapsody,

          unshackled lovers set free,

          entangled beneath the jealous stars


      
                                                  ­­
Apr 2018 · 501
Born a weed
traces of being Apr 2018
Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
indifferent winds ask not direction to course

Change asks not permission to become ―
like a blind-folded pilot looking for a place to land

At least dandelion wishes shoulder the weight of hope
and it makes no difference to the wind whose dream
it holds or seed it bears to  randomly cast away

The color of a mustard seed of faith
that moves mountains remains unknown ―
Freedom is as weightless as a hole in empty pocket
with nothing left to lose

Who decides who's a **** and what's a flower;
such definitive power beholds responsibility—
the most visible kind of strength,
that, used to oppress others,
is itself born of weakness.

On this island earth, in an ocean of emptiness,
a grain of sand and seaweed are washed ashore,
alone together, by the strength of a tuning tide

Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
spindrift flying on the wing of tide-change
as indifferent gales ask not direction to scatter

Terrestrial seeds lay unheeded hole up in impalpable silence,
embryos of yesterday dwelling in infrequent sighs
that enter lightly those unreckoned songs
the breathings of the heart fail to sing


              words in the wind
Notes: ****;  plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one that grows where it is not wanted and often grows or spreads fast or takes the place of desired plants.
Apr 2018 · 354
Such a simple thing
traces of being Apr 2018
Sometimes
in the mornin'
dawn awakens
unquiet heart
    swaddled
   in a dream ―

       and
      i hear
    a whisper
    from a voice,
gentle as a burning
      candle,
 sing to me softly
without words

... a stirring
moment ripples ―
an unholdable dream
    fleeting;
    lapping
wakeless silence;
... vanishing , . .
    swilled
by the daylight
   just beyond
   closed eyes
     awoken

    and now
 it's only me
      again




words in the wind
traces of being Apr 2018
I often wonder how you’re doing
     but I wish I didn't care
Even though you never told me you were leaving
     with a mouthful of words left unsaid
Still circling back to touch the growing space
     between ―  twice you broke my heart

I felt you slip away in autumn gold
     fading like the morning dew
Love can drift away like a molted feather;
wonted flotsam swept afar on stormy seas
Some things are better left unspoken,
     when silence speaks twice
            louder than words

But love lies with a whisper; tears of sombre sorrow
     won’t wash away the distance in your eyes
These are the days of a rising tide's breach
  when, I could walk deep into the ocean
     with no one else but memories
                to leave behind


                   
                   April 2018
... love lies with a whisper
        in abject silence,

        life's too short
        to drink bad wine

        change never asks
        for permission

        time takes time

        and by the way,
        I forgive you ...
traces of being Apr 2018
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
such evolution
   as this—
   is reversing...
    Ouroboros    

touched wondrously
by spoken wind,
urgently
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 stardrift
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

Note:   From the 1st days of spring  2016;
listening — hearing,   somethings don't change
just came in from a windy evening walk,
with a whelming sense of Déjà vu

note:   The Ouroboros often symbolize self-reflexivity or cyclicality, especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, the eternal return, and other things such as the phoenix which operate in cycles that begin anew as soon as they end
traces of being Jul 2017
We were born
before the sighs
of surrender

before the twilight
whispered crescendo

before the sad sound
of the wind ―

Ere the raw truth
that tells a story
     through
"eyes that are
the windows
   of the soul" ―

We were born
with eyes wide
        open
     with tears
    that well up
of truth unspoken,

  love arising
        like
a budding flower,..

metamorphosis
of fertile heart ―

The wheel of life
turns unbound
an outgoing tide

   as certain as
    continuum
       abides ―
an unbroken lariat
  until the knot
  comes untied

A lonesome dove coos
  perched upon
deserted garden gate;
its gentle plea segued
into a silent prayer ―

Seasons change;
   supple buds
of forlorn love
― wither,

unsure if we’re alone
         or if
we’re alone together (?)!


                                                  ­  ­    ­         .
postscript:

"Through a foggy window in the rain
When you thought no one was watching,
Going through your memories
Like so many prisons to escape
And become someone else
With another face
And another name"

...an excerpt from :
"Through The Window" by Chris Cornell
Mar 2017 · 3.2k
Lost in the wind
traces of being Mar 2017
Once I had a friend
    and soulmate,
we were dreamin’
we could fly away
    with the wind;
    but knowing
wings are for angels,
we stood transfixed
  beneath the light
  a sky full of stars


hanging onto a dream      
we clutched so tightly,
      perched high
      on the edge
      of the world,
wondering how far
     and how high
the great wide open
     sky blue skies
           abide


believing the power
  of kept promises ―
you said you’d forever
   catch me if I fall ―
letting go of the fears,
 blindfolded hope
clinched so deeply,
    hanging onto
a wing and a prayer


I guess I wanted it
     far too much
     reaching out
  like a thirsty fool
grasping for a mirage ―
teetering on the brink
    unspoken love,
   a vast unknown
  threshold beyond
          wings


with eyes wide open
throwing caution afar ―
   in a leap of faith
I reached ― out of reach
   into the mystic wind ―
    believing in dreams,
      in destiny's tease:
       I’d learn to fly
         before I hit
        the ground


but now I’m perpetually
          free fallin’
  I see the empty space
   all around me pass
a fleeting lifetime lost ―
   still  you’re nowhere
       to be found ―
    and I remember
what’s been forgotten:

       how far down
  rock bottom befalls
  when your spinning
    round and round
      like dust eddies
        in a fog bank
      lost in the wind                             .
March 31st 2017 — words in the wind

"And I see losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow"
― Paul Simon
.
Mar 2017 · 3.8k
before the rain
traces of being Mar 2017
rolling nimbus sky
heavy black rainbow clouds swell
burdening winds load


words in the wind
Rites of spring haiku: # 1
Mar 2017 · 1.9k
After the rain
traces of being Mar 2017
a bowl-shaped hollow
greystone pool amongst boulders
songbirds bathe and sing


words in the wind
Rites of spring haiku: # 2
traces of being Mar 2017
If only there were words
           to the unspoken verses
           when silence is the only sound

           More than only
           near paralyzing torn,
           weary of searching endlessly
           for what cannot be found
           silence whispering poignantly
           drowning out the midnight rain,
          
           There is no more sorrow
           in search of the lost
           unstrummed guitar chords
           Unwritten psalms
           forever left unsung;
           without amity,
           woe betides an unfinished,
           abandoned heart's song

           Only a heart lonely knows,
           there is no absolving darkness
           whispering of screaming silence
           by night and by day:
           "all things must steal away"  
           not to be thought of wanderings end
           as a  velvety-crimson rosebud
           shamelessly withers brown

           Swirling eddies stir
           a black swan of loneliness
           swimming within the flood
           of raven river waters'
           silently eclipsing
           its pitch black flow

           Muted pleas silent as pity
           blowin' in the fleeting windsong,
           speaking in beckoning salutations
           singing in sweetly beseeching tongues

           Like the hush of a pensive soul,
           once touched by another, moved
           like a bedrock marrowed mountain
           left stifled, stranded and wondering,
           feeling an awkward silence
           when the leaves come falling down

           There are no misbegotten promises
           cast lightly in the moonlight’s restless spell;
           there is no solacing stillness
when silence is the only sound...
Notes (optional) :
...Shhh



"When Silence is the Only Sound"
This title turns out being a fitting ending....
words in the wind ― blown away ― 3/15/2017
Mar 2017 · 1.5k
Words in the Wind
traces of being Mar 2017
The wind whispers
                              in untold words ―

borne deeply within
                              the heart of the sky

and, like a kite broke free
                              of tethered strands,

"I may as well try
                              and catch the wind" ―
Mar 2017 · 752
daffodil
traces of being Mar 2017
.
pale bright yellow infringes
just beneath shadowed drift
of lingering snow

as if a nascent smoldering flickers
breathlessly gasping for light
penetrating cracks on whiter opaque

wondrously drawn skywards
'neath an unseen sky so far away
revealing an obscure warmth
in blossoming will

tomorrows vanguard
unfolding beneath a blanket
that only grows deeper
over the long winter night 

a darkest silence borne
beyond frozen time layered depths

in the magic of a moment,
the clouds let the wind stir
the fickle sun's yellow paint brush

and like an burgeoning embryo,
a reclusive hope bursts forth
metamorphosis within
an all encasing hidden evolution

the wind whispers an audible sigh;
a sole daffodil peeks out
from enveloping darkness,

  casting out the memory
               a beautiful light hidden within


                         words in the wind


        ... February 28th, 2017 and counting
Jan 2017 · 1.8k
Blowin’ in the Wind
traces of being Jan 2017
Wondering through
the complex mazes
of the wind,
trying to feel beyond
what I cannot see;

trying to see beyond
   what I can feel ―

The echoes of the breeze
invigorate the stillness

The weight
of a world heavy
expands like the traces
of life lived
packed deeply beneath
jagged fingernails

Lost in the wilderness
of my soul,
a feral wind
abides silently
as I wonder alone
from end to end

...  side   to   side
    
through a portal
shapeless as the wind

Blinded by a collective
bioluminescent light
rooted deeply within,
intimately touching
crystalline fountains
as the deepest pools
of innate blackness unfold
in the wake

I reverently touch
the inward rhythm
where a heart strong
     runs alone …

feeling its
pulsing cadence
    quake and thunder
    in reach …

Rivulets thrumming across
the burgeoning blossom
of soothing netherworld seas

Washing away
all the memories made
like the shapeless waves of wind
moving the stillness
beyond


wild is the wind ... 1. 27. 2017
the answer is blowin’ in the wind
.
Jan 2017 · 915
Chasing Rogue Waves
traces of being Jan 2017
Your poignant silence spoke
             with the voice
    a thousand unspoken lies,
       the kind of  little sins
    that wear away the soul

    An obscure grain of salt,
       awakening dissolved,
      in a vast saline ocean
   of life’s ever fugitive tides

       Chasing rogue waves
       across deepest oceans;
          carried away to be
willingly drown in a sea of love,
          a mystic blackness
far beyond the cresting breakers'
  fomenting meringue riptides

   From the headland cliffs above,
           a lone  shore pine
           leaned windward
       out over land and sea,
    tough skinned roots cling
        bared by prevailing
          winds' migration

        Smoothly calloused
       by the blowing sands
       eroding the sapwood
         atop the petrified
          heartwood rings
            of untold time

        Abiding on the cusp
      of falling farther down
          than any ordinary
               directionless
        semblance measured
              nor bona fide

   The nebulous distance back
     an unbridgeable breadth
           long since buried,
n'er to be forgotten milestones,
   abandoned without a trace,
 like footprints blowin' in sand
     erased by the prevailing
             westerly winds

     Illusions of fallen mileposts
          counted backwards,
        undone clicks beyond
       the abacus beads reach

    Was it the untrodden space
      between distant horizon's
   unreachable scope of reason ?

                No way back
               was etched on
         the last thrown stone

       The broken inland hills
   are neither mirage nor oasis
   bit by bit washing out to sea
  
             A turning point,
        compass drawn away
   with the arrows convention.
     Without magnetic north
       an arrowhead courses
    with the silence of a trees'
           uncounted rings
         of benign measure

        Felled by gale winds
         of tempest change,
       weather-beaten feeder roots
     no longer strong enough
   to grasp all that failed to be

       Old wood is not soluble
            like salted silence
        ebbs away unnoticed
      as life’s evanescent tides

           ...“love always
       was just chosen words
           I longed to realize …

                 timeworn
       smoldering intentions,
         a blown out candle's
    blackened wick remnants

   Another sobering salutation  
         to look the other way
      without saying goodbye ―

             A lump in throat
            swallowed silently
           abides deeply within  
              without choice;
       lost hope buried beneath
       enduring sneaker waves
                unsettledness

               The memories
          of her muted words
             drowning out all
         I could never become
    
            Sadly recognizing
           it was only a dream;
  convinced we were really doing
             something special
               Now knowing
     it's like crashing high surf
       that never left the shore ...

          Tonight in the throes
            this restless silence,
                 you can see
       it's still raining down hard

            There's no reason
           to even go outside;

            there's no shelter
             from the storm
           that washes over me

                       forever
         Chasing Rogue Waves
                           ...
             These shards of rain
   were never heaven's teardrops

       Tears are the heart's traces
     and,... I've got no time to cry


wild is the wind ... January 25th, 2017
Jan 2017 · 1.7k
secrets of the wind ...
traces of being Jan 2017
.
trees dance
sway insatiably

   stirring tantalizingly ...

exposing
invisible secrets

blowin' the winds



*wild is the wind
Notes (optional)
.
traces of being Jan 2017
I’m small enough to cry for those with frozen teardrops
who can’t get up off the side of the road to die in peace
So I'll abide in this polar freezing cold silent deliverance
where a  hollow warmth  hides the tears that  aren't for
cryin’ alone

There’s a bitter arctic wind blows right through the tree trunks
there’s no shelter leaning on the dream of the leeward other side
This winter isolation grasps on impatient pieces of frayed light
like hope a mustard sized seed of shine may move venerable
mountain peaks

Who ever knows how long salvation lasts ? They said he died
sleeping on a cardboard  comforter and blue  plastic tarp duvet;
a holey old coat stained with all what went wrong in life …
And .., I feel a sickening guilt of a warming fire's thickening
smoke

The chimney’s icicles drip an angel’s frozen teardrops
But .., I can’t find no heaven in this big ol’ world ...


                                           *wild is the wind ... January 4th, 2017
Jan 2017 · 1.1k
The Unsent Letter
traces of being Jan 2017
a storyteller's perspective, steppin' off the ordinary edge, into the unknown

An unsent letter lay on the rustic log cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light comes in,
where it laid fallen, half *** crumbled, yet never a wadded ball;
never an unspoken thrown paper stone,  a befallen regret was all.
Silently atilt and leaning against the canted wall's slant
behind the gathered dust a squeaky hinged burl wood door

A timeworn tarnished copper wind up clock roosted,
an old lip smirched coffee cup time stood still;
an empty bottle of gin sat near the bed post headboard
where the ink stains and blotted spillings let the memories in.
Stained pages torn and bent like fallen paper wings
returned to the unread sender … postage due,   south a heaven sent ―

A sullied envelope, gnawed and mouse chewed,
for a nest of new beginnings ―     
                                                          just read:                   Lydia  ...  
                                ... followed by a scribbled empty heart               

The time aged brown tattered tablet paper left behind
stifled like the unread heart it holds upon the threadbare pages
of smudged tear’s ache and spilled gin

The weathered rock hearth fireplace filled with spent ashes,
hand rolled cigarette butts, traces of an aching lament;
scratched up old vinyl records lay ***** and tired out,
from a time of sweeter fallen fences, a musical bliss, and
a lost angel's abandoned red slinky party dress,  
aside a busted off black velvet high-heel stuck sullied
in a hollow knothole in the ancient barn-wood floor
a sparkly pearl pink jewel entangled in a spider web

An unsent letter lay on the rustic cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light gets in

The final unread words silently said:

                               "We lost our way,
                                  it all went wrong,
                                  it all turned bad"

                             ..."This is the outcome when someone you love  
                                  up and throws you away"

                             ...“I’ll reach out from the inside
                                  I’ll rise up again and do without”

                             ..."You went out into the world
                                  with an untamed hankerin’ ―
                                  like a carefree restless gypsy breeze
                                                                 and come back worlds apart"


The Unsent Letter,  
                          just whispered words to the dust in the wind
                                                            ­                        in quivering ink:

                             ..."how can I ever unremember you...?
                                  a thrown stone sinks wordlessly as a rock...,
                                  an old wood bucket with a rotten hole the heart,
                                  fallen forgotten, rock bottom as an empty well"


                                        just signed:   ...   ❤  August


                          *January 1st, 2017 ... august ... wild is the wind  ♡
postscript: trying to write outside my comfort zone box
                  this storyteller's perspective, steppin' off the edge the unknown
                  i did have fun from behind the incarnation of a caricature's eyes
                  some say "it's always about the writer"...what say you(?)!
.
Dec 2016 · 1.2k
Fallen Fences
traces of being Dec 2016
An unfenced field
of memories awoken ,
frozen pastel flowers
color fast ,
though fading
on borrowed time

A one-way footpath
disappears unencumbered
between the snowdrifts
leading across
the winter stilled
iced up creek bed ,
coursing a path
of least resistance
destiny unknown

Changing tawny petals
scatter like potpourri ,
fallen collateral
in the aftermath
a beautiful dream's
passing light

Pressed and dried
memories buried
under dog-eared  
tear-stained pages
black topiaries
that grow in the dark

Redemption unbid
and unwelcome,
earthen mineral rights
surrendered unspent ,

Natural order
decomposing
reclamation ,
chilled to the marrow

A scorned lover’s
bated breathe
bared ink unspoken,

Unbidden laments
eerily betokened
in an unseen
netherworld ,
undeniable ,  yet
bashfully remarkable

I see the frosty
fogged breath
that repents
in choral dialect ,   
speaking in known
tongue , with
the absolvable voice
of a bitter cold wind


*wind is the wind .... December 20. 2016
Notes (optional)
from the cracks and crevices
of the incoming wintertide gripped mind
traces of being Dec 2016
Coyote’s  mournful  cries  echo  across  
the  bitter  frozen  wi­ntry  darkness

A deepening silence thrums as loudly
as the echoes the unanswered bays

Snowflakes mute the fading wails
coyote’s softly questioning appeals

An eerie answerless hush echoes
                                  through the boughs,

writhing  in the  piercing frigid 
                                  wildwood blackness

The howling east wind gathers in
the throes of the lonely bespoken pleas

Carrying the weight borne a bone chilling
silent ache, beyond with the frozen autumn leaves


                                                 *wild is the wind ... December 8th, 2016
Dec 2016 · 1.1k
inwoven in a spider web
traces of being Dec 2016
.
I cradle my head
in my palms

There's an inerasable vision
of hearts and bones
inwoven in a spider web

Untied forget-me-nots
writhing disentanglement

A collage of all the dead roses ,
tawny petals bestrewn across
a fallow frozen mind-scape ;

hidden behind eye-lid's
hesitantly arising curtain

just like a noir movie screen

I saw love disfigure me



                                                       *wild is the wind ... December 4th, 2016
written in a spilled pensive moment
I may need a title that helps flush out
the underlying unspinning a cocoon ?
traces of being Dec 2016
.
In an anthem of doubt
the wind song resonates
passionately through
natures’ cocooned embrace ,
          heart’s echoes manifest
                    thrive and bear fruit.
                    unspoken hearts enflamed
                    in poetic supplications ,
          soul rejuvenation ,
a flake of love sown
a spark of hope evident
a burning bonfire
metamorphosed ,  
wildfire fanned by the muse
          a shameless passion

                    insatiated thirst
                    unsatiated taste buds
                    a hungry heart craving ,
          an unsatisfied desire
to be spellbound
the moment of love
at long last ,
imbibed in deepest
heart subsisting coddle ,
          held like life sustaining breath

                    take me to your secret throne
                    lead me down
                    your garden pathway moans ,
          where all your secrets will be known ,
let me taste the beauty
of your naked sacred stone ―
please don’t make me wait forever
                    longing to be warm
                    in the frigid cold aloneness
                    curling my back
         to a fading  memory
         where you used to lie at dawn
...




         *wild is the wind  11. 27. 2016
traces of being Nov 2016
Some say, “all roads lead to all roads”
standing stifled at perplexing crossroads,
torn in the throes of which direction
leads to all roads.

Stuck
in a recurring moment
when you hear whispered words grow silent ;
the sound of silence is heard loud and clear ―

It’s liberating to finally comprehend the senses ;
the stench of unrequited longings linger
I tried to touch you but you couldn't feel
I was never deaf all along ... only blinded
by a veiled light I could not perceive,
bemused and bewildered,
when the darkness will not sleep

Even knowing regrets are a waste of time,

"the beginning was over before the start ,..
how the hell did the end get here so soon(?)!"


even a lovely stretch of the lonesome highway
leads to another,
lost and unmapped road to nowhere

In times like these,
I'm learning to accept
sometimes there's no other choice
but to move on ;

we leave a lot behind in the rear-view mirror
along the long and twisted road
home ...


*wild is the wind  ... 11. 29. 2016
“To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure,
but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard
in life is to risk nothing.”

Wakpa Ihaha k’a táku owas sdodye
.
traces of being Nov 2016
Too roughly hewn and cleaved around edges frayed
shaped and reshaped by these own calloused hands

I realize the shape of things ,... who I am ... who I've become ―
The sound of my own raw voice knows not convention ;
it was nothing more than words of fragmented tomes exposed

Only the broken wind covering footprints on the road not taken
on a never ending journey into a lonely abyss

These greatest fears I've come to know ;
my greatest weakness bared and borne
                                        broken dreams bought and sold,
                                        for less than they were worth.

In the chill of this winter darkness grown cold
a newly recurring silence echoes poignantly,.. 
                                                  ­             redux
                                                          f­orevermore
                                                           self-loathed
                                                               déjà vu ―
       
                                The only dream's fruition ever feared:

                     to walk alone at that predestined parting moment

                         within a stones throw of six feet underground ,...

                                 dropping to these knees at a threshold

                                              well-nigh left behind,

                            knocking at the door that leads beyond  ―  

                        never needing to know how to say goodbye …



                                 thinking out loud ... 11. 29. 2016
"saying goodbyes are the hardest words to say"

In a moment of deeply diminished confidence writ
It feels appropriate to give a nod to a real poet “Everbody knows”

“I have tried in my way to be free” ―  L.   Cohen   Bird on a Wire
.
Nov 2016 · 1.1k
The wayfaring wolf
traces of being Nov 2016
Vanguard snows blanket
Cougar Mountain sublimity

In the ashen distance between
contrasts of white on white ,
just above the disappearing
Majestic  alpine  timberline

Painterly allusions cast
a weary and elusive amity,

distinctive premonitions adrift
driven before the wind

The wayfaring  wolf  looks back,
wind  broken ,   beset
a cold and lonely peace

Swarthy  paw  prints
sink  deeply
into  the  will  to  be


fiercely stirring purpose

feral  awareness  keen

existence steadfast

perseverance  unwavering


Driven  by  the  power  ­of  love


                                                   ­                                     wild  is  the  wind
                                       ­                                                  *giving  thanks
NOTE: (Wandering Wolf 'OR-7') Google it, as it is inspiring


November 24th, 2016

Once there was a way to get back home

even alone
love is the purpose
still
and shall be unendingly ♥

"if it be your will to let me  sing"
nod to L. Cohen

https://youtu.be/F9Xx0MTcsCk
If it be your will - Antony Hegarty [written by Leonard Cohen]
.
Nov 2016 · 1.2k
Nature's own refugee
traces of being Nov 2016
A sallowest silence drips,
drop  by  drop,
into open muddy palms

The ripple in the gathering cup
of hand, undulates within soul
like poignant ocean waves
eat away at the sands of time ,
just  below  where
a lighthouse beacon beckons
shining from someplace I can’t find

A hidden pathway
lies  untrodden
beneath a thousand
dew drop clad ferns ,
fronds bestrewn with autumn’s
befallen sleight of hand
swaddled in her fading
manifest guise

Where wild mushrooms
rise  blindly  from
resplendent darkness
beneath silken earthen moss ,
to teach the parables ,
how fleeting a moment passes

The moment enwrapped
in nature's solicitude ,
the  only  shelter
mother nature's own refugees
whom dwell in an ever fugitive
sense of belonging

Fallen Lichen scattered
like  wild  feathers ,
traces from a higher ground ;
sown bread crumbs
of  the  heavens ,
abandoned like slowly falling
snowflakes upon a labyrinth
coursing    beyond
emerald dank bejewel

Leading me willingly onward
beyond belated familiarity ,
exiled  void  of  affinity
a Trumpeter swan
in search of wapatos

The stone cold silent languor
rises  up  through
thickly grasping moss

Wind  stirs the ennui
with a breath of kindness ,
chilling a body in a soul
as cold as lonely stone ,
sheathed beneath
its hard yet fragile disguise

A twisted pathway
leading  somewhere  
I  yearn to follow ;
somewhere unknown
beckoning  from
deeply hidden hope
and its urgent calling

Somehow the uncertainty
of the path I am drawn
makes   me   feel
a  little  less  removed

Assured by the gentle touch
deeply rooted ancient earthen spirits ,
beyond doubt , I’m never alone
deep beyond wooded margin
Cocooned in creation’s sanctuary
mother nature’s own refugee ...



                                                          ­*wild is the wind
November 23rd, 2016

It is a time and season I often embrace the roots
my ancient native north American continent  heritage ...
I'm joined at the hip with earth mother
and pay homage through my humble writ offerings
acknowledging the divinity and her infinite amazing grace ―
Nov 2016 · 718
the dark wind
traces of being Nov 2016
.
life lives with or without you ,..

but what will become of
the unwritten psalms ,..
when the darkness will not sleep (?)!

that like the murmur in the shell,
its echo dwelleth and will dwell


like a black swan of loneliness
enwombed in a whiter shade of pale



                                                              ­             *wilder blows the dark wind
November 20, 2016
Post script:

saved from slowly falling off the ledge
saved from the dour within myself
saved by an angel of mercy who said:

"they can only meet you as deeply as
they have met themselves"

Thank you, JV ―
your poetry,  empathy and muse
heal wounded wings
and bewildered souls
with love's gentle touch ,
an iron hand in a velvet glove

... sometimes too deep is something to be
when you've got mountains to move
Nov 2016 · 1.2k
... in the morning
traces of being Nov 2016
Looking out across the many shades of dark on dark
The rolling ashen gray fog opens a window to the dawn
and I feel a loneliness,  arising like the winter sun
             … in the morning

The trees have bared their golden surrender
Breaking silence through the windswept boughs
below,  gathered dewdrops blossom on the last winter rose
             … a chilling epilogue

Beyond the waning hydrangea sundried sepia tones
Latent conflicts of the head and heart stir the hush of memories
imposing heart whispers,  arising like sunlight shadows cast
             … in the morning

There’s no one listening to the wind roar the incoming wintertide
An ascending sadness paints many hues that contrast dark and light
as the Pink Moon,  steals away over lonely mountain headed south
             … in the morning


                                         every picture tells a story ― ☾ wild is the wind
November 2016



"I saw it written and I saw it say
the Pink Moon is on its way
and none of you stand so tall
the Pink Moon gonna get you all"

Pink Moon ― Nick Drake       https://youtu.be/qgVEvjsJn6g

Nov 2016 · 973
wounded healer
traces of being Nov 2016
indifferent to unplanned pathways  
destiny knows not enslaving bounds
pathways crisscross at befallen crossroads
knowing all roads lead to all roads

restlessly searching through the ache writhing within,
the voice of my soul speaks crystalline
through the hidden portal of my heart

beckoning the wounded healer within
be at home in the silent darkness of suffering
to perceive the gems of awakening light;

embrace the lessons where the wounding leads us
to bring forth a healing reincarnation,
intimately feeling the collective pulse of humanity echo
a wholeness in a deeper level our being

the only spark to rekindle a flame blown out
a soul’s assent to the labyrinth through the wound
note:
snippets from a conscious ramble;
a shameless attempt at understanding a potentially higher conscious  self
written to advocate for, to support all wounded healers
that often experience the potential gifts of a wounded heart

if this is "too deep" i'll just keep trying
to find my way through the dark maze on my own

all apologies ... wild is the wind

all in all is all we are ♡
Nov 2016 · 2.0k
purge me from your poetry
traces of being Nov 2016
back from the brink
of blindly falling;
back alone again
in a crowded room

there is no bridge
over troubled waters,
no way to purge
vast oceans
when deep rivers foment
pitch black
swallowed by an insatiable sea

no good shepherd to gather
an abandoned black sheep
cast heedlessly away
from the fold

unbefriended
like a dogless bone

a stain on impeccable sublime
a hopeless wanderer
stalled on the brink
of a threshold lost in time

purge me from your poetry
so I won’t remember
the insatiable  ache
of inerasable words
left unsaid

you lured me out
from the cold & darkness
to freeze my heart
in naked light of day

purge me from your poetry
like you spilled me
from your heart;
don’t come back here
to this slippery, lonely edge,
just to bid adieu

as if I didn't notice you were gone

purge me from your poetry
so I can accept without
sorrow's ache so deep;
in unbroken silence
a heart silent  atones not pretense,

and yet,

the only lie you whispered was "friend"



November 2016  ... wild is the wind
traces of being Nov 2016


Pages stained with heart and soul

Indelible Fingerprints strewn in ink

Burning bridges like seasoned wood

Written words just go up in smoke



All heart’s ache have known words left unsaid

Ashes of what could have been scatter in the wind

A breaking heart's sigh, muted whispers bemoaned

A tipped over chalice of spilt milk


November 3rd, 2016
traces of being Nov 2016
The sky above them
     was painted
an intense silky black,
as if it were a bridge spanning
uncharted darkened rivers --
arching across unexplored
separate distant horizons
Casting an uncommon spell;
seizing hallowed heartbeats,
exhaling bated breaths

Two boundless souls
   collide unbidden,
like lightening splits
the unblushing silence
     deep within
Cleansing the darkest
hues of melancholy
with the gentle touch
     of velvet rain

For they had walked
the longest mile
in another's shoes,
unknowingly,
alone together
between the telling
     poesy lines

Swimming blindly
where  tempest
currents thrive untamed
Harvesting the bounty
of another soul’s
deepest ocean tides

Overflowing beyond
the heart’s hidden music
where the softest touch
of kindness abides
Plucked harp stings
rejoice in the harmony
uttering anthems of an
unspoken dawning light


wild is the wind ... November 1st, 2016
note: thank you for touching my soul through your gifted poetry
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1562449/touching-souls/

Listen To The Wind, It Talks
                   Listen To the Silence, It Speaks
                   Listen to Your Heart , It Knows
... Native American Proverb
Oct 2016 · 809
Enchanted Wilderness
traces of being Oct 2016
Wandering silently
though the wilderness woods,
far and away from the potholes
of well beaten pathways
The soft breeze slowly moves
the shadows cast in the moonlit night,
past the thorny bramble vines of time.
Wildlife paths illuminated by starlight
adorn the alluring wooded trail
Secluded pathways foraged by natural instinct,
ancestral prudence and intuition's guide

Each shadow drawn willingly
into a deeper enlightening journey
As if synchronicity united hearts
learning to speak minds
The depths of undaunting transparency
rendezvous with awakening breath
Looking back .., softly questioning
life withdrawn in discontent;
exhaling an unashamed freedom without regret
Lost in perpetual motion, found in heart
Separate souls illuminated by the moon
stood alone yearning for the touch
of healing light

Ardor of hope shines an inward light
as moonlight restlessly slumbers,
passion blushes in radiant colour
The night has a thousand coquettish eyes
shining on practical mysticism
The laughing owls of midnight
Echo allusions of crystal clear reverie
Stirred by swirling tempest breeze
showering down from high endeavors
where treetops  pierce the constellations
Wisps of the twilight sky unfurl stardust dewdrops
drunk by earth’s thirsting sod
Nocturnal Cricket’s rhythmus acoustical wings
very quietly chirping a bashful courting song

Laughter rings out,
blissfully released,
like the joy of a shameless child
Nature sways with a gentle motion
Her leafy arms groan and moan the silent toil
as she holds up the weight of the celestial unfoldment
Moonlight moves across the dappled shadows
budding love born beneath her branches.

Two shadows embrace as one
emerging rapturously
from the tantalizing wilderness oasis
Reborn as naked as the free
mesmerized by the enchanting forest's spell...
stepping in a bit deeper for an adult swim
under the enchanting allure of a full,
blossoming, hunter moon...
traces of being Oct 2016
Perched high upon burl wood roost
dangling feet swing upon
          mossy girthed heritage
                                       maple tree
Her majestic gnarled scaffold
flinches not from my nebulous gravity,
nor the weight of her unraveling
                                       golden autumn gown

Her lamentable achings  
felt in the voice
of the ripening chill
             within the campfire
                                        scented breeze
For I have climbed so blindly high,
the clinging brilliant yellow leaves
metamorphosing like these fragile paper wings,  
opening palms born to soar wild as the wind,
                                         to just let go and fly free

Waiting here patiently,
wistfully as destiny,
for the final edifying moment
                                          of fate’s unshacklement - - -;

the surrendering to,
      the moment of love set free,
               stolen by the wanton
                                         gypsy breeze


                                                        ­               *wild is the wind
Sunday morning― October 2016
...spontaneously hitting "save poem" without edit
traces of being Oct 2016
Looking for a silver lining
               every time
                          it turns out wrong

Weighing reasons to believe
               looking for an
                          un-lost heart to behold

Seeking a golden skeleton key
               that unlocks
                          the secret garden’s
                                 velvet gate

Feeling the deep ache
                of cold and lonely
                           on a golden autumn morn

Walk along the garden pathway
               follow me down
                           the wooded pensive trail

See the reflection in the wishing well
                looking wistfully back
                            unbidden eyes' do tell

Feeling never enough
               like a pearl-less oyster’s
                           empty shell

Tripped and fell another dawning
               trying to come in
                           out of the storm

The only silver lining
               betides the moment,
                            
                            ­sipping words

                            of hopeful waters

               from your well ...



*wild is the wind
"A wise man can see more from the bottom of a well
than a fool can from a mountain top ."
traces of being Oct 2016
silence is a telling voice
gentle hearts do hear 
 
with hush of bated breath,
as season’s end,
inner tides grow low

longing eyes whisper
in wordless tears
the passing of love
grown cold                                    

raindrops taste
like wistful tears,
without the ache

when your sky comes falling down ...**
                                                           ­                                        

 *wild is the wind
it's hard to say when you love someone
but it's harder to say you don't
when you discover someone loves you
for all that you are not
traces of being Oct 2016
The sky is falling
                       with the New Moon’s rising tide
                       Amorous emotions are flailing
                       with rhapsody’s flooding desires

A fleshy sigh exhaled
the hot breath of carnal tensions;
the heat of a lightheaded fever,
arouses flushing skin,
igniting a yearning to savor
the bouquet of love’s
sensual coquettish dreams

                       Inraptured teases and tantalizes
                       anticipation’s lucid sensations
                       So close and yet so far away ,
                       as if a moonstruck hypnotic delight
                       were at the tip of fingers touch ,
                       from arm’s length away

Savoring the input
from all the heightened senses
Overwhelmed by a feeling
like being wrapped in a dream ,
choosing not to listen
to sanities' useless reality

                       Willingly surrendering to the dream - - -
                       to the verve of blissful mercy
                       Only while waking up,
                       embracing the thoughts
                       of passionate release,
                       do I feel the poignant pang
                       of my heart's song

longing to fade into you …

                        "dance me to the end of love"


**wilder
"Dance me to the end of love" is the title and lyric of a Leonard Cohen song
traces of being Sep 2016
.
she stood barefooted
and feeling so beautiful
staring out
the frosty
daybreak window
          
visible breath ,
enslaved by a kiss ,
a clouded waft
exhaled
between chapped lips ,  
as smeared tracks
of dripping freshwater pearls
slide down the little pane glass

             the downward trickles
             stirring tingling goose bumps ,
             pushing out
             blossoming
             fighting gravity ,    
             as the chilled air spills
             upon
             sleepy toes
             and naked smiles 
           
             enigmatic eyes
             penetrate through
             the beclouding
             sighs released
            
passion wanes gently
with night’s fleeting shadows ,
the sandman still lingering ,  
yet gazing shamelessly
at intimate breaths visible rouse
        
starry eyes recycling blind hope
like the lightly arising steam ;
      
             the glistening
             frost heave’s sparkle
             just outside the window ,
             where the dawning light
             a single morning sunbeam ,
             enkindles a renewed shine

                         aglow 
             
             tantalizing
             untamed diamonds
             burgeon like splendor
             faceted dreams
...


                         *Wild is the Wind
Aug 2016 · 921
where once was naught
traces of being Aug 2016
though weary be
this shapeless loneliness,

knowingly held
in love and light,

doth casts in stone
the shape of hope

where there once
was naught
Notes (optional)  
from: a sky full of stars collection
traces of being Aug 2016
.
Come swim within this restless silence
the raging river deep within beckons

the cadences we hear
are the heart's untamed waters overflowing ,
eroding this heart's shorelines ,
leaving the thrummed edges wild

prevailing currents swelling ,
no longer able to be contained
within the soul’s boundless margins

impatiently lost and lovely ,
faithfully dangerous
  
I’ll be your ocean and you my sky--
feel the calming tide
flood in around us ?
  
I've been swimming in circles ,
treading water
in an eddy of revolving reverie
waiting for the world to turn ;

fighting to release the swirling currents
meandering through
the shadowed places  so deep within

how does it feel to be the sky
that bestows ocean's light ?

how does it feel to be constantly on my mind ?

... what a beautiful piece of heartache



✩ ✩☺ ✩ ✩  ... ©
Notes: from the sky full of stars collection

... the poem was inspired by the way we misbehave
in my dreams  ...,  and ...
traces of being Aug 2016
Moonflower petals secreted nectar                          
the lovely sublimity of blossoming flower

Tall, thin~stemmed ,  pastel flesh~
bud to open          
only after nightfall

An elicit echo                                
the way moonlight reflects
on warm raindrop
impearled *******

Her moist curvaceous silhouette  
night~blooming lilt
with summer breeze
dulcet sway

Window open ,                              
sultry , and raining in            
single delicate petal cast off  
like a party dress fallen
in a beautiful mess
upon the rain puddled
wooden floor

Entrancing shadow cast              
a pleasing taste            
the flower’s exotic fruit

Satiate the hidden hunger        
mirrored within                 
all – devouring            
deep brown eyes 

Writhed in the beautiful                
passion throes              

the naked sweetness              
of the wanton agony exposed


✩ ✩☺ ✩ ✩
Moonflower blooms under a sky full of stars
Daylily opens beneath earth's brightest star
delicate floral flesh and pollination
scented soft spring breeze
~ sensual enchantment ~
Aug 2016 · 43.3k
Songbirds in your garden sing
traces of being Aug 2016
.
Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here

Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced

Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,  
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                            

A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose

Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs

Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace

A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume

For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste

What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold

These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,  
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose  

The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart

Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose




Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
If only now in dreams of yore
a sky full of stars shine brighter,
a garden of flowers fragrance more pungent,
and songbirds in your garden from yesteryear
sing tantalizingly more beautiful ...,
when you were near

.
Aug 2016 · 1.6k
touching souls
traces of being Aug 2016
although we may not

physically reach out

and feel , hand to hand ,

across far distant dimensions - -

Poetry is touching souls
though I have not been publishing much...I have greatly enjoyed the intimate sense, imbibed through quietly reading some amazing work

Thank You !
traces of being May 2016
We danced to the river’s song every summer’s moonlight
          drawn together by impassioned currents stir
Lovers swimming in dulcet waters cleansing flow
          washing the sweltering day’s memories away
          to paint on the moment, beneath a sky full of  stars

Cinnamon summer hues glistening colour
          moonbeams ricochet off goose-bumped flesh
Trembling warmth rippling through shivering passion
          arousing all our secret places,
          pulsing wildly, with a feral potion
          racing through our veins
Tasting summer love’s awakening appetite
          blissfully sharing what was ours forevermore to keep

Twilight colored your eyes
          with the songs we never knew
Crickets chirrup to a cadence
          only raging hearts beat to
          sating a restless ache, sweet nights of summer bliss
Quenching a budding common thirst,
          whispering in blissful harmony
          only revealed in the cattails' purr along river's edge,
          swaying with a rhythmic summer breeze

We went down to the river every summer night,
          making  love with stardust in our eyes;
          set free like shooting stars,
          setting fire to the heat of the night

                                                 *wild is the wind
an ode to untold secret places
and silent reveries written out loud,
and,
dreaming of hopeful sweet days
of  the impending summer bloom
traces of being May 2016
.
The sensual caress
          twilight mist impearled flesh
          alighting a feral desire
          within blossoming spring petals

The newness of uncovered skin
          a sweetness on unsated lips ,
          the taste of passion and salty *******;

          with hastened breath
          sighs do brush with warm ****** breeze  
                               across my naked chest

          wild feathers sweeten
          tender touch
                                ... emanating
          sensual awakenings

Arousing buried desires

          unable to hold back
          constant cravings

          the inevitable currents
          pummeling shameless floodgates
with arising untamed springtides swell

Fleshly enslaved yen --  
energy sprouts tingling sensations

          nascent buds blossoming deeply
          flourishing exploding flames  
          bursting flush
                                       ... deliciously white hot

In an unstoppable carnal moment
          passion betides
          like the surging sea ;


Rising and falling crescendos
          unleashed waves crashing ,
          drowning in the rhythmic undertow

          interlaced bodies heaving adrift in the moment 
          like entangled seaweeds
                                            in a riptide

         as the rolling thunder storm 
         dances across invigorated tides
         with a surging cadence of cresting waves bloom
         caught in the Rhythm and the Sea



                           ✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
I have enjoyed writing many sensual art pieces the past few years but have published few.   Cheers to May Day, Spring and new beginnings ~
Apr 2016 · 829
so much closer than the sky
traces of being Apr 2016
Cottonwood flurries gently lilt
like the impending summer's dandelion wishes,
before lightly descending wistfully
under the weightiness
of the morning coastal mist

The nearness of the blanketing stillness
is now so much closer than the sky
I can see clearly now
where all my shadows once dwelled

So nigh, this echoing silence at hand,
it firmly grasps a weighing loneliness
left drowning in the waning grandeur
of fading dreams

The poignant pang
of the dawning of the day;
nature’s soul stirring
silent manipulation

A conscious moment,
always rousing the potential
to evolve into a beautiful thing
                              
.                                                               ­    © April 2016
Listen To The Wind, It Talks
                   Listen To the Silence, It Speaks
                   Listen to Your Heart , It Knows

Native American Proverb
traces of being Mar 2016
.
The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
                              with the fickle cherry blossom breeze

Painting the colour
                              these inevitable days ,
                              the fragrant scent
                                                      o­f springtide

No longer holding back
                              the dreams from deep in a heart
                                                               w­axing gibbous ,

the unopined moon
                              rose up over an unwritten poem

painting hues with words
                              shaping the shadows of its song
                              into a musically dappled tableau

stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers

                              waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
                                              ― a latent and longing heart


         ― beneath
                              a sky full of stars

                                      
                 ­                                        ✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
                                                     *wild is the wind
Mar 2016 · 1.1k
the hole in my sole
traces of being Mar 2016
there’s a hole in my sole
that helps me feel the ground
wandering alone
this long and winding road

a black sheep
never sheds its wool
forever garnered unworthy to be
glibly cast off by the fold

a greater loss than ever be known
washed away like season’s rain
changing tides do steal away
castles made of sand

it’s a hard journey
to carry the weight of the load
the gravity of obscurity,
the potholes in the road

comes a time, stalled at crossroads,
it just don’t matter anymore;
a time to carry on, a time for letting go
a time to walk another mile
in these worn out shoes, alone

I’m more than you’ll never know
a body in a soul
I didn’t even want the heart you broke,
it’s yours to keep --

I finally found my real name,
shed this invisible skin;
I won’t be me
when you see me again
I'm leaving the invisible world

there's never a breathe
you can afford to waste
wandering alone again
this long and winding road...


                                                 wild is the wind © 3.15.2016
Notes (optional)

some say, "you can't lose what you never had (?!)"

i need to keep reminding myself that destiny "is" fate... nothing more, nothing less...just what "is"....you can't steer the river

even knowing in your heart, "acceptance" may be just another word for giving up
Mar 2016 · 5.8k
Fuego de Luna
traces of being Mar 2016
~ Moon Fire ~

de Luna climbs up
majestic fir brows
one rung at a time

to feel the shiver
of winter breeze
tickle higher
                         than treetops reach
.                                                          ­­                                            
where moonbeams
know the meaning
the shadows cast
upon the open palms
of nature’s hands

her halo encircles
a shapeless luster
beyond        
the faint whispers
in northern skies

wishing on
the nearest stars,
set ablaze
a smoldering heart
grown cold

as ...

the last winter moon
full and bright



wild is the wind © 2.22.2016
Fuego de Luna ~ Moon Fire
is a moment framed,
looking out my bedroom window
into the forest,
the final full moon rise
of winter
mesmerizing with a dreamful verve
percolating mercilessly within insomnia
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....
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