Golden grains of sand in an hour glass truly our days are measured but we don’t measure
Properly this is obvious we only look at the outward stature we can describe in detail the
Features and we seem to think that is sufficient but when loved ones pass then the falling spray
Of star dust mixed with gold and silver flakes touches our mind as a gentle secret storm then
We pursue after them in wonder getting more bogged as we go because now the glory
Intermingles with the star dust gold and silver flakes we tremble in awe who was this person
Really that lived among us this was never occasioned in my mind they walked with the clay
Mantle of the human body the light the glory the spirit the soul all the elements of heaven they
Were the manifested thoughts of the creator they blazed they streaked against common skies
They were a work of art someone to study truly the blessing never stopped flowing it rose and
Fell was caused to recede many times when the idea was to fill the floodplain to over filling
Abundance was being offered but without intensity of true vision you walked on by enrichment
That was to be your blessing the conduit of heaven opened so wide but all you could see was
This end that was all earth and no heaven sadly when these sources of blessings part sorrow
Arrests the casual heart and causes it to address large issues the telling is wave after wave is
Crashing ageist your soul this still occurs after many days their treasure is given out of time to
You a time of digesting has begun their course at birth was set it was the bi-level life of earthen
Body that made up a generous portion but by no means was it the essential or the greater part
Riches covered them from above and from beneath a mist rose to obscure where it is often said
Life is senseless yes when you bare throughout the days the wrong views and trust by only
What you can see Henry David Thoreau said most men live lives of quiet desperation and go to
The Grave with the song in them yes it was a song they had from heaven to sing its refrain
Haunts the days that are empty and continue with want in them that are released at long last
But only a faint whisper that is carried away by the wind learn well change your understanding
To truth what music will be earths blessing not valleys filled with silent regrets but the booming
Boisterous voice of our spirits that join in unison with those riches that is always in perfect
Harmony just missed by a people that are looking but not questioning with a heart of spiritual
Hearing  or seeing

A tale as old as time
snake in the grass
Wrapping itself around
Whispering into the ears of innocence
forked tongue
One for truth
other lies
How it seamlessly intermingles them both
So eloquent it speaks
Lacing words together
How it's tail swipes
the sting unfelt
Due to hypnotizing words
Then he strikes
A fall from grace
Truth unfolds
*Tale as old as time...

Turning lead into gold is an old story, boring, the real glory is in transforming every morning, every hour, every second into something I won’t regret, getting lost in a song, along for the ride as my mind intermingles with the music, amused by the flow as the muses move my atoms into beautiful patterns, white matter glows white hot, neurons fire in sync and a spark is shot into the dark, fireworks explode in the sky of my mind’s eye, they blaze fiery trails as they sink deep, deep into my soul, the embers glowing, never knowing why but still they try to make me whole, illuminate the dark so I don’t ruminate in gloom, the music in this room is saving me from doom, and only because I found a way to pay attention, to surrender my defenses, fill in the trenches and let in the outside, no longer hiding I am inviting in each moment, and in doing so I transform normality into revelation, each sensation a vacation, a powerful provocation and paradoxical relaxation and as my mind explodes I know that infinity is within me, always there to see when I finally set myself free.

Old man Lux Brumalis -
“Light of winter”
With long shadow branches
On cold blank white patches

Old man Lux Brumalis -
Has put a blanket over Harvest
As he intermingles and rests
Through the springtime apricus

sliding down the gutter
sparkling pearl of rain
faster than camera shutter
its flowing down the drain

lost forever drop of blood
once as pure as snow
now intermingles with the mud
with iridescent glow

hermit, stranger, hides his face
in his mother's apron,
spirit, soul, of nameless grace
other-worldly patron

boots composed deriding eyes
trample overhead
and inner spirit withers, dies,
and now is lying dead

defenestration of all that's good
by world blacker than pitch
tainted saint of boyhood
lies defenceless in the ditch

winter morning;
vived blue sky
hidden with a spread
of white,
and some gray

a small, gentle
waterfall
intermingles
a riverstream
guided by
old, dramatic,
crooked
trees
that bend
touching the water;
a green field
at the other bank
corners it all

a small,
light
bird
lands on top
of one of the trees

at a small breeze
the bird departs
across the green field

one strong wingbeat –
breeze softly carries
another wingbeat –
go with the flow

We die of ennui and boredom,
blind to the cosmos’ resonating
with a revelatory repertoire
of marvels and wonders.

Our spirit intermingles
with Spirit, history’s unseen
hero, pushing the dialectic
forward to its inevitable conclusion.

Art is no easy accomplishment.
The Muse descends in silence.
We listen for her secret command,
shaping words into the integrity
of the poem. Spirit imprints spirit
on the open page.

Spirit rises with spirit to the realm
of the Titans, muscular poets
crowned in laurels and draped in multicolored
sashes. They have shown how
willpower can decode the Muse’s
cryptic command, and how poetry
is eternally reborn.

We die of ennui, boredom and blindness.
The cosmos enriches itself without us,
counting billions of stars, not hundreds
of poems. Consider the Muse like
the Delphic Oracle: Ignore her at your
own peril.

She knows that glory awaits
the courageous. She knows that there
are laurels enough for everyone.

(Thoughts during the Covid Pandemic Lockdown 2020)

By Sheila Haskins

Moon and stars shining lights in the sky
Bold heavens of blue, feels so strange
Life’s a fathomless ocean, no clouds passing by
Something, something has changed

Rain  coming down,  making no sound
Refreshing the tears in my eyes
Pure air so rare, a soft breeze in my hair
Something, something has changed

It’s quiet in the garden, small creatures appear
Friends I have not seen for years
Time passes by in the blink of any eye,
Something, something has changed

The earth tastes so sweet, nothing to fear
All that I see and I hear
Fuels positivity, a charged electricity
Something, something has changed

Outside of this home there is pain
Enemies  no man can ignore
Pandemics and war on the increase again
Yet, something, something has changed

High in the sky is a rainbow
Sunshine intermingles with rain
When storms are  gone, life carries on
New winds are  beginning to blow
Fresh seedlings to plant, green grass to mow
Some things are lost, some things are gained
...........

Something, something has changed