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"luminent" poems
such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun overgrown and tangled and chaotic and fair a swirl of thorns and dewdrops and earth eyes that sparkle with petrichor and hope hair with sunrays weaved and rivers entwined bones which are not bones, but inky flora and mud sculpted by the trees and the stars and the air ephemeral glow and luminent dullness smell the grass and the weeds and the stone and joy hear the light and the rain and peace and dirt taste the wind and the toxic petals and soul see the longing and leaping and flying and warmth feel the lucid colors and the pastel dreams such a beautiful mess, unclothed and airy and loved. {alaska}
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May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
alaska-1
such a beautiful mess
such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun overgrown and tangled and chaotic and fair a swirl of thorns and dewdrops and earth eyes that sparkle with petrichor and hope hair with sunrays weaved and rivers entwined bones which are not bones, but inky flora and mud sculpted by the trees and the stars and the air ephemeral glow and luminent dullness smell the grass and the weeds and the stone and joy hear the light and the rain and peace and dirt taste the wind and the toxic petals and soul see the longing and leaping and flying and warmth feel the lucid colors and the pastel dreams such a beautiful mess, unclothed and airy and loved. {alaska}
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Now, We are mellow. Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship. That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave. Time and distance had silks, snag-tagged-torn, on the bustling-busy, hectic-hustling of work and family. Teasing-taunt, needle-gnawing, small, gap-rip-rents in the snug comforter that is... the wonder of us. Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears. Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted, fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds. Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning. We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines. To weave a blanket, to hide us from life's storms. We were, so young, so strong, recklessly-brash, stupidly-joyous and braveheart-fools. And now, time and age, has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded, the fibres into a beautiful entity. That we store-save in the heart's cupboard, of special and precious  things. It is an heirloom of sorts. We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace, to be dandled and stroked with reverence. Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave. We are the dwindling of a youthful exuberance flung-thrown-heaved to the wild winds. So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature as we augment-append and reiterate-repair. A new thread here, now, embellish-embroider,embed and tatt-stitch. My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing into your tiny bathtub big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water. Our future, here and now, is the brightest of silks, Our past, mellow and yielding in, the luminent opulence, angelically-asleep in, the other room.
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
betterdays
warp weft and weave
Now, We are mellow. Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship. That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave. Time and distance had silks, snag-tagged-torn, on the bustling-busy, hectic-hustling of work and family. Teasing-taunt, needle-gnawing, small, gap-rip-rents in the snug comforter that is... the wonder of us. Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears. Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted, fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds. Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning. We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines. To weave a blanket, to hide us from life's storms. We were, so young, so strong, recklessly-brash, stupidly-joyous and braveheart-fools. And now, time and age, has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded, the fibres into a beautiful entity. That we store-save in the heart's cupboard, of special and precious  things. It is an heirloom of sorts. We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace, to be dandled and stroked with reverence. Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave. We are the dwindling of a youthful exuberance flung-thrown-heaved to the wild winds. So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature as we augment-append and reiterate-repair. A new thread here, now, embellish-embroider,embed and tatt-stitch. My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing into your tiny bathtub big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water. Our future, here and now, is the brightest of silks, Our past, mellow and yielding in, the luminent opulence, angelically-asleep in, the other room.
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