"vellums" poems - Hello Poetry

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

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Oct 18, 2012

Oct 18, 2012 at 12:39 PM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

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Sep 17, 2013

Sep 17, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

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Mar 1, 2013

Mar 1, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

. I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn. .

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Aug 18, 2018

Aug 18, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC

. I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn. .

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I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

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Mar 1, 2014

Mar 1, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

patti-masterman-heterodynemind

If we set the old Master's paintings ablaze Just for a minute; a few micro-seconds, The paint liquifies, sends up it's medicinal scent; Lazuline blue and lead white, Coloring the smoke lent to heaven, Pulling the soul from out the old vellums; Freeing the subjects from their long, indentured service. Smoking, it leaves a paint dotted canvas behind, Like a dot to dot, of some strangely familiar drawing, The edges curling inward, like a dying flower at dusk.

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Mar 6, 2010

Mar 6, 2010 at 3:47 PM UTC

Burnt Effigy

If we set the old Master's paintings ablaze Just for a minute; a few micro-seconds, The paint liquifies, sends up it's medicinal scent; Lazuline blue and lead white, Coloring the smoke lent to heaven, Pulling the soul from out the old vellums; Freeing the subjects from their long, indentured service. Smoking, it leaves a paint dotted canvas behind, Like a dot to dot, of some strangely familiar drawing, The edges curling inward, like a dying flower at dusk.

10

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

0

Mar 25, 2015

Mar 25, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

. I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

0

Sep 2, 2016

Sep 2, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC

. I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

26

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

0

Nov 19, 2014

Nov 19, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

0

Oct 4, 2015

Oct 4, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.

0

Jul 5, 2014

Jul 5, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC

I was with the ocean last night and your body Was its vessel, overflowing. Words were frail, Drops indwelling about the shapeless sky, Water reaching for its own height and breath, Like touch, were as desperate letters exchanged, Endlessly read, until like loamy vellums, they Disappeared in our hands. Inklings of tide- Pool and driftwood. My blood was a river that ran Its course. Members feeding your deltas and birds Breeding where the water-russet sheds on pampas And inverness. Eyes like wing through ever— Green, empties the fossil shell. Fire, brimming Mountaintops that were, for countless millennia, Sleeping. Did I mention that the earth moved? No? Her displacement was involuntary. Then came the waterfalls, lifting throughout Time. The scent, searching for its identity, The wave, calling to its own name— Ocean, O— cean. And flowers, opening like galaxies In the after-light. A universe of face and hand With hunger for salt-rain and then the cloud Burst-blue and spilt and spun more redolent, Deities, in joyous creation. I breathe, in your ocean, like a child unborn.