low light photo of opened book

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

rightly

and wrongly, adroitly

and strongly, we

belong but perfectly

in weakly

 

O poor Heart

lay your weary ears down

and tilt emptied ducts

to be awash with Inchoate

and swell with a different song

 

 

 

 

Poetry
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low angle view of spiral staircase against black background

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

There’s a door down there I keep circling. A closet door in the deepest floor, and these stairs like optical illusions. Or as my mother liked to say, optical collusions.

These stairs of chalk.

 

Fiction

the end of drawing

Image
pexels-photo-415371.jpegWP synchronicities…I was feeling an overwhelming desire to play the piano, which I haven’t done in a very long time, then this was one of the first posts I saw just a little while ago when I got onto WordPress. What a beautiful song, thank you for sharing it Stephen! 
And it sounds just as out of tune as our piano. Perfect.
(and this, not my own photo, is also kinda perfect)

 

(no one knows me) like the piano in my mother’s home

 

 

Oh burdens,

I see you looking at me, wondering what I will do with thee you

getting back to the start of see

and the art that shrunk inside of we 

the dancing child on a whirl of glee

escaping truths that stifled three

layers of self, intrinsically

defensive, now the wired psyche

is unravelling

ever so peacefully

 

 

Poetry

Pianofy me

Image

 

silhouette of graves

Photo by Micael Widell on Pexels.com

When my husband and I married all those years ago, cough…my mind wasn’t prepared for how well acquainted we would become with death, he especially. So much church and ministry life happens quietly, behind the scenes, as it should, and there are these extraordinary, jewelled moments, of being with people before, and as they die. These privileged moments of intimacy, I would not normally have had, and for the most part, I am very grateful for them.

Continue reading

Christian, personal, prose
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flower-1398785_1280

pixabay image

 

Inverted in space,

suspended in the north

with a southerly persuasion,

my heart grown in two,

homes.

 

Bejewelled moments

I want to break off to keep,

but my weeping hands

sift the fractures in wrong places.

 

I hold on instead –

ached to this perfect petal,

floated away on familiar

rivered Breeze.

 

originally posted 30th Jan, 2017

personal, Poetry

agapanthus globe

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IMG_20170927_113344

 

painting basement walls

with your velvet words, window

distracts from staircase

 

General bewilderment, Poetry
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Sept 2006 053

she nourished that patch

with those flammable tears,

from jagged tears

and all that bares,

streaming arrears

the chanting of years’

mourning.

 

 

She returned in the blink of a decade,

no warning,

taken aback

by perpetual dawning

of the quiet hymn

of the rose.

 

(A lovely musical interlude by a lovely man).

Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorizable

Finally…

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(repost for Georgia).

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I miss you.

I thought of you today

when we were at the beach,

our holiday coming to an end,

my pensivity forming the only clouds in the sky.

The colours beneath horizon

like new creation

taking my spirit by the hand

and joining yours.

Well, except,

goldfish don’t have hands.

But if you did,

I know you would have held mine.

And how you were so patient

the way I kept mispronouncing your name,

just because I couldn’t figure out

what accent suited you best.

But I never thought

I would miss you so much.

Cerulean.

 

 

a little fun or something, personal, Poetry

sarah leanne

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image1-8

you pulled away

the footsteps coiling around my neck.

a gentleness bled

into prints excoriated

 

the first rains crawling

along droughted river beds

shoe shaped cracks that choke

~

my heart swept up

into Your dark embrace

the Darkness beyond human myopia

 

seen only through the lens

of tears given Divine

You reached through dimensions

of suffering, the kind

 

that decodes DNA

and breathes, reanimates

 

Eye to eye

Heart to heart

humility scorned

now plays the part…

 

 

 

Photo credit: my husband

Christian, Poetry

you pulled away

Image

cropped-img_20160624_1549365683.jpg

 

crocheting continuity

in the weaving waves

of sound sublimity,

 

the embossing of the

dimensional trinity

 

by the cerebral unity,

 

g(r)asped by incredulous senses converted

to heights of clarity –

 

the aching symphony

 

scaffolding the wholing

of peace.

Christian, Poetry

“adam and eve”

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This is a reworking of a poem I wrote a couple of months ago, after visiting an old friend in Arizona. These gorgeous trees surrounded our camp site. A night by a campfire, sharing sorrows and burdens with an old friend, is one of the best things in life imho. Thanks to Charles, the reluctant poet   for inviting me to join ‘the back side of the night’ theme started by The sailor poet.  I really appreciate their encouragement, as well as that by Davy at Davy D blog.  Thanks Guys!

~*~

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How those maudlin woods enticed us

adorned so enchantingly with unprecipitation

and the black of trees’ core,

begging interpretation from the sympatheticly dressed.

But we decided not to indulge them.

Or

maybe us.

We held hands instead.

And ran through.

Through

to the back side of the night

where together we watched

the eyelid opening at horizon,

where we no longer dream

of windows wiping clean…

Poetry

Recurring Dream

Image

img_20151105_1843077251

Stunned by the brevity of the scene

I gasped to a halt

of tyres

or maybe tires,

the poetry –

humbling

tutoring

breathing

into my backless weary

personal, Poetry
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img_20170212_233703_199

(I took this photo yesterday of my father. He still works as a landscaper, at 83! He helps to take care of this beautiful property for his friend, who died a couple of years ago. He helps to lovingly tend it for her children who currently live elsewhere.)

*

your whispering  legacy haunted

those delightfully enchanted trees

they bashfully danced to the harmony’s spell

you cast on ebullient breeze.

gentle tread of your variegated spirit

autumned now with so much grace

I know you have moved on in silence

but our movement here follows your trace.

the impression of a loved one’s silhouette

caught tenderly in a still frame

is a clear photographic injustice

to the care that he takes in your name…

personal, Poetry

sepiated

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img_20150321_185030179

O write us some air

you’re the prism one

refract us a dream tonight

for we’re all in the mood

for Heal’s melody

and you’ve got us feeling

personal, Poetry

ever so grateful you blogging dream weavers you

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sam_0731

“They I said it wouldn’t happen again,

this flooding”

a sight not to be seen for another __ years.

“My ears filling with expert voices

trapping the scurrying feelings

insecting in the inescaping

infecting the elucidating”

nourishing the swell

between us –

your eyes telling me

under the indiscriminate trees.

Which are as beautiful within the flood as without.

smiling in the sudden illumination…

Poetry

come sit with me dear friend

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img_20161119_102216

It’s futile to embalm those memories she said agonising the prolong before looking away the wisdom in her years across years not transmitting across tables to she where she used to be.  but i hate it when roses die.

 

 

 

Fiction

through the timing glass

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