Tags » Utterances

NaPoWriMo #19

There were shooting stars the night of the blood moon … three in all … they are not unlike an unasked prayer I have not yet learned how to formulate in the space where grace would hold a temple hush still in the pupil of my mind’s eye … it can only be spoken through silence … bare feet to path greeting the warm grasses of morning after waking from a night of dab dalliance dreams so fragrant with color you forget all manner of resistance in the beliefs of what you are not capable of …  that kind of soul kiss you grant Self … childlike eyes wide an arm’s wing web to the sky singing “I am that freedom I long so for ” … yet, fear not to ask of Great Mother to empower me with … for they told me long ago it was mine to strive for through all darkness’ holds … It was in that moment … before mind could wish a cause by that shining orb’s graceful granting … your name rose from my heart held chamber of truth … I heard my Self spoken say it’s echo haunt … In Bedouin wandering lonely or a colosseum of spectating mortal seas … there is no denial in whom you truly love when your soul answers the heavens above … the second star is far simpler you see … the ways to the means … if indeed you’d ever truly have me … imprisonment of your will was never mentioned … I gave the last star with Great Mother as we also shared it’s sight … it is only fair to share blessings, after all … after all she has given to me … I didn’t want to chance it, to be greedy with the Genie bottle of this happen stance, to lessen Her wish in any way … the eclipse was so much more than we could have hoped for … and I had those two wishes already so very hopeful for myself … how could I ask for more ? 6 more words

Poetry And Prose From The Author

NaPoWriMo #17

She is beginning to wane, Our Sangre de Christo moon, rising soon to replace the bitter blue glow in this now~ing butterscotch sky the roses have been contemplating a deep grey for with the soon coming of the dark phase, 301 more words
Poetry And Prose From The Author

NaPoWriMo #15

Jester

You keep that picture in the hallway just off the Parlor, the portrait profile of your face in grainy grey and black shadows … It’s what all the front roomers see when they walk in the door … which is as far as they will get … conducting their business then being on their way never knowing the real you … never getting beneath the surface … except for your lady friends that is … They walk right by it’s heavy leather upholstered couches and East India rugs … the floor boards bouncing beneath them … the swing of their twisting gait hopped up on the balls of their feet in black vinyl stilettos … balancing the bag of props in front of them like a sack of stolen chickens lulled to sleep by a Voodoo priestess’ spell … which might wear off at any moment if they are jostled to indelicately …They pause at the stained glass door, adjusting themselves … then turn the knob to open the way unto your dimension of pleasure and play … This is where the real you lies … The velvet Elvis, the water color Christ, the snapshot of you in your tuxedo the night you gave that speech that shocked everyone … you swore you’d never do that again … They see the true soul painting you are … tucked up behind the collection of tea cups and saucers you stole while everyone else was at your Aunt Ramona’s wake … You still say it was their own fault … Who rents a V.F.W. 488 more words

Poetry And Prose From The Author

NaPoWriMo #11

Taken from the film Oiche Ceanhain this features Old Irish footage from the 1916 rising.
 

Gardener of the Moon

The great owl spoke before dim twilight fell his message falling on the gardener’s ear as the Sun was blessing the horizon, “Know me dark and know me well, Know me light and love me long, If you see through both dull and strong, Sing you then my lovelight song.” 207 more words
Poetry And Prose From The Author

Visiting the Willows

I went visiting the willows just before twilight fell … the Earth free of Her tomb tent mask at last … I am able to walk on now past season’s fawny grass, still clinging to how I felt about you even then … my boots fondly smiling back at me as if they found a purposeful shared trail I had left off of all too suddenly, when the ice bound me in … that it could mean something more than I had simply walked this way before … The slight descent of the hill led to the muddy water and the broken willows’ bank edge home … the hungry mouse had lain bare the inner white fleshy meat of the wood given way from her Winter’s hunger … the crust of old bark now brightening with spring green smiles of twiggy dreams and sprouting prospects lying elsewhere along the still waking branches … The phantom rose buds which had gathered to tinge the vanishing sky with their pink promises to come fell invisibly melting into the lake’s freshly thawed moist mirror … it has only just begun to bloom with the first signs of green algae turned the hinted kisses of a Maxfield Parrish illumination … now muted mauve and dusty roses not unlike pictures my Grandma Thomas would save from an old birthday card taped to her living room wall, an oddness I am proud to continue of her’s … I recall when I was two, a visit, the room alive with card, flowers on the dining room archway like a float to a child … she’s in my heart in the way these pinks rapture into blazing scarlet if I can stand still long enough … if I let them come to me … fill me … fill you … I wonder, at times, if you perhaps, have lit a candle or stoked the fire … am I seeing your glow also ? 201 more words

Poetry And Prose From The Author

Before I Go

One more sight of your sky before I go … to plant the stars … your words in velvet evening memories … trickle down the sideboards of time … gathering the edges of the cobblestones to bloom … tender mosses and  lichen pods I might lie diminutive … small  in mind’s play … near a vine laden heavy of black grapes and olive spray … to await you … 6 more words

Poetry And Prose From The Author