Wednesday, February 17, 2010

This! & Thus!

So, when I told Destiny (one of our more squirrel-y youngsters, but very endearing) that I was posting her drawing on my blog, she got so excited that my heart just melted. . . so I thought . . my blog is not really for children - so I started one for my school; to be able to share with the students and the families and others - So I started one . . . YAY!?! Now my problem is this:
How many more hours in my day do I get?

Sometimes - I need a little reminder
why am I here
what am I for
what are my dreams
and I find the little answers
scattered like dust
throughout my way . .
I find them pointing
like a sign post
reminding me
who loves me
and who I am  . . .

ah yes - I remember:
 A little poem from Seth to brighten my day:

I love Mis. Wolfsong your are the best.
I like you.
I wish you can be mine teecher.
your are the best.
I like yor stile.

Was it you who sang to the fields
of white clover
as they danced in the breeze . . .

did they grow for you?

and who polished the moon
gifting it with that solemn
brow and a rhythm
to swing in the sky to luminate. . .

did you touch the moon?

Did you breath that sigh
designing the clouds
and lifting the warm wind
to move the tiny sparrows

did you lift their wings?

And who cast the fire
across the waters of the lake
reflecting a golden sun
and did you create
that life giving orb, too?

did the fire burn for you?

Did I see you in the form
of creation?
Did I hear you in the song
of the stars?
Did you waft to me in the
scent of the lilac?

Where were you?
Were you there?
Was that you?


I remember how I would stand
by the side of the mossy green sea . . .
the lacy foam washing
over the graceful shoulders of the waves
as the bright red sun
would slowly slip behind
that big horizon . . .
an easy road to
distant faraway lands . . .
gleaming and beckoning upon that briny surf,
and I would reach out to touch
the tears
on the face of the weeping sun . . .

I remember standing, wishing,
longing to walk on that bright road
leading to anywhere,
hope or love or peace . . .
I knew it was over there
somewhere . . . somewhere
far away from me . . .

Gazing at the blinding sun
an empty space would form
behind my unblinking eyes
where a salty tear would grow,
and falling into the ocean
it would sink there like a stone . . .
deep below the waters
and very much


Hush . . .

Hush my friend
don't cry for me
I am nothing more
than that mortal bug
walking across your floor . . .
nothing less than that blip
of time given to grace our days.

Hush my friend
don't cry for me
I am nothing more
than that small dark cloud
raining teardrops on your shore . . .

nothing less than those steady hearts
having won this exalting race.

Hush my friend
don't cry for me
I am nothing more than
that lullaby you sang
echoing love for evermore . . .
nothing less than whispering faith
leaving its brilliant trace.

Hush my friend
don't cry for me
I am nothing more than
yonder mountain peak
casting shadows through your door . . .

nothing less than those quiet souls
seeking that glorious place.

Hush my friend
don't cry for me
I am nothing more than
the love you gave
to the ones that you adore . . .
nothing less than the hope and peace
with which our souls be graced.


Memories in Amber

Remember how we walked together
hand in hand
under the garden arbor,
a fragrance of concord grapes
on our lips
throughout that warm red Autumn?

Remember how the ice on the trees
chimed melodies within the forest
on that snowy hill
and how we warmed each other

enduring that long cold Winter?

I remember when
you opened your eyes and
looked into mine
creating a gentle wind
that swept across the salty seas
embracing glorious Spring

And remember how we ran
barefoot across the sea damp sands
beneath an open sky
searching forever between the gentle tides
as Sol danced with Summer?

. . .and the years go by
and the seasons pass on down that road
and time burns naked beneath eternal stars
but buried in my amber heart is you . . .
Forever in my dreams . . . .  you!



The sun doth shine and shine
and it will ever be
and the moon will float
like a crystal ship
upon the black black sea
the stars like silver fishes
swimming swimming ever near
close upon the tree tops
shining shining ever there
I stretch near to touch the tips
and find that I can fly . . .
reaching to the moon ship
higher higher than the sky . . .

I just wrote that little poem for a friend and decided I wanted to keep it 'cause it was cute - was that bad? Naw - I be not bad - I just share so I will make another to give away. 

There is a point in my thread
around the city
Where I know I have taken off
in flight . . .
I see the twinkling lights
below me
as I bind my threads so tight,
winding gently around
your body
my cocoon of silk is soft . . .
cherishing, embracing
your sweet brightness
to myself
and to my heart,
my tender web enfolds you
and my arms forever hold you
brightly shining
in my song.


I don't like this style of poem (the preceding one) - blah - I don't know why I am fallen into it - Its like a marching cadence and I cannot stand this style of poetry coming from me - it isn't me - I need to study this issue . . .  grrr
I wrote this poem early in the morning on my walk into work . .. as I rise above the ridge I get a spectacular view of the city; which I hope somehow, someday to capture on my camera . . . so far . . . no luck.


In the center of my dark sky
is the big dipper
long ago emptied

who are you, to right
all the wrongs scattered
over all the continents?

and who is this undertaker
the children speak of
as they roll up their
beautiful eyes
and clutch their throats . . .

the night sky is so dark and cold
and the stars
of the big dipper
comfort me while
I hear the free bird
sing her morning song

Why do the children
over-use the stub of the red crayon
in their stories
the red of blood
that flows like the river down into the valley

we are stuck in the icy dreams of
our horrors . .
and the broken shards drive into our bones

and then I saw the great white horse
gallop over the hill
and on his back an invisible rider
carrying blessings and
scattering to the winds
like sparks from a fire
yet so many
       so many
burnt out so quickly
falling as blackened ashes
and disappearing
as nothing . . .
yet . . . but a few
tiny flames like candles
dispensing light
dispelling the dark
a flame to heal, brighten and hope
a flame for peace
a flame for love

Why does that child
weep over her lunch
her tiny face
resting on my heart?
and where is the refuse heap
that belongs to the children . . .

and where is the spark
that belongs to you . . .

And the people flow
like a silver river
down the roads of their
making . . . their misery
destroying the dreams of
the children

and the small boy cries . . .
"I don't want to go home
can I stay with you?
I am afraid . . . my little dog
and I hide under the
bed in the dark of the night . . ."
and the ravaged face of the
child looks at me with hollow eyes

A spark long lost
leaving but a trail of light
that very wisp of hope
   and love, peace
slips away into the darkening sky.

and the angels sing
from the center of that sky

the big empty dipper . . .
and then they too,  slowly
fade away . . .


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