Whispering wild green secrets
Sliding smooth stones under your emerald belly
Gathered strength, exhale, returning
Winter’s quiet. We dream.
Counting your beats in raindrops
Measuring our time into strained waiting,
We paint colors, water, silver on canvas imagined.
Still working on this one … wanted to reshape it with a wee bit different voice … still needs overhaul…and time .. will let it hang here for awhile and revisit later
Lost in August
And upon arrival,
That very day,
We slap ourselves silly.
“Oh! Here it is!”
“But”, we sigh and continue.
Whispers old lady summer:
“I will never leave you.”
Only September’s rhythm
Upset by that cold morning.
“There? Now?”
“Aren’t I beautiful?”
October’s hope arises,
None-of-this-will-end conviction.
Dashing maybe.
“Don’t you dare”.
“Stand by me, my sweets.”
November’s perfection, fragility and transience.
“Goodbye”
“Please, not now… Why?”
Now, December,
Last leaf falling
On a new wind
Hoping we will never forget.
“Because we will meet again.”
Late winter afternoon.
A dream,
Of soft, easy light.
Where hope hangs from delicate branches
Stretched across the wind.
.
.
Here,
This wind roots out bits of summer,
Then sends them across the fields,
Sailing to quiet places of rest.
Out there they come together,
And find it all again.
.
In this wind, everything is big.
Telling all our stories at once
Whispering…
Stammering…
Caressing…
While singing comfort songs
From far away over the hills.
.
.
In the dream,
Whispering little secrets,
Stammering over your truths,
Caressing those memories into
Songs that haunt us
In their forgotten simplicity.
.
Not there, not that, not then.
Right here, It is this.
Now.
.
Maybe, hopefully:
Looming as a memory.
Catching me, reminding me.
Not to be held,
Just known, before slipping away.
Again.
HA!
.
When it comes not as part of this and that,
But, somehow, is this and that.
Then It is this and that I’ll see.
Hold it awhile longer.
Next time.
.
It’s right here.
No path, no ceremony
No cults, no worship
Right here among us.
My goal is right here.
Right now.
Endless, golden October afternoon
.
There we found our river,
A simple quiet.
Our place.
.
Along ocean sand.
Under a setting November sun.
Another afternoon for us
Each walking little paths,
Soon shared.
.
Returning,
We convened with water.
Falling from dark December skies.
We found ourselves then.
Picking up little bits
of the dreams to
Hold us tight.
.
We wondered along the creek
Through snow, woods and
All along the grassy hills.
.
Together,
At year’s end we met these places.
And we arrayed our dreams and desires
Like Christmas gifts under our tree.
.
I saw the blue green water dreams
Deep in your gaze.
You saw those places in my eyes,
Color of fall.
.
And I still want to hold onto it
Before you are even gone.
.
Now all those little dreams
Scattered.
Washing away in the rain,
Across the hills,
Into creeks, rivers and oceans.
Back to those places.
.
But these places,
We will walk again
On our own paths,
Gathering up all of those dreams
And the new stories they will tell.
.
Goodbye, my love.
I will always hold you
In my dreams.
Nobody heralded the arrival of winter this year.
Soon enough, days hang still
Here we are.
On the cusp, the trailing end of something.
Unannounced winter.
.
Leaden December sky,
Look west and see apricot sunshine
Spilling over everything.
Tell me your secrets here on the edge.
.
Tomorrow the children will gather here
The snow gone in the oak woodlands
In the valley, the first flower peeks skyward
The children gather up their dreams and desires
All through the green grass
They gather them up as fast as they can
For Winter lives here a while longer.
.
In the garden, a blue flower
Cobalt blue with a single black petal
Growing along the fence.
Do you remember?
.
Do you remember,
When we walked along the creek?
Finding that same flower, the single black petal
The children all grown up
Now eating chocolate,
Cobalt blue flower chocolate
While they live their dreams.
.
In the valley and through the oaks
We are still children
We gather up new dreams now
So that we might live them a little longer.
.
Recall a still December afternoon,
Leaden skies, painted apricot
There we found a piece of Springtime,
And gathered it up as carefully as we could
Packing it gently for the walk down the hill.
These days
Falling into hushed calm
Of mornings lingering
And afternoons brief.
I cannot say
Those fearful words
We’re done
And yet you persist
And I find you there.
Find me again
Along the river
Starved for rain
As I gather the last memories
As fast as I can.
Waking into darkness
A dream lingers
Disturbed and unwanted.
.
A dream like spilled milk
Across a table
Soaking into linen.
Never undone.
.
Instantly, everywhere, spilling milk.
Now part of this,
A moment unchosen.
.
Beginning easy,
Then running and
Pouring rampant
Into nameless unease.
.
Dream dripping onto floor
Spreading and soaking.
Waking me.
A memory uncontrolled.
.
A fear pushing inside,
In darkness.
Asleep, powerless, unable.
.
Everywhere, or just somewhere,
A fear spreading
Inside, outside,
And, finally, into my bones.
Unseen.
.
This is the dream
Born instantly into a waking memory
I never lived.
In the hushed darkness,
A terror meticulously unwrapped.
.
Or, reluctantly,
Fear buried deeply:
Real and decidedly unseen.
.
Sudden rain moves across our conversation
Out the café window.
My eyes turn round,
Following the watery sheets,
Or dreaming again.
.
I feel your eyes on my face
Yet I don’t turn to see,
Held, instead, by wet passersby.
Except from the corner I can feel
How deeply you can look.
.
And I can’t turn now, fearful
Break your gaze, then what?
But I should, easy enough
Forgetting fears vanish simply
when faced
So why not now?
.
Now?
Before I realize I missed it all.
.
What did you see?
See me missing it all?
Ha!
.
Watched rain rolls away
Down across the field,
Quiet again.
Find me along the river
Dreaming in golden afternoons
Telling of long summers
Not yet ended.
Find me holding you there
Lightly to a touch
We tell all those things
Seen along the way.
Will you still be here
With springtime?
April showers perhaps?
And scurry for cover
Under the mossy rock ledge?
Will you show me those places
Only you might see
on a starry night?
Maybe, then, we might forget
consuming our time.
What is this time?
How we found little blue flowers
Did you see them?
Hidden among the drying grass.
Or were you dreaming
While I crouched to trace
Little furrows in the sand
Casting long shadows
On a late October afternoon.
Shaken Rain 