The Perfect Storm

clould_storm

(source)

Her certainties are vague and always fleeting, dissembled by a will that’s not her own, her thoughts, though rogue, are always so compliant, this the woman cast in role, she must atone, for something that she’s unaware of doing, for being just a woman here on earth, no ladette this, no bloke, no guy, no rugged master, simply born as female, lost, alone.

Watch her work it out that she’s done nothing, nothing more than black or white or gay, observe her as she claims her own potential, watch and wait, she’ll realise and have her say.

Biblically, she’ll clamour for the wild side, back to nature, earth and Gaia birthed, stand at ready, watch the elemental, working in the flesh and soil, rebirth.

See her rooted back to where she came from, note the stature, see the tree within, growing new limbs, sending where they’re willing, this is she, this is not a he or him.

Woman, by her very nature, growth and nourishment she will provide, intrinsic to her sex, and damn proud of it, watch and see her claim her wilder side.

Time was had and time was spent in waiting for hunter to provide the unit’s needs, they left, they fought, became distracted, forgot the reason why, the mouths to feed.

Woman waited, woman worried, wondered, what the fuck and why the hunter late, discovery of distraction, from the purpose, declared the hunter useless as a mate.

Hear the lioness, the mighty mother, hear the elephant, the whale, the mom, want to see a world in all its glory, give woman time, await the perfect storm.

 

Galleria

so build the gallery

we’ll hang

such pictures

colour walls

with hues

too seldom seen

we’ll bask in beauty

found around

so help us

painted scenes

from every place

we’ve ever been

we’ll daub

and dwell a lifetime

ever open

galleria

free

discounted cost

viewing

globe

in all its splendours 

so much gained

such sharing

never lost

looking

at the pictures

that we’ve painted

we’ll wonder why

we ever thought

to store

treasures

under cover

will astound us

we’ll pull bricks down

 exclusive

never more

a painted vault instead

with sunsets

sunrise

days ending

then beginning

once again

with paintbrush

in the hands

of many

we’ll wake and see

true beauty

unconstrained

 

How The Mighty Fall

Rainforest

(source)

fell the rains with mighty blows,

with ease sourced sap will bleed,

rivulets, their journey south,

unheeded for misdeed

of giving life and living well,

canopied to sky,

roots put down that furnish home,

nourishment from sighs,

breaths of air from tingled tips,

camouflaged as leaves,

sentinels that serve us well,

powerhouse of trees,

minions merely to our needs,

as silent voice gives breath,

blow by blow, by fatal blow,

might falls, might fells, our death

Cloud Bursting

KINDLE_CAMERA_1438793634000

puffed meringue, whipped cream fluff,

fuzzy threads dispersing,

birthing, breathing, billowing,

fraying, coalescing –

abstract solids so serene

entrance unto diffusion,

processed, rearranged on high,

creating my illusions –

concentration forms and splits,

this I tell myself,

as mallowed cream and puffed meringues

drift among themselves

Time Talks

midnight-clock

(source)

Hands chose to halt upon all faces

Numerals in hibernation

Suspending time and animation

Frozen still near midnight

 

Every digit waits its turn

Unswept, idle in formation,

Rested, useless at their stations,

While time regains its fight

 

Paused on play, asleep to hours,

Imperfect planetary rotation

Life still beats in preparation

Given second sight

 

Movement in the galaxies

Parallels in consternation

Argued routes, black-holed frustration,

Time talks till all put right

 

Subtle strokes, caressed by cue,

Solitary salutations

Solar shift in ideation

Copernican dark to light

Beacons

330px-Bell_Rock_Lighthouse

Bell Rock Lighthouse

There stands a beacon where a bell proved weak,

Voice to the voyagers in luminous speak,

Identity unique by pulse precise,

Guidance given where the sea hides vice,

Ragged rock with a tidal view

Dwelt below the surface, steered untrue

Were the vessels in their passing, as they hoped to pass,

Made safe in the knowledge cast by coloured glass.

Fires on the hillsides, pillars by the ports,

Candle flames for safe escort,

Antiquity to modern, lighthouse gave

Synonymous, eponymous, strobes to save.

Without Limits

In response to Tale Weaver #21 at Mindlovemisry’s Menagerie – the subject is Flight.

flight-at-sunset-teal-abstract-sunset-gina-de-gorna

Long before the flight there was the light, transcendent suffusion, beckoning elimination of every other notion – abandon earthbound to simply bask in skies painted by invisible hands. How to place yourself into those hands, how to share in their mastery. Shades of light, tints and colours, tones of warm or cool, all and every, engendering just one desire. Be the light.

And flight was born.

To close your eyes, face uplifted to its source and spread the wings of mind, intent only on becoming one with countless other ones.

In mind there is no other place to be that wraps and weaves, so completely, one source with the other. Every eye that ever gazed upon a winged creation begged its share of such a joy and, when evolution let us down so badly, we found another way.

With the addition of one letter and a need to commune we poured our souls into the light and learned to fly without limits. 

Rain Dance

199

It pelted down from grey,

I had to wonder,

Were you hidden there,

Among the drops that splurged,

Pooling on me,

Filling all my aspects,

Seeping in,

Completion to my urge.

Did you see me

In the arid, panting,

Deserted by the floods,

A thirsty waif,

Eye of kindness,

Centred, calming, soothing

To parched you fell

From earnest plea to save.

I spied you

In the glimmer after, edging

Clouds were brighter,

Sharper than before,

Summer brought

Amid the dark descending,

A fount of love from deluge,

Dripped to core.

Did you see me dance with fervour,

Earthed to heavens,

Dust arise from feet

That stamped for rain,

Arms akimbo,

Did you feel the beating

Purged by purity

To ease dried pain.

 

How Be It Dream

If, in inner eye

of languid 

somnolence

is felt

is seen

a million

multicoloured prisms

streaming on the beam

convergent

on pin-pointed purpose

to bestow

receive

paralysis

two-spirit gendered

ancient deity

suffusing and infusing

seeking soul surrender

in semi-conscious

state of sensuality

caressed and kissed

by ported rays

on zephyr’d fingertips

aroused from drenching

sun-blessed sleep

if

as felt

as seen

how be it dream