has a future,
he knows that he can grow wings…
to transcend to sacred things…
In real life…..
has a future,
he knows that he can grow wings…
to transcend to sacred things…
A bit off the script today…..my NaPoWriMo Poem will be written later…
“If your eyes are opened you will see the things worth seeing”
It was a tall tree, magnificent in presence,
full of character,
and solid in its understanding of the movement
of the earth.
It appreciated the night skies and all the stars,
it touched heaven with longing.
Below its radiance and extended bows,
shrubs and grass found comforting shadows
and splashes of sunlight
enlivened its tender disposition.
It carried the promise of shade for hot summers,
and a sanctuary for sugar birds to play.
Though its sage green leaves were brittle,
it held its place with calm integrity.
It was not a perfect tree with straight bows
and flawless form,
the way many young saplings
stand tall in faultless and almost impenetrable rows.
Its twisted branches
had a kind of unique appeal
as though it had been one with the earth’s motion
since the beginning of time.
One stormy night, a wind tore into its branches
and threatened its form.
It held its ground against the gale
for most of the dark menacing night,
but the force of the black squall
weakened its resolve,
and by morning some of the branches
had fallen to the ground.
Defeated by the relentlessness of this
the remaining stricken branches
cracked apart and fell heavily
to the sodden loam.
The Earth was still.
In the morning I looked upon its sorrow
and felt my own so deeply,
for I loved this mysterious evergreen.
I was sad that this tree’s inspiring essence
could know such
So we carried away its precious branches
and each day I looked on its brokenness,
not believing it could bare the shame
of stark reality.
A stubby trunk and a few tangled bows
were all that remained.
But what really took my breath away
that in the space
where the tree’s tawny limbs had covered the scenery
and reached upwards,
a view appeared.
It captivated my mind.
A new aspect was revealed across the rooftops
reminding me that even
in the fragility of life
there is still belonging and beauty to be found
if you allow it.
It uncovered another scene beyond
its broken branches.
And there, a great tree taught me
that nothing is ever what it appears to be.
If your eyes are opened you will
see the things worth seeing.
Where heartbreak splinters in today’s sorrow,
and let your heart perceive the mystery.
You will find extraordinariness
in the shelter of everyday.
And though there may be many storms in life,
some may break you,
some may render you incapacitated,
because out there in the eternal seas,
where tranquility reigns in realms beyond
your wildest imaginings
a bounty of blessings exist.
And my sorrow waned,
as I understood that
even in death and destruction,
there is an eternity of
Unlike birds of a feather, who flock together,
tortoise gatherings are not a pleasure.
They admit to always being spurned,
and never seem to be that concerned.
Surly and distant, and not easy to please,
they live alone under the trees.
Perhaps they have low self-esteem?
Never gracing the covers of magazines!
Slowly and carefully they dawdle along,
not even a whistle or a silly song.
Just a squeaky sound when they see a mate,
almost sprinting in a wobbly gait.
In lonesome pods, without a care,
antisocial reptiles, in protective gear.
Elusive hulks in patterned shells,
they don’t know each other very well!
Me thinks, inside they’re just squishy and soft,
to being mocked!
“Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.”
― Lao Tzu
serene sensations bristle,
groomed by a placid breeze,
the poised baobab
has an assurance,
rooted in contentment,
its tall trunk stands firm.
to the calm, cerulean skies.
the gentle canopy of gladness
gazes at its cheerful boughs.
shrubs stare up at its restful countenance,
and wallow in its happy demeanor.
satisfied where it grows,
coheres with the
comfort of an auburn earth,
and with an intensity of belonging,
it sheds sage coloured
leaves of gratitude.
it’s dependable bulk bespeaks
Image courtesy of Google
Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.
― John O’Donohue
Nebulous forecasts, emulate the mood.
Misery loves company,
Rain at the window,
the sun is in hiding,
stonewalling words, in overcast silence.
Conclaves of mist, fog up the panes,
in dreary hallways,
Sombre days and the skies are leaden,
grey clouds hover,
and cool winds threaten.
Long tall blossoms drenched and alive
they don’t complain,
when Nature thrives!
Birds don’t go gathering, when murky days beckon.
Lilies aren’t flustered at this change in the weather!
“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place you think you’ve been buried, but you’ve actually been planted.”
― Christine Caine
In fields of dandelions,
I let my wishes fly.
Seedlings of hopefulness, drifting in the skies.
Wafting on currents, of sanguine dreams,
landing in the hollow,
of gracious ravines.
Lingering in faith,
they forage for a home,
scattering on the dark earth, beneath gentle loam.
They germinate with tenderness,
cherished by the sun,
dandelions of promise,
regeneration has begun……
Image courtesy of Pixabay
“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Though shrouded in sadness,
hope is in sight.
In the midst
we get caught in light!
The shadows may threaten
to darken your days.
and lift up your praise!
The path may take you,
enable the silence
of celestial spheres.
The miracle of beauty
brings colour to a rose
and living water,
where it flows!
Deep speaks to deep,
when transformed by light
and beneath the umbra,
Light needs shadows
to contrast its form,
Within a cocoon the worm
knows the long night,
till breathtaking beauty
I love the image of the field of corn in the autumn. When the wind catches the corn, it does not stand stiff and direct against the force of the wind; were it to do this, the wind would rip it asunder. No. The corn weaves with the wind, it bends low. And when the wind is gone, it weaves back and finds its own poise and balance again.
― John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom
the winds have blown me
where they will,
and fear instilled
of callous gales
became fragments of truth
buried deep within
is a knowing,
a sacred treasury
i am bending to
a flexible mind
rigid beliefs soften,
that were held confined
i’ve swayed and swung from
quaffed my fill of
i’m learning to weave
like fields of corn
care for my soul
with kindness adorn
and when the gales
have come to pass
i will stand poised,
and balanced at last
*photo courtesy Pixabay
Masses of birds can fly for miles within the eye of a hurricane, surrounded on all sides by powerful wind and thunderstorms, yet sheltered from them within the middle of the storm.
Flocks of birds showed up in radar images of Hurricane Irma’s eye, as the birds moved with the storm up the west coast of Florida.
the eye of the storm
is where i fly
on winged grace
in the azure sky
all around me
are chaotic streams
trying to pull me
to anxious extremes
safe and secure
in the arms of light
my innermost fight
a benevolent force
braced with love
to stay the course
faith and mercy
my eternal shield
“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.”
― Jalaluddin Rumi
Shoots of renewal,
decorate the earth.
In charred wastelands,
restoration can be heard.
The darkened earth
is holy now,
and trodden with life.
Brazen remnants stand and stare,
pity in their eyes.
Casualties of an inferno,
the loss of
with courage in her wings.
The winds have died,
from the soil
Where embers burnt
and flames torched