The Reach

27 06 2013

An island stands mountainously,
a back drop for lookers on.
A monument to creation itself.

The reach lies in wait,
silent, without disposition or expectation

-terribly still-
a mill pond calm
prevails grudgingly.
Distances vary as the lodes
of the living waters transit
change into ponds,
and then again
to rivers and streams,
deliberating their contiguous
routes to the sea of commonality.
Twins, Kindred, they be,
of the divine ways they have traveled,
the hapless spawn of intent bringing quieting,
rioting bluebells in spring, freshening, while
making inscribed, weathered highways of this world.
(though there are other worlds than this)
Long traveled, familiar, yet un-navigable

is the reach-

it’s byways gone(un-mapped)in a nod of whispers(or a whisper of nods).
Traveling rivers of desire. Scaling the mountains of knowledge.
Afloat in a salty sea of truth. Sanctified by sanity.
Sanitized by sanctity. Gifted in absentia…

We journey from
shore to island,
from island to shore.

Love lies in the reach.

For so long as blue bells bloom
or mountain avens give birth
from the rocky, hallowed crags
of creations womb, then…

Love lies in the reach.

Belying the compromise of
our brief, flowing span,
Eternal and Indigenous, we are, when…

Love lies in the reach.


As the Dawn

7 06 2013

Vast upon,
the greening field,
the spirit lies in wait…
As the dawn,
it’s teeming yield,
is found
at heavens gate.

Though mortal man,
may beg it’s bounty,
few have ever heard.
So poor a plan,
fey is counted…
by those
who speak
the word.

She gives up naught,
when it is asked…
yet concedes it
as it’s
Though man is fraught,
with toil and task,
his deeds

Ask it not,
and you shall find,
the grails endless wealth,
it’s what we’ve got,
in one great mind,
and tales that we tell.

The Greening of the Birch

1 06 2013

She rises now, into the sky, in green and white perfection,
not knowing how, or caring why… embracing her connection.
Such grace and truth, in natures yield, shared upon the earth.
The face of youth, in every field, such rare and timeless worth.

While mother birch, lay fast asleep, through frigid silver nights,
the willow first, began to creep, her way towards the light.
Her furry limbs, caressed the sun, and drank in all that power,
as spring begins – now one by one – each bud begins to flower.

As summer starts, the green becomes, the flowers burst and bloom.
There is such art, in scenes undone, of winters thirst and gloom.
While beauty rested, under snow – a million gleaming points,
our flesh was tested – as she sows – where frost and ice anoints.

Now I sit, amongst that green, amazed again by truth.
This hurried fit, and sacred scene, I find solace… in that youth.
I cannot voice, the things I see, now flowing through the air,
there is no choice – in things so free – or knowing of despair.

The Wisdom of Youth

22 05 2013

Timeless voices call again, from plains and prairies, bog and fen.
Ageless whispers on the wind, ending now where they begin.
Sounding on the wondering ears, of those who listen – those who hear.
The ones who feel the earths great truth, the wisdom of our graceful youth.

The longing cries of gulls and crows, lost we were, within their throes.
Waves releasing on the beach, seeking there, what she released,
from her great sieve, her wondrous oceans, magic spells within the motions,
of the tides perpetual grind, treasures there we’d always find.

Running careless through her sands, our skin becoming dark and tanned.
Swimming in the bright green waters, fathers sons and mothers daughters.
In our youth, we felt her grace, and as we age, we feel a trace,
of all the beauty that she is, her loving touch and tender bliss.

Returning now, to youth we lost, does not entail any cost.
The wonder that we felt so strong, her blissful dance and ever song,
lives on – though we may heed it not – if we so choose, it will be lost,
replaced by things we wanted more, while youth still dances on her shore.

Voices of Reason

19 05 2013

Blow with me, said the wind, my path is clear, and knows not sin.
Shine with me, said the sun, your journey has not yet begun.
Fall with me, said the rain, I know not fear, I know not pain.
Stand with me, said the trees, for from me comes the air you breath.
Float with me, said the ocean, my tides set greater things in motion.
Rise with me, said the mountain, for from me flows your purest fountain.
Set with me, said the moon, my power makes the oceans swoon.
Wish with me, said the stars, I bring you light, from near and far.
Sing with me, said the universe, I am the chorus, you are the verse.

Love me…
Be at peace with me…

Respect me.

Said mother earth.
Worship me not,
yet value my worth.

Path of Stars

7 05 2013

Starlight dances in our night, a glimmering source of infinite light.
The faery dust we only see, when dark prevails and blindness frees,
the stars that ever shine and glow, an endless, timeless, magic show.
Spiraling on celestial winds, to end the dance where it begins.

So many things can we compare, to magic in the gloom out there,
there is such darkness, and such light, within ourselves, both day and night.
It takes the two, to make a whole, and which we choose, becomes our soul.
Unlike most, we have that choice, our gift free will-which we can voice.

The ever turning, raging orbs, shedding light which we absorb,
seem so mindless, in their dance, their paths not fettered, by romance.
Their roads are chosen, cycles spun, within the race, forever run,
by spirals softly spinning out, without a fear, without a doubt.

Our free will is a kingly gift, the finest sand the hourglass sifts.
The other creatures on this earth, embrace survival, and it’s worth.
What we have is a gift to man, perhaps unique across the span,
although this tiny mind can see, there may be others just like me.

We need not prove ourselves to them, or to each other-that is Zen.
The only thing that really counts, is if our light was shining out.
There is no score-no final tally, at the end of life’s blind alley,
that matters more than where we stood, amongst the evil-or the good.

Bright Refrain

25 04 2013

A rolling stone on rivers bed, moves slowly towards the sea.
Smoothing all abrasions there, the waters gift to thee.
I stop it on its stumbling course, and pluck it from the shore,
it’s smooth and rounded, edgeless mass, replaced by many more.

Time has left it’s ancient grace, upon this piece of earth.
A span we cannot comprehend, or judge it’s truth or worth.
For mortal man, an eon passed, is well beyond our mind,
we think in smaller segments, and our truth we leave behind.

A thousand years, perhaps by ten, is more than we envision,
while mother earth, began her spin, by years we count in billions.
Can any mortal comprehend, the journey she has made?
Or think themselves, the final truth, in mortal flesh that fades?

Seeing in the lamplight’s glow – the truth of what we are… unknown.
The mystery is really not – to be content with what we’ve got.
Our sentience, a gift and curse – the wild creatures sing the verse,
she taught to them before we came… and still they sing her bright refrain.

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