First Snow

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Sitting here
the room full of white light
reflection of the morning snow
Sitting here
my fingers concentrating
mini stitches on my quilt
Sitting here
no real desire to step outside my room
watching artist documentaries on youtube
Sitting here
no ambition
no thoughts of future
no aspirations
still, I feel warm, content,
mindful and awe-inspiring of such greats
Andrew Wyeth
Hammershoi of which I have never heard but now love
Sitting here
my finger on ‘enter’
within seconds I am engulfed in lives
Mary and Christoper Pratt
I think of their brilliance
I think ‘what is the point?’
Sitting here
knowing we are not to compare
but truly what is the point
Sitting here
I am relieved that the microwave has beeped
I can now leave
comfort myself with lemon tea
another documentary
perhaps to find purpose
‘The scene continues with a dialogue  between artist and microwave’
Yes! I am coming! I am coming!
microwaves will rule us yet.
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This has been silly side effects of the first snow day.
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Child of White Light

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Who is this child

so small

her smile in full bloom

I pick her up

I hold her close

she brightens the room

not like a light bulb

not like the sun

more like a pure white energy

who is this child

that appeared in my dream

holding her I walk about in this small house

from room to room passing people I feel I know

there are no faces

there are no voices

the house seems full 

as if it were a gathering

I hold this smiling child close and tenderly

as I walk from room to room

there are no walls

just beautiful, contented white light

who is this child

that came to me in my dream

this child that brought me peace and contentment

this child of white light

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Birthdays

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birthday

what and why do we?

is there something for to see

i feel no memory vibrating in me

nothing left by the queen bee

while she was in a mating spree

even if so briefly

 

a miracle as such

should surly insomuch

gift us initial touch

hidden in our memory hutch

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if our minds truly are 

the greatest computer created

should I not then be able to retrieve

all the memories that created me?

to feel the warmth

to feel no anger no fear, no resentment 

to feel the miracle happening

temperatures rise and fall

the walls move in and out

then there it is

the one seed that is meant only for me

other cells peacefully disburse

leaving the dance floor open for the transformation

only what was meant to be will be created

one becomes two becomes four becomes eight

till a dotted spine appears

two large eyes, webbed fingers, little toes

floating softly, hearing, sensing

we do not retrieve this memory as our birthday gift
that moment when turbulence forces us out

perhaps that is why I am so drawn to the ocean
could that be where our memories are stored?

why it pulls at my umbilical cord 

why the sound of its movement calms me

could that be my memory 

my birth day?

listening to Dan Evenson’s Sound Healing.

Grey

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with peanut butter and rye toast

waking my tastebuds

with a stream of caffeine flowing down my throat

with Galloway’s flute filling my room with sweetness

I sit in my wicker chair

waiting, and watching the morning wake

 my sky with so many shades of grey

grey, a word worthy of a metal

it dances for many others

without taking the lead

at times it will soften the edge

or intensify the starkness

grey is so misunderstood

even speaking its name we tilt our voice downward

giving the impression of sadness

grey is not sad or empty 

it’s not the void of light

grey walks with everyone

it prepares you for the brilliants of a fuchsia morning sky

or sets you down gently in the evening light

grey is courageous and trustworthy

it will hold on to your tears

for it knows they are precious 

often returning them to you as a lullaby 

my grey sky is waking

it’s opening the door for the hues of gentle pink 

grey is calling me and it wants me to dance

for the morning sky is coming

the morning sky is coming

Tornado

 

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what more does the planet have to do?
she has given us
food, water, beauty, friendship

we have taken and killed without remorse

we have created poison and mindlessly spread it

we have become jealous and territorial 

we take what does not belong and say it’s for the good of all

we have created a class based on the colour of our skin

we have given more importance to possessions then life

we are building walls to guard our insecurities 

we allow money to run our planet instead of our hearts

earth was not created by humans

she /he/it is more powerful then we can comprehend 

how much more will she take

before she rises her waters once more

before she holds the sky  in her fist once more

before she claps her hands and deafens us with her thunder once more

earth will survive without us

if and when we destroy everything she has given us

she will survive

her seeds will grow and break the asphalt

they will cover and heal the planet once more

the oceans will rest till the rains come

from the moisture of the forest and heal the coral reefs once more

humans are not needed for the planet to thrive

somewhere in the universe

there are answers

 

happy anniversary?

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there are mirrors everywhere

reflecting  images of you

lingering memories

time suspended above our heads

following us like a cloud or bubble

why do they linger

unfinished conversations

misunderstood moments

do they just linger

wanting,,, more of what was

time taken too quickly

I may have begun a transformation

my hands may have changed

nails, long and curved like a birds claws

the keen awareness of a crows eye

may now be my eyes

my hooked nose transformed into a beak 

flying in the night when the moon is bright 

looking for drifting moments of time

gathering our words that float loosely in the sky

many believe that cutting the wires that hold us

will relieve the tension and we will be freed 

freed to what conclusion I ask

free to look aimlessly into the sky

wondering what or why

we are told to love purely

we are told to honour our grief when the time comes

then we are told to leave it behind

to start a new

this might be the part

too difficult for me to do

my heart grows tired

covered with morning dew

let me sleep by the waves

so I may hear the music

of departed hearts 

bring me back to the waters 

so I may float in peace

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