I dwell within grace 21 February 2023
Stormy times The lightning runs free breaks the tree slow exchange From wilderness will to change rainbows cover me I give light A token of peace within me reaches out A stirring fills me throughout budding gift to flout Eyelids stir remembrance of days when we were twined relays My feathers offer solace I dwell within grace Reading of the poem:
Falling Back to You - Delerium
Hanging tree now lit 18 February 2022
Peasant ennobled exalted by the honours raised head to adorn The stern church endowed a bishop to coronate head shaking off dust The stance handed down raised wild bodies to enthrone forsaken the crown Feet in the gravel pebbles thrown in old fountains arm to unravel Sanction renewal erect a hanging treetop enable embers Jubilatory settle platinum attire rekindle fire Induct strong the grit molten powder raises flames hanging tree now lit Reading of the poem:
Bad Wolves - Zombie
Written in the context of Ronovan writes weekly Haiku challenge using the words “crown”, “grit” and their synonyms. For more information or to read other poets’ contributions, please follow the link.
https://ronovanwrites.com/2022/02/14/ronovan-writes-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-397-crown-and-grit/
In branches of light 20 November 2021
Petals multiply In intervals of breathing exhaling essence My heart reaches out seeking out the knowing mind hidden in the eye With careful fingers I unveil the flower’s core Myriads of colours There are silent trees tall yet minute they resume growing in my heart Winding through mazes they teach me the wise lessons of imbued stillness We wait together for the peace that was revealed in branches of light Reading of the poem:
The Valley of Dreams - Stive Morgan
Written in the context of Ronovan writes weekly haiku challenge using the words “wait”, “wise” and their synonyms. For more information on the challenge and other artists’ work, please read here
https://ronovanwrites.com/2021/11/15/ronovan-writes-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-384-wait-wise/
Awaiting the sun
11 November 2018
The rhythm is that of the wind against the fallen leaves like a banshee wailing. Her mind syntonises with it finally as she picks up pieces of the shattered glass in front of her. There is no saying how much time the wind will continue to blow relentless. Her mind blows with the wind, flying high in the sky gathering momentum. At the same time her body continues to mechanically operate on its own. She carefully stacks the pieces of shattered glass in front of her and starts her daily work of repairing the window pane again.
She must have repaired it a hundred times yet every sunrise, the storm strikes at the same place again with the tree breaking through the window instantly killing her husband yet another time. Every day she wakes up again with the agony of knowing that she will again witness the scene of her husband’s death. The torture of knowing that initially numbed by the pain of his horrific death all she will be able to do is pick up the pieces of the shattered glass and start repairing the window as if to negate that it happened at all pursues her daily. She lives dreading the moment of initial sunshine which once made both her husband and her so happy.
She realises that she will never be able to grieve the loss of her husband as by the time she has finished repairing the window it is night time again and she falls asleep, exhausted. The first days that it happens, she does not remember exactly what has occurred but is only left with a sense of foreboding. Upon waking up that sense of foreboding slowly grows throughout the first week although it remains quite hazy. As time goes by , however, memories of the day before play back with excruciating precision.
She usually wakes up already knowing what will happen and totally helpless as she watches the events unfold. All she can do is repair the window in a wild and desperate hope that the next time, maybe at least once, it will not give way as the tree comes crashing through. Some days she would work her fingers sore until the nails almost peel and her fingers bleed and yet the next morning she would wake up to perfectly manicured fingers, her stomach tense with the knowledge of the oncoming onslaught.
Her mind soars higher as her fingers work swiftly repairing the window pane. She feels the moment when the night descends softly around her body that falls back on the bed. She watches as she lies almost lifeless her breath ragged as she struggles to overcome the sleepiness. Yet the slumber slowly overcomes her and her breath becomes more peaceful. It is the darkest point of the night now. Soon the killer dawn will strike again. She watches the body of her husband turn around and embrace her body.
Something inside her chest expands and she feels it stirring her body as she looks onward. The sun is about to rise and the winds are still howling. Her mind continues its wild jig with the winds. She knows that as the sun rises the storm will pick up strength and the tree will fall over breaking through the window pane. Her mind stills itself as the winds continue howling. The first rays of the sun pierce the horizon.
She opens wide her mouth and as it slowly rises she finally swallows the sun and the storm slowly loses its strength. Darkness falls all around as heat scorches her mind. She can feel the light exploding throughout her skull. She clenches her jaws as her mind maintains its stranglehold on the sun. The tree never moves again. She rolls her tongue softly over the blisters on her tongue. In the darkness beside her she can hear the soft breath of her husband. She utters a soft sigh and turns toward him holding him tight.
Let’s pretend – Tindersticks
The monsoon relief
20 August 2018
Dust, rubble and clay
Irregular particles
Unwinding the day
Swaying drumstick tree
Whispering with winds that blow
Heavy sun kisses
Shuddering skies heave
Lightning announcing the rain
The monsoon relief
Reading of the poem:
Flam – Monsoon (Buddha Bar)
Alone we are not lonesome
19 June 2018
Leaves fall off the tree
Yellow butterflies to ground
Moss heather and stone
Mind’s criss-cross of highs and lows
Tangled webs of slain desires
Clouds gathered in skies
Raindrops showering gardens
Pond fish thirst alive
Mind’s preoccupations cloud
Soul reaching out to rainbows
Birds’ flight back to nest
Huddled sounds of nestling wings
Pairs to one’s solace
Breath of the divine inside
Alone we are not lonesome
Reading of the poem:
Exaudi Vocem Meam Part I – Dark Sanctuary
Le Rêve de la Nymphe – Dark Sanctuary
Les entrailles de ce Purgatoire – Dark Sanctuary
Dust
22 May 2018
The night exhaled the scent of jasmine into her nostrils. She opened her eyes and peered into the darkness. She could hardly make out the outline of the jasmine tree’s branches. The pot with the tree had been removed by a friend who had taken the jasmine tree but the branches clung to the little hedge and still flowered. It was a curious thing to ponder on really. How those flowers could still bloom and the leaves still stay green while the tree had been snipped away from them was another of the mysteries of life. She went back inside her room where the darkness was thicker and lay her head on the pillow. She would check tomorrow if the leaves had begun to wither finally and she would then disentangle them from the hedge and cast them away.
The next morning was a gloomy grey morning as the dust from an oncoming sandstorm piled into the skies. She went to check the hedge and surely enough after their display of frantic desire to survive the branches were going limp and some leaves had turned yellow. The flowers too seemed withered and forlorn. She wondered if she should take them off right now or wait for all the leaves to become yellow before she would throw them in the bin. Looking at those desperate branches made her think of the eventuality of what consciousness went through when the body came to pass. Did all people’s consciousness linger desperately for a while without a body trying to find a way back into this life or unlike the flowers did they just stop blooming and join the collective consciousness the minute the body’s time ended ?
The dust in the air thickened and she could feel her throat going hoarse as the particles invaded her nostrils and found their way into her lungs. She sneezed as the wind picked up moving more dust her way. The branches heaved on the hedge and some of the yellow leaves flew with the wind before it settled bringing them to the ground. She reached out into the hedge and started easing the branches off it. As she piled the leaves into a heap, the wind picked up again and the branches scattered all across the pathway. The sky grew darker as more sand flew with the wind walling off the sun’s rays. She continued easing off the branches and finally gathering them together she cast them into the bin outside the gate. As she entered the house she could still smell the wane scent of jasmine mingled with the unmistakable sandy smell of the dust in the wind.
Dust in the wind – Melanie Safka
The Fallen
11 November 2017
I watch them
Intelligent play
In Encores
Bravados
Conquering us within Time
A crestfallen mime
Rise above
Walk into the love
Whisper me
I am wind
Reverberating silence
When the treetops dance
Listen well
We are hearts that swell
Renouncing
The Fallen
From dreamtime uncovered hell
No story to tell
Reading of the poem:
Delerium – Fallen (Превод)
Seventh aquarelle : Cherry blossom tree branch
24 August 2017
I am back to my initial challenge of 10 aquarelles and have taken as subject a cherry blossom branch given the recent synchronicity on cherry trees. This time I combined alla prima type of painting with wet on dry painting.
It occurred to me that just looking at pink made me cheerful. Perhaps that is where the French saying « voir le monde avec des lunettes roses » (meaning looking at the world with rose-coloured glasses) comes from 🙂
I hope you will enjoy the painting and the typical song I thought would accompany it well.
Sakura – Japanese folk music
Growing sunshine pours
16 May 2017
Hark listen
The bark whispers thin
Winding through
Willow tree
Speaking of when we ran free
Children of the Blue
Who is who
We know not answer
Question posed
Undisclosed
The winding wells tell secrets
Of Love and regrets
Wash my skin
Hone my growing fin
Morrows kin
Usher in
True light invading my doors
Growing sunshine pours
Reading of the poem:
No Love Lost – Bvdub
Morning Rituals – Bvdub
My Sun shines through your Rain – Bvdub