Upon a kiss ~

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theywaitforme

would you hold my heart
if I willed you come,
to dream in fields
of clover,
where ravens fly
to gift the sky ~
the dance of
wing-ed lovers.

Would you take my breath
if upon a kiss,
these words of truth
were spoken;
an ancient tale
of fair thee well,
promises
unbroken.

Would you calm my soul
with tender verse
without remorse
or sorrow,
til one we are
amid the stars ~
a memory of
tomorrow.

. . .

paint ~

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Camera360_2016_8_21_043908

was there
once before
a story unencumbered
a part became of all I know
becoming not the end
of two or more
ten thousand miles
of houses barely standing
weathered paint
and not much more to keep
than hands
together knitted
round a time
was almost lost
where now
the news of leaving
fills the town
with worry for the breaking
and hearts to split apart
nights beyond
the eager reach of sleep
stars were lined
along the sil….
tucked beneath the lace
dreaming not the same
as of you now –
blue the smoke of cedar
rolling down the hill
from places known for stone
and daffodil
remembered
would it matter
just how simple
we were then –
when given words
but chosen yet to kiss
before the day a shimmer
of breath
above the still
– a life recalled
could never end
that way

. . .

Author’s Note – A week ago this Sunday, my mother and I took a drive into the ‘old country’, along rivers where once we swam and roads not the same.  We visited the cemetery where so many of my ancestors rest – between a pasture, a (cold cold) river and a valley.  This house stands not far away, near another cemetery.  My mother told me of the people who once lived beneath these aching timbers, when this was majestic place, filled with stories only started and rest far away.  

no ordinary feeling ~

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onceuponame

before the night
is scattered
by the first embrace of dawn
for moments then
I float in half awake
with thought to more
than earthly care
visions passed between
– nothing
I’m prepared
to give away

(if evermore)
a moment come
and always at my will
no ordinary feeling
wraps me sweet
within the still

embraced by this
surrender
more than breath –
or hands to hold
love that has no measure
brings a solace
to my soul

sun that begs
these buds to tremble
my sleepy eyes to sight
awakened by a
promise –
writ in messages
of light

lest I wander
past the leaving
and will my spirit
home –
to the heart
that keeps my pillow –
the kiss that is
my own

. . .

no different for the dying ~

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remembermeback

cooler now
the eastern wind
has come to blow me home –
with memory of forever
I was born

returning
as the falling snow
sticking to the branches –
winter white remembered me
from where I laid to rest

another time –
a sweeter soul
no different for the dying
let me sleep
and seal these words within

the place I was
committed as a softer glow
of setting –
dream me there
of circumstance
and bring my winds
to sing

. . .

to the shale ~

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floating_petals

in the quiet still
none can own
few or less aware
oceans slide
beneath a silver foam
secrets sworn
for keeping –
lest my ancient vigil fail
and mountains crumble
silent to the shale
remembered yet
tho not so far
along the shore we came
– casting seeds
to blossom
here we are

. . .

let the night ~

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sweetly

within the shy
of noonday shade
how many more
were memories left
untended for the keeping
unashamed the letting go
words content
to let another know
of moments
not so distant
perhaps some other life
roads for crossing
over
let the night
free us yet
from tangled dreams
transgressions of before
let me sleep
within your
wanting arms
listen
there the speaking
of night birds
to the moon
– of trembling hearts
resolved to touch
the dawn

. . .

dreams of temporary ~

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somewherestill

take of breath
my last surrender –
cleave these tired hands
tell me now of promise
never meant
to understand

when nothing else
is mattered going –
will you watch
or dare you stay
skin to skin
beat to beating –
one more leaving
held at bay

roads were lost
but I won’t let them
take of these
the best I am –
burn the house
and clear the pasture
life will live
love will last

beyond these dreams
of temporary
things I have not voice
to tell
nights beyond
the reach of morning
heaven split
the realms of hell

take me home
tempt not slumber –
by the taking
of places
they grieve for me
now

. . .

round and round ~

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toloveyoumore

Earlier today, I was thinking about my sister, of a chapter just beginning new for her as her youngest son heads off to college. She’ll be fine because he will be. She’s given him all he needs to be successful, even if it means pushing him from the nest.

But then I arrived at work, and in a little bit, I heard the tragic news that a co-worker’s husband had been killed over the weekend when he lost control of his bicycle on a downhill curve. He was 56.

Yesterday, my nephew spoke of a lesson he shared with his Sunday school class – of the fleeting nature of life – a vapor.

And I am reminded (more often as I get older) of the truth in that analogy, but also another. That the vapor, while momentary, lingers far beyond the length of a day, a lifetime, a season. It can return at the first hint of blossoms in the spring, a cedar chest opened years later, a stutter of memory, as brief the scent of perfume pressed into pages nearly dried.

To be honest, the combined scent of lemon and moth balls can bring me near to tears.

We are never far from the things we love, regardless of what we might tell ourselves. The things that matter become a part of us. A song replayed can break my heart new, and yet, I find myself drawn to the melody sometimes.

Knowing full well what will happen, it is a welcome break for it is a reminder of a truth I dare not deny, as permanent as the scar that lines my thumb, a name forever on my lips.

softly now
as breezes blow
to heal the ancient pines
names as dust repeated
soothe again
rhythm born of rocking
once beneath the stars
a hand to hold
when all the lights
go dim

. . .

refrain ~

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how sweet
the moment
when morning awakes
and rolls from her bed
in the dark
sweated and thirsty
for one more
refrain
lost to the memory
of destinies
done
recalling her touch
of linen to lace
from a place
by the window
in blessing she comes
by way of the wonder
where dew
paints the dawn
where light
shines her love
on the sun

. . .

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