Being in the Distance

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I smelled the rain before I saw it

Butter in the air

The roads were still dry after yesterday’s Spring baking

 A welcome sign then after Winter‘s marathon of cold

As I neared the pond, I could hear the first drops’ pings hit the leaves

Too late to turn back and I never would anyway

By mile 1 the roads were already glistening

I was stiff and moving slow

but not really thinking of  when I would end this march into my daily reverie

Warming up the mind occurs at mile 2

When the bell tower was reached, I turned to hear a friendly beep

My white truck clad neighbor

An incentive to go further than planned

The rain drops seemed to miss me

as I descended the long hill

and turned left on the only flats I swear exist in this town

My cares and worries from yesterday fell to the pavement

melting with the sky’s happy tears

My Sunday expedition reminds me of why I lift my feet

take in my surroundings

watch my world change minute to minute

I take stock and notice with all of my senses

I seem to float on the next mile’s ascent

This town is full of hills

A runner’s speed work in disguise

I realize the rain has picked up but I am barely wet

This is a good place to be

                   Alone

To not worry about what’s coming next, to just keep moving forward

Siridean

Credit: wildgoddesslife.com

   They may not know Her

But she knows their thoughts

She senses their neediness

their desires

the impulse to share their story

-a piece of  themselves 

She does not judge 

She  feels their pain

The stain

of  their indignities and indiscretions

their joys and sorrows

When She walks down the street

a sea of people part

nearly bowing in reverence

to Her very presence

They cannot help themselves

They yearn to touch Her

Her very being is an illumination

a soft glowing beacon

Her attention is discreet

The slightest of touches 

temper their souls

surrounding them

in a healing blue light

She is a weaver

a Tantra  goddess melding together

the human and divine

A starry  messenger

 A natural-born remedy

A harbinger of peace if only for a whisper of time

 

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Not sure where I got this from to be honest. Thanks once again to Kellie Elmore for taking me to a place and space I never expected to go!  Plus the added bonus of adding Poem #12 to WordPress’ challenge!

Namaste’ my friends!

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Spring Namaste’

Credit:  peacesymbol.org

Daybreak, a new illumination

Night whispers goodbye

as Venus lights the sky

My celestial companion kissing my window

                          I breathe

Seeking my own inner radiance

before the day’s illusions break the spell

The scenery is losing its bleakness

The tough alloy of the dead season

surrendering to the still fragile newborn

I taste the softness of the new dawn

The air a crisp green apple

My breath white and warm

with the rhythm of my feet

The old beech that holds the bend

is surrounded in a  yellow glow

My aching body is grateful in its movements

Each step a stretch and release

The coyotes call heard, but not seen

Fox and deer leave their traces invisible, but present

Do they watch me as I forge my morning path? 

My thoughts wander much like me

Familiar with the way

Creating my own inner landscape

as I enter a new day

Inner Reflection

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Do you ever want to be a stranger somewhere

to walk alone into a crowded cafe’

and be silent and still

lost in your own world? 

Do you ever want to remain anonymous

to sit and lose yourself in daydreams

making up  life stories about the people around you?

Do you ever want to leave your appearance at home

to walk in unadulterated and unadorned freedom?

Do you ever want to cast a long shadow or vaporize into the mist

or become that crystalline air that takes others breath away?

Do you ever want to flow like the tides

to roll gently and smoothly

in and out of your own consciousness?

Do you ever want to let go of the world

its teeming madness and incessant obligations

and offer them over

surrender them

and transform them into silence?

Do you ever want to sit with yourself

peel back the layers of hardness and pain,

allow yourself to soften and ripen,

to be at one with Mother Earth?   

 

Would you reflect the majesty of the galaxies and the glory of the heavens?

Would you capture your essence, the core of your soul?

 

 

Journey to the Other Side

Credit:  intentblog.com

At the time of the dismantling I used to wonder

used to sweat in desperation

used to be ensnared in your endless games of lashing out

 for  punishment of things that I did not do

for the person you thought I was

the one who punished you for her own guilt

At the time of the dismantling

I felt myself wasting away

sick with a loss of control over my own destiny (or so it seemed)

eager with a morbid curiosity about your private transgressions

At the time of the dismantling

I used to wish you would become a stranger to me

someone I would pass by on the street or the airport without notice

someone I would see by chance who didn’t bring me to the brink of madness

At the time of the dismantling

I wish I wouldn’t recognize you

to turn my head in instinct at your unwelcome presence

a witness to your lingering lurking

and latching yourself to people and places where I could be found

 

At the time of the rebuilding

I ceased to wonder

 became refreshed in renewal

no longer trapped, but free in my freedom

At the time of the rebuilding

I felt my self growing

a woman with curves and flesh

the mistress of my destiny

no longer curious but filled with awe at new love found

At the time of the rebuilding

you became unfamiliar

a transient that I passed by with ease

no longer on edge, existing on a different plane

At the time of the rebuilding

I no longer took notice of you

I see you on the street at a distance,

at peace with knowing that the long ago parting happened to someone else

 

Light in My Hands

to love

 

 

A Young Life snuffed out in an instant by a speeding driver

A Mid-Life so full of memories, becoming rapidly unknown

A Mature Life declared terminal by a slow-moving diagnosis

Bad surprises make us stand still

Hold our breath

Fall to the floor screaming

 Look life in the eyes

Open your heart to hope

Lift yourself up

Gather strength through others and within yourself

Seek out joy

Remind yourself why you are here

Each moment is a step towards a new beginning

 

 

The first 3 lines of this piece are bits of news that are close to home. We know we cannot control serious illness and sudden tragedy. No words can offer real comfort. We can gather together and hold one another close and stay grateful for what we have and are there for one another.

Life is so very fragile. Find your joy today.

 

Thanks to Kellie Elmore for this power  Free Write Friday prompt. And I have the added bonus in making it another poem for poetry month!

Morning Clarity

Credit:  www.leemaysgardeninglife.com

 

Venus greets me before the sun

The day’s first star in the East

I step out the back door

Settle on the steps

Sipping, Listening Seeing

My stockinged feet welcome the chill of the cement

A runner’s massage before the road’s daily aches

Birdsong chatter a welcome cacophony

Drowning out Winter’s silence once more

Ducks make their way to their liquid oasis

Rapid beating of wings a thrilling urgency

A celebration of the newer season

I fill my lungs, the air freshly cold

Nary a scent:pure

My mind has yet to be cluttered

I sip my beany brew

Offering up peace, honoring the gift

for this brand new day

Hope’s Beginnings

This house has a story…what is it?

Image Credit: We Heart It

“Do you ever wonder what really happened in that house?”, Blake asked. They were sitting in the truck just moments after he and Julie had signed the purchase and sale on the former Stanton family property. Julie had grown up in these hills and was once close to Jeannie Stanton,  a childhood friend who disappeared one fall afternoon in their fifteenth year, never to be heard from again. Jeannie was one of seven children from that rag-ma-tag family where chaos and cracking heads ruled through the dirty deeds of their patriarch, Joe.  Jeannie’s mother was far from quiet herself, known to pull heavily on the tap at Smitty’s, the local bar where she worked serving drinks and other ‘amenities’ to the men from the local coal processing plant- long since closed and cleaned up. No one even knew for sure if all seven of the kids actually were Joe’s. The EPA finally did its job and the old brick campus had been successfully retrofitted and resurrected into  a world-class sound studio.  Famous musicians from across all genres recorded some of their best work in this forgotten corner of the state. Julia and Blake had become big hitters in attracting legendary acts to record and even stay in the area.

Blake, of course, had no idea of what to expect when he first entered Julie’s childhood world. They met in London, both working as sound engineers, honing their talent with the best of them. When Julie’s dad- an engineer and business man himself- bought up some of the old factory buildings from the government, he decided that some of them would work perfectly as recording spaces. Others he turned into research and development spaces. Soon he was attracting fervent interest from scientists keen on learning and creating new avenues into the world of sound.

On a return visit home with Blake last year, he and Julie had come across the abandoned property. Knowing its negative history had not stopped them from envisioning a place that would serve as a haven and respite for kid’s who were victims of abuse and neglect. Too many of the Stanton kids had become lost souls. Now that Julie had the means and connections to turn things around, she set her heart and mind on making it happen.

Just then, a rumbling sound came up from behind them. A fleet of contractor trucks loaded down with heavy equipment came roaring up the rough road. Blake planted  a kiss on Julie’s lips.  “Time to get to work,” she said.

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Another great gift from Kellie Elmore this week!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Image Prompt

by Kellie Elmore

Enlightenment

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Credit: www.fotolia.com

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.
Mahatma Gandhi

When I round the curve in the road, my thoughts unexpectedly go back to her and that not so long ago time when she was the “other”. The past lingers for just a moment then disappears as the road straightens and I head for home.

Each week, I return to the space that provides solace and heat. A place in that not so long ago time that seemed to call my name. The road was dark then, the route unknown. Each visit an escape hatch from pain.

Perhaps I was conceited enough to believe that he would never leave-never mind deceive. Then we became another cliché. Middle-aged man leaves wife and kids for younger woman. How trite and how true.

The knowledge came in bits and pieces. An off-handed remark made by a close relative. Phone calls saying he needed to help a friend.  Concentrated text messaging during our son’s sports game. A trip out of the country that appeared to happen as an unplanned event.

Then he said her name and it became all too real. Well, you can’t put words back in a box once they’ve been hung in the air. I felt slayed. Chopped up. Diced into tiny pieces. Shattered like broken glass. Tossed into the trash.

And then we met. Quite by accident. On a cold, dark holiday eve. A face to her name. Polite exchanges and then an awkward and quick exit.

It is hard to hold your head up when you feel like you’ve been slapped in the face. It is hard to stand up straight when you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

I needed to detox, to purge. So I took to the only path that would help peel the pain away. The space of healing energy and consolation.

Then she appeared once and again over time. In that sacred space. Ironically, it was easy to be gracious then; perhaps because she had cast him aside. Friends and relatives were aghast at my charitable demeanor while in her company. But it would have been too easy to take the low road. Did I really want or need to speak of him or treat her in a degrading way?

Certainly it would be simple to converse with someone in this way. Someone who had been naked with your husband. Easy to cause her discomfort or guilt. But I had moved on. Grown confident inwardly. Better to show healthy growth than to sow bad seeds.

Since then, there have been others with him. The door may have been a revolving one; and still could be if only in his mind. I need no “others”. I need only myself so that I may love and trust one other.

The sacred space is mine now. I share the energy with other souls bound for the glory of feeling grounded and balanced. We renew one another as we journey down our own paths; some curved others straight. Always honoring the light of one another.

I use memories but I will not allow memories to use me.”

Deeprak Chopra

I AM ME

passion for love by bagdadi d411qag11 750x557 How to Develop True Passion in Your Life

Image Credit: Passion for love by Bagdadi

My verse, you say?

 I have not a clue.

My words are my life.

My thoughts a singing stream, a babbling brook and a raging river.

I wear many faces.

Fierce Female but not a Fatale. 

Passionate Protector of my Progeny.  

Irenic but Fearless in the Face of Falsehoods and Fallacies. 

Vivacious, Vigorous Vibrant Vamp.

Physically Fit Phoenix Fertile in Mind, Body and Spirit.

My Work on this Earth has yet to be Complete.

My next Calling is in the Making.

I Sense a Worthy Cause.

But I Know One Thing:

Who I Am Makes a Difference

NOW

#FWF Free Write Friday: O me! O life!

The following is the speech, and it is your FWF prompt. What will your verse be?

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?” — John Keating (Robin Williams) Dead Poets Society

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