White

winter-white-trees_2560x1600_87757

i do not fear
the cold
nor the silence
that follows
winter’s breath

a touch of
solitude
lingers
in the complexity
of white

waiting to
stir
or settle.

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photo credits: mi9.com

Touch of the Past (rewritten)

autumn’s gentle touch
veils
mournful paths (i walk),
metamorphoses
tears’ burdensome sting

rows upon rows ~
towering high, majestic
some small,
cracked and bruised
frail and broken

old, they whisper,
venerable,
earthen beds
monuments in time

names, embedded,
moss-accentuated ~
i greet their faces,
honor
the Long Gone
with beating heart
and open mind

oaks’ heavy boughs
pick my thoughts,
extract,
lift with ease, to join
trees’ misty heads ~
as if they weigh nothing

and in their company
i feel comforted,
for they know all ~
smile warmly,
never judge

and in their company
i find
my heart,
my voice,
my sweet solitude.

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… much gratitude to the Iron Poets. You know who you are.

Ocean’s Touch

… and then
you see it.

the magic
of golden waters
pouring liquid warmth,
to fill
depleted corners;
vessels, running low.

ocean’s basso profundo;
tides’ epic tale ~
whispered,
roughly smooth;
serenity
lifts sorrow’s frown
to bask
in the grace
of the setting sun.

DSCN4620

Mallorca, Spain (November 2012)

 

Prophecy

moonlight_forest_by_hopelessnight

distant paths of silky wonder
lead the Wounded, guide the Strong ~
so long,
so long the turn would take,
but one more step
is a closer
tomorrow.

tomorrow…
long past the clash of titans,
silence borders on oblivion,
the night embraces (hollow) halo moon ~
engulfs,
entrances,
licks its fingers
and composes
a symphony
of days to come.

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photo credits: hyloforest.tumblr.com

A Gift Refused

Melting_Snowsnow melts
on the back porch;
fluffy white, now liquid
drips from brown skeletons.

Night’s humble gift
returned –
i presume
Day asked for the receipt
and is now standing in line,
waiting for refunds.

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photo credits: blog.scoop.it

Escape|Awakening

trail’s end
marks
the death of an era;
muddy, strain-stained boots
once again
on solid ground.
too long was the time of chagrin,
too long did we try to broaden
the horizon of the blind.

ways part ~
roads differ;
the night is long.
We, the Moving,
our eyes open wide;
we ride.

break free;
rusty chains on charred ground,
leave the spoils of the new world
piling high ~
we ride
with purpose
we ride
for a new dawn.

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photo credits: murraymitchell.com

The Road

and there you stand ~
open road;
sun in your face,
wind at your back

forward,
onward;
stride with purpose –
to live and learn,
to yield and yearn

the road leads on
seasons fly;
destiny
just around
the next bend

where feet will carry,
curiosity rules;
the road…
a lifelong, many-faced friend.

_____________________________
photo credits: graememitchell.com