Need I Say More?
A writer’s dream, fulfilled in my very hoping,
Complete in silence, speculation, unencumbered of mind.
Ah! The mess is the latter thought.
As More of Tudor’s Court once evoking,
“Words, words, words. It is all only words.”
Less than dream, featureless, exuberantly blind.
Unfinished now, yet not for naught.
Bearing their Beauty
Consuming the Light
Appearing most Delicate
Held, so close to my heart.
A love, fierce and hungry,
Before became Now.
Four became Six.
Wonders became Whos.
Names my heart,
Claims my being,
Undoes my world,
As my Fist Two Whos
So their own,
Are and Will Be,
A secret I believe is mine.
A trap set for my being
Endured, tip-toed about, out-smarted at times.
Tangling my words, thoughts, expressions,
Binding yesterday with today
Blinding me to reality and sanity
An entity, cunning, wonderful-fascinating, dangerous,
Whispering choices, delightful-temporal-alluringly dark.
Leaving me wasted-wanting-addicted and superior.
… Thus they pull, without arrest …
Another beacons; frightening, full of light-powerful, unspeakable
Sounding unknown words, ethereal-eternal-exquisitely mysterious.
Lifting my mind upwards to imaginings greater-above myself.
By Grace to God I am held.
By myself to sin I am bound.
Twixt the lines the crux is found.
Sometimes all you can do is stare at your feet. Life just comes at you with curve balls, you duck and move but one invariably hits you right between the eyes.
Loving unconditinally is a fearsome thing. God help those of us who do! I would not wish for a stoney heart or dream of a fickle one. Maybe just a small shelf hidden away in a dark place in which to safely hold my heart in a box, yes, for it to rest.
…Rest, mend regain it’s true rhythm until my staring at my feet is done…
Fearsome love is an unconditinal thing.
placed in strokes
on plane canvas.
Three dimensional glory
from the Master’s
A lunar pull apart.
Born of self-same shelf.
Dig deep, Ye Pictorial Builders,
Ye Leatherneck Drivers!
One, young living coral.
Another, ancient decayed pluff.
May you tender the shelf.
Let your lines be straight.
Above the orb on reef and marsh
Life and death flow in sync.
Photographer: Tanya Ackerman
See the quiet.
Wide, wonderful eyes
Feel the pressure.
Soft young ears splayed,
Broad, brown nostrils,
Barley a Doe,
her first babe,
Mid-April raises in her
existential, forever readiness.
Motherhood in May