The wind blows with such enlightment
tossing here and there
I shall collect a bit of the dust
place it upon Mother Earth under her willow
releasing your soul-ful flight into the night's air.

i like the softness of this one, it's subtle and understated. it may not be your best work, but sure leaves one room to contemplate.

(ok, you know i'm just giving you a hard time, right?...i love reading you.)

LAMom! As always, my breath of fresh air! :)

Haha. At least you notice even those that has never been said.

Beautiful

red, please keep these going...wonderful thoughts!!

Winterblue and Burgundybry, thank you. :)

For Matt.

He is the warm sunset hues
chasing each other into twilight,
he is the coolness of dawns
disrobing night;
all that’s ever moved my soul
into flight,
all I’ve longed for, fought for,
and never touched.

Undefiled,
he is all of desire;
every word I’ve wanted to say,
every tingle of my awareness of air,
every undiscovered, unvoiced, adjective,
and time irrevocably lost
to silence,
of conversations begun,
in joy, never completed,
never quite reaching
a pillow.

I don’t know if I’ve ever
properly laid hands on happy
– or so blithely claim it now –
and what it means to be,
for what I know of sadness
is only wrapped around
what I’ve managed
to hold at bay.

Still, I’ve words enough
to run needy hands on,
and ready tears,
to assuage my own thirst
for knowing; no, not just that,
but more, for embracing
a state
of continued ignorance,

of confessing sacrilege
only in the recesses of my mind,
where he,
every man I’ve ever loved,
had been denied protection
from my own fingers, their approximations,
and their penchant for the gentlest

depredations.

Awwwwww

another moonbeam
spitting through curtains
hitting my already
parched lips stretched
in a rictus of another
twilight

does not seem to help
at all

i do not see what good
one more day can do
to soften the edges
of a soul knifed shut
but for the susurration of
dreams sighing
down

stray shadows escaping
like notes wrested from
a cradle-song remembered
too late

i have no bedfellows
who can share my guilt
nothing like winter
chilling spring to
life

like a snowdrift clinging
to a hillside
like shadow to light
my misery clothes me
chases me
so remorselessly
loving

Again, I am in awe of the awesomeness of YOU!! Truely a joy to read your thoughts here...always.

((((((((((TORGO)))))))))))

Awesome! Hee.

Thank you, pkd! I also completely agree with what you wrote on your thread about keeping our minds open with who might cross our paths. You'll just never really know and I think that's the most wonderful thing of all. It is the mystery that is life. :)

WOW., I really like it.
Thank you.

red hues compliment her
blushes of superficial protection
adorn her
words tearing it all away



enjoying your writing

Haha! Cute. :)

A dissatisfaction does not materialize, all at once, like a tsunami, to swamp you with one huge wave. Its root consists of small doses of irritation which seemingly appear without cause: a despondency on finding yourself under scrutiny, however slight, from something you did without thought; a stirring anger growing out of proportion, after a remark heard – a remark that, on second thought, hadn’t seemed pointed at all; a dissapointment after a kind deed that had been overlooked; any little thing that takes you out of your comfort zones. It is a canker that all humans bear, in one way or another, as if we were bodies of water balked by sandbars on our courses.

Usually, for us humans, doing something new, something unexpected, is the perceived response to the dilemna. But, when you lend yourself to it with more thought, you find how haphazard that thinking is, how like that exercise is to putting a loved and precious feather on your palm and blowing it out and onto the grasp of a capricious wind, letting it be blown willy-nilly, and out of your life. Out of reach. Out of control.

And there lies the rub. If we share one major obsession – we humans, us feathers in life’s winds – it is our hunger; certainly, our obsession to control our own lives, the directions to which they MUST go. Time and again, I’ve asked myself, what kind of "wisdom" is it to find that the very thing we hunger for is something out of our grasp? Or is this just "knowledge," something to be "digested" until our souls condense it – whip it, bash it, masticate it, chop it – into some form of wisdom that might set us free to being unrestrainedly joyful again?

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs paints a neat sequence, starting from the human primary drive to provide for his physiological needs, and culminating in self-actualization. "Human beings," he theorized, "are motivated by unsatisfied needs, and that certain lower needs need to be satisfied before higher needs can be satisfied." Man, being what he is, reaches, and always, for more. And reaching self-actualization spawns its own hungers, plows a field for sowing higher dissatisfactions. And we rant and cry, in the midst of plenty. We need more; we water a different agony into bloom.

We find we need our gods, after all. We need our Allahs. Our Buddhas. We need our Christs. We need causes greater than our own paltry needs, causes beyond the naked lusts of the individual soul. We need, beyond the certainties we already hold to, to believe that a faith and a grace greater than our individual selves is possible; to bring us to a joy and a rapture beyond our own desires, to bring us to a state where worry and fear were things we could safely surrender, trusting that that greater power would sift the filth away to leave us cleansed, and nurture us to a significance greater than before. Knowing the limits of humanhood, we ache for godhood.

Sometimes I wonder, given their reality, are our gods happy? Do they have cause for reaching out for more, despite the certainties of their godhoods? Is dissatisfation a purely human failing?

Doubtless, some would prefer it said that “need” was inappropriate; that the word was too-narrow a word for the true aching in a soul, that if there be truly a true reaching-out from humanity’s heart, and if it must encompass the great collective, and if it must be deemed worthy, then we would be better served to replace "need" with "truth", and to rightly call that seeking as a seeking for Light. That we need unalterable truths, total certainties, before being able to move on beyond this state of undeniable imperfection – itself a truth a soul finds as early as it begins to find wisdom.

My friend, a Muslim, and nurtured in the bedrock of the Koran at first milk, finds inner peace with that particular truth, and pronounces himself content. I am a Catholic, and I am equally determined. We find our separate faiths require no challenge, and our friendship seems to have become the greater for it. We do not serve distinctions, we cherish each one we find instead. We agree that one Word is as good as any; so long as it be praiseful, so long as it be served.

I look up, up there to what I’ve written so far. I find I have strayed further than I had planned. But that, too, is ever the way of thought. It wends as it must, it ebbs and flows; like the seasons of a world, like the seasons of a heart.

Are we the greater for it, do you think?

We may not have control of what is waiting for us in the end, but I think we do and should have control of the things along the way.


((((((((((RED)))))))))))))

You Soar Lovely with grace and dignity
Filling our sense's with delight and wonder
Home has found you and your Soul shine's

Love Much Love fills your Eyes

BRAVO That was very good thank you for shareing