Sparked by Words

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Silver Orbs

Tiptoeing between raindrops

Blessing every one of their

Silvery little orbs

Waiting for rain to pause

To rove among the wildflowers

Gathered on the hills in California

Golden, lavender, crimson buds

I will kneel before not to pick

But to embrace their lucence

Cradle the bowl of their petals

Manna between my palms

 

Capture now with camera lens

Tomorrow sketch in watercolors

Hoping that next winter

There will be raindrops to spare

Then dancing blossom heads

Of honey, plum, and scarlet hue

Roaming wild hills next spring

To stroll about their garden

We are all wanderers

Seeking earth, sun, clemency

The rain, the flowers, and I

 

Just a thought 67

 

Raindrop image courtesy Pixabay

California wildflower image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Day is Done

Day is done, the weary trope

lingers yet the bawdy sun

o’er sea, o’er realm

may all love survive

may all peace abide

may all night be still

in prayer till dark

is lit once more by morn

the sun awake with fire

and all woes on wind

are borne across worn skies

seeking the light of day

 

Night is nigh, the common sleep

‘neath stars in woolen sky

cosmos reels beyond human sight

here we blindly look up

my hand reaching yours

your shadow touching mine

our blood jumping gates

our skin tingling hymns

our throats clutching sighs

hearts grasping for arrows

backs bent like willow bows

yearning for dark to fall anew

 

And now again, day is done

 

 

Just a thought 66

 

Sunrise image courtesy Pixabay

 

 

 

 

Lightning and Quicksand

I thought myself a girl of pirouettes and lace

You a boy of liquid tongue and muscled limbs

We leapt across the beach at midnight

Sweeping constellations of sand into the sky

Gimlet eyed moon glinting over the ocean

Ignoring two young fools fledged by kisses

 

Yet we are none of these night creatures

We’re cast from lightning and quicksand

You and I ablaze with our fierce shimmer

Blinded by the sparks we see in the other

Though nearly drowned in my clay of insecurity

Jealous of your flare, my star fades at dawn

 

We bend our marrow to earth and sky

Tangled by our presence in the firmament

Kneel beside each other yet rise alone

Me, grounded in quicksand, awaiting the flash

Your bright burst of lightning to remind me

Lace and limbs, I cannot ascend without you

 

Just a thought 65

 

Lightning image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

Blue Succulent

Touched a succulent with lavender-blue tips

Fractal beauty. I wanted to absorb its presence

It stung me. Invisible spiny tips crown

The edges of those violet-cheek leaves

I yelped, rubbed my fingers together

Trying to dull the pain, mellow the attack

 

But you, you flex your thorns, and I mine

Indignant power bound with furied muscle

Maybe just brushing our bodies skin to skin

Will slough off the hackles of our tempers

As for the snappish blue succulent

I left it in its pearly pot to sulk alone

 

I have bled enough and so have you

Time for us to sit side by side

Pull in our prickles, expose our tender flesh

Blindly surrender into each other

Knowing the one will break the other’s fall

Such comfort in this. At hazard to love

 

Just  thought 64

 

Image courtesy Pixabay

 

 

 

 

An Arrow Shot Blind

I miss the mark because I don’t understand what the target should be. How can I land a bull’s eye when I have no idea what to aim for? All I’m doing is shooting an arrow to the place hidden from my sight.

Yet it’s my shadow hiding the mark. If I move, if I change, if I soften my heart, if I open my eyes, maybe I will see. Then I might aim well enough.

It will be in your reflection I will know if I’ve triumphed. Your smile, your glow, your pulse. Your gifting hands, your willowed spine.

My cleansed sinew. My renewed spirit.

What glory then for the medal I no longer need to win.

 

 

Just a thought 60

 

Painting Archers by Nicholas Roerich (1874-1947) courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. This photographic reproduction is considered to be in the public domain in the United States.

 

 

 

 

 

Moth

Captivated by moths. The beat of their wings so soft that the breath of elves do not approach their whispered thrum. I’m alive, I’m alive here.

Bodies thick with fur weighing less than a thimble of honey. The flash of exquisite wing art to terrify predators and frighten humans who approach at night. Leave me, leave me be.

Diurnal creatures attracted to light, intuitively brave explorers. They flit toward all the light in the world, basking in its artificial or natural beams, yet steal none of it, leaving plenty of glow for everyone else. We share, we share always.

To lose myself in your shadow and you in mine, yet each remain whole. More ourselves when paired, more complete than if we flew alone. How can I not be enchanted by greed that is not selfish? Love you, love you too.

Strangers may witness but my heartbeat is yours to claim. Do you see me drawn to your candlelight, my wings beating in the dark? Captivated by you, I’ve claimed all but taken nothing. I am, I am yours.

 

Just a thought 59

 

Painting Emperor Moth, Vincent Van Gogh, courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

Spilled Water

 

A few ounces of water barely fill a glass

Transparent, silent, static at the bottom

Topple the cup, and water flows everywhere

The surge of ounces conveyed quick as a tide

Saturating the books on the shelf, soaking their pages

A clumsy accident we say, and maybe that’s true

 

Grab the nearest cloth and press dry each book

Yet the pages between covers remain damp

They’ll dry in an hour or three, curling like waves

Each sheet bearing a permanent water stain

Dusk gray or dove wing brown as pages shrivel

The rippled intaglio of having been doused

 

We harbor truth within our heart’s deepest coves

It slumbers quiet as a secret tucked in a locket

While hate flows from our tongue, lashing blindly

A snake hissing danger at the edge of reeds

Sorry is a sibilant word, sliding soft from our mouths

Like fire, water burns and leaves a riven scar

 

Just a thought 58

 

 

Image of glass of spilled water courtesy Max Pixel,  CCO Public Domain