could it be that poetry is the language of the trees? she thought. so i am fred and i am hers and she is mine seeking the sacred and divine places down highways at shores of lakes way up and down as we outgrew those old pots together her and i. Continue reading could it be?
sometimes i just sit watching the light dance underneath its canopy licking the fronds of the ferns just so and with a kiss it has its way with the hostas. // more BRIDGE Continue reading a bridge for the sun
am i immune now to the manipulations of a dying man? i thought when i read his text last night. and i think of him too. but i was off to bed and not interested in a frustrating tap tap tap before sleep. and i wondered, did the inoculation, the redesign the shedding of the old me’s take? should i risk it? do i tell … Continue reading it was just one of those days
my picker soul leapt at the sight of it still resting there waiting just for me as i saw now what it could be. Continue reading that shoji left out in the rain
the spirit of the essence of the land like the Manitou the becoming the been the hidden fey mogwai yaksha jogah at the edge of an enchantment, and chaos, seen with the heart is the Beauty of you. Continue reading i saw you
we awake with our grief have coffee with it floating off the ground detached for a while; i remember those days. Continue reading chocolate kisses in a bowl
here underneath this Black Walnut Tree quietly watching sparrows take away Irish’s hair that i put among the Virginia Creeper last week enchanting me whilst i lean against that old gnarl admiring it all and the chartreuse is so bright it even shows up at night and shadows are only the absence of the bright and so i seek happy wherever i might; like pretty … Continue reading it is
after work, Rose in hand, her wheels rolling down the sidewalk, with the afternoon sun illuminating my way a chartreuse stream, and Forget-Me-Nots (and how could you), the Homestead Ferns wave hello and Fred the Ficus his dark green leaves say ‘glad you’re home’. Continue reading the last days of May
moments with Jane are always a pleasure, i missed her joie de vivre submitted for The Weekly Photo Challenge / EVANESCENT Continue reading at play with jane
a play on patterns of the past with strikes at night a use of might that hid the other hand for who the actor who the fifth and who plays who this time Continue reading and who for a dime
the sublime enchantment of wandering the ruins of the apples thru gothic corridors of their dead branches and the scent of a new spring gives way to the density of that wild; and tis where the blooms remain. submitted for the weekly photo challenge \ dense Continue reading remains of an orchard
this spring day with the light just right upon the grass the teasel dances in the afternoon. Continue reading the walk at euston park
beyond sunset or rise it is aware, yet not as we kneel in prayer it is awoken in many tongues in many ways in belief or none, we are to it all one. Continue reading 27377
by PaulaB 