Rain drums

Rain drums shamanic, insistent, determined, deploying liquidity,
reminding, rewarding, renewing all that it meets in downward fall,
washing, rinsing, removing and sustaining life in all its forms;
as if, the heavens had drunk deep, only to release at season's call.

In all that sloughing, sundering, swallowing and liquid surrendering,
so do the angels watch, submissive, ordering the elements to rise,
that cycles of dry and wet may be set in harmonic, prayered emotion;
hope can speak again in drowning words, in certain beat with time.

The world does dance to rhythms worked in that which is unseen,
and monsoon cannot be held to any sure, or gauranteed account,
these daily drenchings come in ways both whimsical and flawed;
each atom does rejoice when expectations, reality can mount.

Eternal love

Love in fulsome lift does reach from  deepest heart and hold
the gentle fold and fall of tears which tell of something lost,
and yet still known within the soul and this material cost;
being so becomes a place where time is held entranced.

Hope held in drip of sorrows coursing, salted rains,
shining, furrowed, drizzled across cheek's allotted sphere,
course through moments, meaning, dreams, then disappear;
mind in pure remembering does draw the past once more.

What was, what is and what may be are gathered in as one,
eternal Now is  called and grasps the focus of the hour,
that feelings may be felt and known for all their power;
so do we hold to what has gone as decades fall in line.

Devastation

How solid does this world so written seem to us and yet,
how easily and quick, can be humbled, returned to rubble,
made to pay the price that madness, rage and power expect;
such devastation mocks what we believe, shatters the material.

As  wreckage rests  reluctant on once such solid, certain grounds,
so do we seek to make of it some sense, that purpose spells,
which buries in the burning fires and scorched surrounds,
a reason for it all that lifts us up from mind's  now blistered hells.

Within the sulphured flames and blackened ash of life reduced,
we pick through traces, tread upon that which once was real,
and know that in destruction will be found, if sanity deduce,
that transformation lies in littered, hidden waste and it will heal.

http://margoroby.com/2014/02/25/poem-tryouts-devastation/#respond

Life sacrificed

Life sacrificed before the breath is made or could be heard,
an offering to angels and to futures never known,
where what the fates have given cannot be held and shown;
silence writes in memory and dreams, there are no words.


This moment of imagining, material made manifest in form,
as gift bequeathed to woman, creation then has claimed
and brought itself to being, this soul who won't be named;
so does the cycle turn, begin and end, with nothing born.

Yet, in that instant of conception, that pure connection,
is something brought to birth in worlds beyond this one,
soul surely seeded into flesh and mind, and so begun;
in ways we cannot understand, a hidden, lost perfection?


There are things beyond this earth and universe, this place,
there are truths far deeper than  we can ever see,
meaning, purpose, reason that will always stand and be;
cosmos writes its story through us, revealing endless grace.

When love runs out of luck

Chandeliers in gleaming jade did insulate hope's night,
hold back scattered mourning so trust could weather fright,
that albatross of grieving, that plague which soul has plucked;
broken wings of messengers when love runs out of luck.

How difficult the quest to self when others are involved,
and mysteries do morph, mutate when two cannot resolve,
the purgatory of caring,  on  royal roads of soul;
the journey to believe in life when suffering unfolds.

A thousands dreams may tumble in guttural deceit,
that twittering of fantasies when lies have been released,
and sea of pessimism drowns, the heart is slowly peeled;
a mindless bleeding, powerless, which even time won't heal.

The sound is ever-distant, those hummingbirds of faith,
hovering and balancing, mind's whirlwind from the grave,
of what was once relationship, now scattered on the ground;
scribbling of memory now writes what truth has found.

Irene:  jade, insulated, chandeliers Jules:  weather, scattered, mourning Hannah:  albatross, plague, plucked Elizabeth: messengers, wings, difficult Viv: quest, mysteries, morph Nicole: purgatory, royal, journey Marian: believe, thousand, tumble Debi: guttural, deceit, twittering Misky: sea, peeled, pessimism Barbara: mindless, tornado, hummingbirds Abby: balancing, whirlwind, scribbling

http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2014/02/24/we-wordle-8/#respond

A thousand birds

A thousand birds declaiming
in shivered, rippled voice,
the joy of life sustaining;
as heavens do rejoice.

A thousand birds in swooping,
in feathered, perfect time,
that endless, ageless looping;
the flock does move sublime.

A thousand birds in settling,
on twig and branch and leaf,
arrayed in rustled rattlings;
pure decoration brief.

A thousand birds in rising,
a soaring through the skies,
such masterful surprisings;
here, then gone, they fly.

http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2014/02/20/prompt-201-1000-birds/

Urn

Blue and white combined in delicate dance of decoration,
dusted by the day and years, held upon a flimsy shelf,
in a shop, lost down languishing alleys of the city.
I found you, long ago, entranced by beauty, shape and
feel, that magic sense of china finely wrought, by
unknown hands, fired, painted, glazed and then brought
forth to be displayed and purchased. But for what?
The shape a cradling bowl, womb-like with narrowed
source, rising to fulsome hips, made to hold, contain,
preserve, nurture, protect, encase, with a small
but certain lid, which settles into shallow depths of neck
and mouth, the breath and memory held for  your eternity,
and the contents imprisoned for mine, as the glue set
hard around smooth edges which once were free, but
now denied access, knowledge, revelation of that which
someone wished to hide. I could dissolve that glue, break
the seal, open up and then reveal, lay waste your truth
upon the world - but I will not. Secrets are a precious
thing and you hold one in the heart of yourself for reasons
beyond my knowing and in which imagination can hold
hands with respect and rejoice in the silent mystery.












http://dversepoets.com/2014/02/20/theres-something-i-want-to-tell-you-dverse-meeting-the-bar/#respond

Song and dance

Go into the world the angels said,

and make a song and dance;

reveal your truth.

And what a song we sing each

one of us, what notes do soar

through veins and soul and 

brain, the low, the high, the

muted and the hum, the trill,

the warble, as we do become.

 

And what a dance we do each

one of us, that waltz inspired

as cells and blood entwine,

and step in perfect rhythm,

side by side, where Self is

made material in mind.

Go into the world the angels said,

and make a song and dance;

reveal your truth.

Dwelling

The walls surround and sets in place the shape of home,
above, below, each side is holding solid hands,
wherein we live and make our place, reside and reconcile;
somewhere to hide where we do not feel so alone.

Bricks and mortar, timbers hewn, and glass will be in place,
illusion of some certainty, endowed with all its form,
and yet the soul cannot be held in dwelling such as this;
the house is just a song in time,  a brief material grace.

Dance of life

Dance of life fantastic,

Invisible but clear,

The minuet of atoms,

As world is so  revered.

Gift in the curse

The gift of intuition 

 is often full denied, 

by mind and the material,
by what we do decide.

And yet it is the heart which 

speaks in feelings and in sense;

revealing truths that we deny;
the soul's wise competence.

There's much which is not rational,

that cannot be explained,

and yet this knowing is the source
of wisdom sure regained.

The words unspoken hold a power,

a gift, presentiment, which draws
us toward common sense;
and guides us in the present.

It takes enormous courage,
to trust these inner words,
of whispered faint imaginings-
against mind's shouted curse.

But once we take the leap,
we find that heart is fully bound,
in leading us to greater truths;
to firm and surer ground.

Remember when the curse

appears, that hidden truly deep,

will be a gift of something;

the choice is yours to keep.

And even when a gift presents,

remember that it holds,

in light and certain surety,

a curse which will unfold.


http://dversepoets.com/2014/02/18/openlinknight-week-133/#respond

Mind in the material

Soul wept tears of blood as life drained slow,
the instrument of love did tear the flesh so deep,
as if the stars had written silent codes, destiny
determined, the aim to surely, slowly teach,
those secrets which the Self could find as gifts
in pain; that fortune found in suffering where
angels do ignore grief's petition, and heart's
needs, where innocence must weep in silence,
no matter how much justice thundered, or
integrity was subdued by the fickle hands
of fate, devoid of heart and compassion, no
solace to be found, torment branded deep
in bone, as hope lost breath and trust did
shiver, hurt was cracking sternum, opening up
the cavity, that memory could fall with black,
singed plumes and spirit pushed at the edge
of brittle shell, like nautilus, yearning for release,
and the afterlife, where the past, like rust had
crystallized, decayed and dark, and future
held horizon, shining, watered, that hidden delta
of possibility, as the watching god in fecund pose,
held tightly closed the aperture which led to paradise:
so was the mind entwined in this material world.


http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2014/02/17/we-wordle-7/#respond



Rosyln: blood, life, soul
Annell: instrument, tear, flesh
Misky: code, written, aim
Jules Paige: secrets, fortune, gift
Marian: petition, needs, innocence
Elizabeth: silence, thundered, subdued
Benjamin (Poetry Shack): fickle, heart, branded
Grace: bone, breath, shiver
Nicole: sternum, afterlife, nautilus
Hannah: plumes, crystallized, rust
Irene: delta, fecund, god
Ms. Pie: aperture, paradise, entwined

Siblings

Each is sown from the same seed,
nurtured in changing seasons,
different soils and source do
cradle beneath rains light, heavy
or non-existent; shadows dark,
bright, sunshine heady and
powerful or diminished into
grey, clouded days and nights;
voices raised, or whispered,
faces shining, joyful, or now,
lowered, desperate, saddened;
so are the forms and shapes,
the hearts and minds, brought
into being in that garden where
siblings all must work and play.

You were mine

Your eyelash settled on dusted cheek
and rose and fell in silent sigh,
as breath and beat held sleeping court
and skin surrendered to the sheets,
with whispered tones of almond and honey.

I watched, held court, with time’s assent,
that rise and fall of chest and belly,
in wonder at the touch and feel,
of love made manifest in life.

You slept, not seeing what I saw,
nor hearing gentled tones of sound,
which sleep allowed escape and cause;
reminded me of what I had.

The dawn had given form to shape,
had filled the vision lastly felt,
and drawn my eyes to deeper truths,
which lay in languorous, light salute.

And in that moment, you were mine,
in all that life could offer up;
a holding fast to absolutes –

illusion smiled at both of us.

http://dversepoets.com/2014/02/15/poetics-coming-off-the-sugar-high/#respond