Sunrise

In wash of deep imagining,
the sun is brought to birth,
revealed in brilliant being;
succour of this earth.

Unity

Unity curls beckoning finger,
summoning psyche to attend,
requiring that Self and Soul
be joined, as one, and where

the many can be made as
one, united in that universe,
of human nature, that sure
reflection of consciousness

made manifest in the unique
and the particular, of many
worlds joined in circling
certainty, turning star-like

around and around in the
galaxy of eternal creation,
where the wonder and the
beauty of you and me is

drawn into meaningful
and purposeful, expression
of particularity and the
personal; from the source.

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2015/07/poets-united-midweek-motif-unity.html

Metallic

Metallic was the moment,
resembling nothing known,
that prison of uncertainty;
when you at last were gone.

Optimal the circumstance,
as I stood all alone,
future spreading teasingly;
your voice a distant tone.

Polished were excuses,
refined and readied now,
presented to the world,
but none defined the how.

In striking notes of memory,
in shining timbre sounded.
the best that I could hope for,
as something new was founded.

Optimal the circumstance,
polished were excuses,
metallic was the moment;
the path to unknown truths.

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/





 

hiraeth

Source of soul and senses,
place of mind and heart,
so the land dispenses,
no matter if apart.

Smell of acrid eucalypt,
smoke of burning bush,
liquid crystal carolling,
magpies on the roof.

Cerulean the shining sky,
light bursts in a drench,
sunshine screams intensely;
so the day  is spread.

Creep of morning calmness,
drift of evening sighs,
so the earth stays breathing;
ancient, worn and wise.

   

hiraeth

Hiraeth is a longing for one's homeland, but it's not mere homesickness. It's an expression of the bond one feels with one's home country when one is away from it.

My philosophy of being

As a fundamental nature,
sourced in guiding principles,
my philosophy of being,
relies on  varied rules.

They may remain unknown,
at work in hidden depths,
or they may be conscious,
each powerful no less.

It's in the deeper knowing,
that I define my truths,
call life a great experiment,
with certainty removed.

Impute the best of motives,
and recognise each Soul,
know that we all are seeking,
to answer inner calls.

Find meaning in the moment,
and purpose in each day,
embrace whatever comes;
for me this makes my way.

http://dversepoets.com/2015/07/16/talk-on-a-cereal-box-a-smile-on-a-dog/#comment-97955

 

Labyrinth

Werewolf keenly watching,
as dolls were branded blind,
with resurrection pending;
heartbreak was sublime.

Scorpion in scatterings,
witches with their spells,
hunted through eternity;
ear no sound could quell.

Alone the demon hunted,
through corridors of mind,
ball of hope sent spinning;
no outcome was defined.

In halls of deep imagining,
psyche trailed a thread,
beckoned soul to follow;
grief's labyrinth now left.

 https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/
 

DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL

The cross of caring can be light,
when order holds the day,
and yet be crushing, in the night,
of bitterness and rage.

We care and that means loving,
we hold, we reach, connect,
and so are bound eternally;
until someone rejects.

In times of cruel abandonment,
for reasons hardly known,
it's love which crucifies us,
with feelings brutal nails.

The curse within a precious gift,
means hurt does hold the hand,
of joy in all relationships;
and both together stand.

Remembering in deepest pain,
that just a step away,
waits reconciliation's glue;
the broken, then re-made. 

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2015/07/poets-united-midweek-motif-night.html

Whole

Aloof the senses sundering,
cool, distant, uninvolved,
distaste for feelings totally;
the heart must be absolved.

Temporary time becomes,
without you in my life,
all is doomed impermanent;
hours of bitter strife.

'Whole,' the angels whisper,
'is what you become,
when the path is fully walked;
when these days are done.'

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/

 

Breath

That breath, so brief, intake
of love, shadowed by grief,
at something lost, now gone;
mind is drawn to inner wake.

Words

Sometimes the words just stop,
as if sulking in hidden corners,
resenting where they have been
taken, pouting in that soft-lipped

way they have, where the brutal
capacity is denied, and their
power is contained, because it
must be, even though the mind

does not understand why they
have retreated into that darkness
of isolation and surrender, as if
they have been chastised just

once too often, and now refuse
to make their presence known,
to allow themselves to be used,
as if to punish for what has been

done, unless, of course, it is a
reminder that sometimes it is
in silence that we find ourselves
and know truths beyond words.