Who are you looking for?The artist that’s me?Lie down, be my canvas,while I mix the hues. Brown for your silken hair,red for your bright lips,green for your dancing eyes,white for your wingtips. Go where love can find you.Be the canvas of my life.Let me paint you now,until you come alive. Time to retire my palette,been […]
Poetry Corner: Ghost Lights in the Dark
Shrouds of cloud clothdescend on the setting sun,carrying our ghosts into twilight. Drapes of night shadowsclose behind them.Shades of fear fly in,blocking the sight of love. A candle burns, its body melts,smokes the air,consumes itself. One light, small as a tearhot as a flame’s ember,banishes darknessin one stroke. Strike a light for you.I’ll strike one for me.Darkness […]
Poetry Corner: Rainbow
There are lots of rainbows here in the rainy season . . . Rainbow Pine peaks awash;chill raindropsdrop from each needle. Dripping, dropping,notes of wet,steady rhythm. Across the roof ourliquid lullaby dancesthrough sleepy heads, until, from underheavy eyelids, we see…a muted glow. Dare we lift the shadesto see only a foggydiffusion of damp? Of course […]
Poetry Corner: The Heart of Compassion
Live on in the spirit of freedom,stretching your Self beyond beliefto soar in infinite blissful flight,and dance with the man in the moon. Life is just—experience, sosing out loud your silver song,then breathe in blessed silence,nestled among your loving hearts. Seek with the eyes of your soulthe angel spirit who lives withinand allow yourself the […]
Poetry Corner: The Shell
Gentle shuffling, tumbling,currents flowing, opening, closing, oozing, knowing, bubbles floating, soft insides trembling,hard shell shielding. Stomp, stomp.Crack the shell.No more fortress,all is not well! Pain inside flowing out,only the shell remains.The rest is finally freeto merge into grains. Carried then by waves onto the sand, hard still,but oh, so fragile;I lie in your gentle hand, waiting. © 2000 Joanne […]
Poetry Corner: Teddy
He lies now in her memory bin,chocolate and cream,sandwiched between herdaughter’s board books and herson’s lambswool comforter. Not as plush as in the picture,that hand-tinted photo of the two-year-old girlholding him, silky-new, not yet smelling of lost youth’s dust. She looked passively into the camera,just inks of black, white and grayuntil the tinter stroked her […]
Be the first to know!