| reflections from the interior |
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 love, simply
love doesn’t tell you you’re wrong the way you are love listens while you criticize yourself love remembers who you were and waits while you remember who you are pb © 2012
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turning, turning
silence at dawn the Word arises from the Love that conceived it spring mornings rosy light coursing waters leave mountain homes nourish seedling with omniscient Love from the Source that conceived it full force of blazing heat scorching scarlet days indigo drenched nights studded with white heat wild blackberries green kale golden sunflowers pleasure the body and the eye omnipresent Love from the Source that conceived it flurry of speckled brown wings rise from nest to open sky wheat seeds spill from woven baskets grape vines strain with purple globes orange squash and ridged pumpkins line the edges of dusty corn fields omnipotent Love from the Source that conceived it white blankets, downy weightless float and settle on weary furrows yellowed grasses slumbering hearts silence at dusk the Word returns to the Love that conceived it pb © 12 january 2013 + + + + + + + + + + wild iris
where the wild iris grew on the bank of the stream before the frost had gone from the meadow our bare feet planted firm in cool grass our hair wafting with spring’s soft rustling we pledged forever where the wild iris grows on your grave these many years my tears running away with the stream my bare feet firm upon wet grass my white hair gleaming in starlight we are always forever * pb © 2013 * o o o o o |
Authorpoet . . . . dreamer . . . . witness . . . . 2011
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