Mourning -- haiku

bereft.  so much i've  lost.

the burden, at times, too great,

heartache saps all strength.

Heartache

ouches.  sadness.
deep, deep soul pain.
dealing, dealing, always dealing,
but never willing to let go
quite completely.

 
 

 

Awakening--Haiku

why deny your soul
that which makes your heart soar or
makes it most content?

Surrender

Surrender
your lips to me
and devour me with your passion

Surrender
your desire to me
and let our souls entangle

Surrender
your heart to me
and love me with abandon

Surrender
yourself to me,
and shelter in my abiding devotion.

Helpless

A caress of my hip
A cradled embrace
A breath of words
at my ear.

Abiding, you conquer me
Noble, you soothe me
Spellbound and breathless,
I am yours.

Time that's mine--Haiku

It’s just me today
My heart soars with such freedom
What shall I do, first?

Meditation

An image of myself
culled from a dream
dreamt long ago
seems suddenly right
and brings me peace
and restores my soul
to a measure of what
it’s meant to be.

In the dream
I stood tall and straight
arms outstretched
fingers reaching
starbursts bursting
from my heart.
And from my forehead
grew a tree
mighty and strong
of oak, I think, and spreading crown.

This vision, long forgotten,
sent from the Goddess herself,
returns to me unbidden
a soothing balm
for uncertainty.

Moon's Song

Round and full is the moon this night
Her silvery arms reaching through the stars
To wrap themselves around my heart
And embrace my hungering spirit.

Be still, my child, says she to me
And behold the magick of my love
Trust in my light, my divinity.
I’ll limn the way along your path.

Spring

Green hills roll and farmers’ fields stretch
side by side with fingers of forested tracts,
an ebb and flow of fertile terrain.
New leaves stain the trees,
pale silk over naked shoulders.
Mist diffuses the clouded light,
enshrouds the slumbering knolls.
The ambience settles behind my eyes
and cozies around my heart.
Cool drizzle freckles my skin and curls my hair.
I feel content.

In-Between Moment

Sitting by the roasty fire
basking in its
cozy warmth,
a pause in the day’s activities
allows a moment
of reflection.

Grocery shopping,
heavy lifting and carrying
up and down
endless stairs,
sheet-changing and laundry
and shoveling snow
echo in my
aching back,
then ease into
a crackle
as I settle
on the couch.

It’s late,
almost bedtime.
My son winds down with
his usual burst
of nighttime activity.
In the background
drones the TV,
and in the
flickering dimness
glow the softly colored tree-lights.

It’s because of
moments like this,
when all of life’s contentment
unfolds in my soul
with spreading wings of comfort,
I almost don’t mind that,
after my son drifts off
into sleep
(and before I can drift off
into my book),
I still have to
wrap the presents.

The Mossy Stairway

Under thick foliage,
small stone steps
wind their way
down the hill
to the water
their coats of moss
cool and moist
shield the rocks
from my sight
until it’s
much too late.

My foot slides
down I go
with a shriek
that cuts the air
and echoes far
across the valley
rough and tumble
bouncing and jouncing
praying hard that
no one hears
or sees me.

I test my limbs
and listen close
for creaks and cracks
my butt hurts
but not as much
as my pride
I start again
down the hill
but this time
I avoid
the slippery mossy stairway.

Stories

Oh, Bridge,
tell me your stories
of feet that tread your ribs
across peaceful chattering water
that laughs and plays
over rocks and roots and fish.

Tell me of giggling children
walking hand in hand
pointing and pounding,
scaring minnows from your shadow
as they trample
one side to the other.

Tell me of lovers
leaning across your rail
and into each other’s bodies
smiling at the pair of ducks
wading warily near their nest
beneath your sheltering belly.

Tell me of the weary
whose souls bear scars
of love and death and sorrow
who sigh heavily
upon broken dreams
while pondering silvery depths.

Tell me of the aged
with deeply carved planes
and backs bowed
by the burden of living,
as your bowed spine
bears their weary weight.

Oh, Bridge,
tell me your stories.

Silence

A brook bubbles along
swollen from recent rain
tumbling over rocks,
whose mossy tops
comb the water.

The elderly owner
of a shuffling tread
creaks the spanning bridge
and waves grüß Gott
in passing.

The whoosh of town traffic
whispers its sigh
after a sun-dreary day
of clicking mouses
and clacking keyboards.

And floating above it all
high and clear
is a child’s voice
singing.

Rain

Aches radiate from deep within
the marrow of my bones--
phalanges, metatarsals, tibia
phlanages, metacarpals, radius
right big toe
right thumb.
My body speaks with the rain.

Waiting

I feel it in the air,
a thickening near imperceptible
an entity unto its own.

My bloods hums along
quickened by the change,
my skin oh-so-sensitive
prickles invisibly.

The rain thrums through my body
long before it appears
and seizes my consciousness
and throttles it into creativity.

When You Come Home--a haiku

why do I feel I'm
an intruder in your life
unwanted by you?

The Broken Bird

I held a bird
in my hand,
small and injured,
warm and soft.
Its heart beat wildly--
a tickle of feathers
a scratch of feet--
as it struggled
to gain the air.

I caught my breath,
and said a prayer
while I held fast,
hands cupped round
its desperate body,
as if I could keep
its fragile life
from slowly ebbing
away.

Soar

I hear the eagle’s cry
far overhead.
Its beauty pierces
my heart to its depths--
lifting its wings
soaring the skies
riding the currents
into infinity.
So fierce.
So solitary.

Something within me
stirs to life
as I watch its circling
and listen to its song.
I feel a mix
of kinship and longing.
I feel its strength
and its freedom
and its thrum of life
quicken within.

Heaven

There’s nothing as wondrous
as the love of a child
when he wraps his arms around you--
hands like weighty butterflies
resting and fluttering on your back
face soft and smooth at your chin
hair soft and silky at your cheek
breath soft and warm at your ear
voice sweet and true and trusting
as he whispers
I love you.

The Cry

The cry of an eagle
high overhead
a mournful wail
piercing the air
searching for prey
or praying for union
I don’t know which.

But its cry
seizes my heart--
as surely as talons
seize the mouse--
hot and pounding
fighting for life.