Category: dreams

There Are No Words Left

On By MiCoIn changes, courage, dreams, hope, love, love lost, love poetry, Man, poetry, sadness, sweetness, Woman3 Comments

What can I say –

There are no words left…

No correct ones, anyway, but even without words

 love’s heart lingers.

The useless words drip down the windows of my soul like rain

Turning snow to slush

And white noise to wet mud.

Sucking me under again.

The memories can’t be erased, or ignored.

And although they can’t be sucked back into non-being,

They begin to fade and with time become so thin they blend with the dripping snow,

But still I cannot, will not, forget or give them up.

I know the memories will remain mine,

Always mine and each time the same.

They will stay in my mind beautiful and true

Until time steps out of time and begins again.

(Poem #5  April 5, 2017) 

 

Quiet Gentleness

On By MiCoIn Buddhism Meditation space, changes, dreams, god, Joy, light, love, poetry, poetry changes, Writing, Zen5 Comments

 There is a smoothness to the

Texture of ordinary days.

Ease and effort are the same,

Quiet gentleness and holy light.

Each object flowing effortlessly

Into every other object yet each

Remaining what they are .

“Water takes the shape of the vessel that contains it,

Yet has no shape of its own” (Mooji)

What is my place in this quiet?

I am the water outside of the vessel,

The space the wind occupies between the trees,

The pause between the breaths.

I observe he smoothness of ordinary days and

feel the light that exists at the center of the flower.

And know that  he and I have become one.

(Poem #3 of the April Poetry Month’s 30 poems in 30 day challenge)

The Stones Will Remember

On By MiCoIn changes, childhood, courage, dreams, earth, faith, growing, hope, Joy, light, love, Man, nature, past times, peace, poetry, seasons, sweetness, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing13 Comments

Evening shadows shift

Through broken windows.

 

Chimney bricks slide down the roof

Puddleing under the lilac bush.

 

Weeds spread into the driveway

Reclaiming it for themselves.

 

When was this house built?

Was it ever new?

 

The yard and doorframes bear witness

To the families who grew here.

 

Long forgotten toys and broken swings

Hide beneath the matted field grass.

 

A broken clothesline flaps in the gray autumn breeze and

Sprung clothespins mold and rot into the ground beneath the broken posts.

 

Feral cats are now the only life that calls this old farm home,

And birdsong still fills the rafters of the barn.

 

The barn that once held livestock

Sits shifted on its foundation,

 

Listing and leaning to the south,

Away from winter’s fierce winds.

 

The stately oak gracing the front yard is rotten and broken,

Its fingers through the house roof.

 

Where did they go, the people

Who called this place home?

 

When the last one left,

Why didn’t they clean out the house?

 

Why not take the toys?

Close the windows? Lock the doors?

 

Did they not know they were

Never coming back?

 

The windmill out back has long ago

Crashed into the apple orchard,

 

Breaking in to pieces as it fell

and crushing the trees it had stood watch over all these years.

 

But in man’s absence

The apple trees continue to produce.

 

The lilac bushes flower every spring in spite of

Not being “cared for” in over 40 years.

 

The forest is slowing creeping back in to fill the void

Left when the field was abandoned.

 

All that remains of the people who once called this spot of land home

Is the family graveyard,

 

Where stones are carved with love and care,

Preserving for all time the names and dates of those whose lives began and ended here.

 

But the lilacs don’t care about being preserved,

The Oak is beyond pride and the buildings are slowly returning to the soil,

 

Just like the bodies beneath the stones.

Another 40 years and the stones will be all that remains.

 

They will be all that is left to tell the story

Of a time gone by.

 

The story of a house built to last a lifetime, a barn crafted with pride,

The story of generations of a family who lived, worked and died on this land.

 

A story only the stones will remember.

It Waits

On By MiCoIn courage, dreams, earth, faith, god, growing, hope, Joy, light, love, love poetry, Man, nature, peace, poetry, poetry changes, spirit, sweetness, symphony, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing3 Comments

It waits with patience hands

Outside our knowing, waiting to be let in.

Its story is always the same,

Its truth dependable but not always what we want to hear.

There is no hypocrisy, no deceit in its soul.

It is the soul that fills the void, that encompasses the eternal.

It exists in rhythms of time, tides of dependability,

Cycles of freedom and seasons of hope.

It can be ignored, but never escaped and so it waits,

In beauty and joy, in bliss and acceptance, in love and peace,

For us to wake up and realize it is but a mirror of ourselves,

The face of our existence, the light in our souls,

The essence of our being

Before we were born.

Out of the Darkness

On By MiCoIn changes, dreams, hope, Joy, light, love, love poetry, poetry, poetry changes, Uncategorized5 Comments

He comes to me out of darkness in the night,

With soft words matching soft hands.

His smoldering passion stares me down.

I can’t look away, he is all there is.

We move together in silence, no words are necessary.

It is all so familiar.

He knows what I want,

I know what he needs.

It is a love that never ends but sometimes lays hidden in lies, or

Buried in truth, ashamed of itself.

It sleeps for months only to burn through again

And consume us once more in its power and passion.

So, is this what you have been looking for?  Been waiting for?

Been wanting and needing?

Been dreaming of in your darkest hours?

Been hoping to find and hear?

You don’t have to look any further.

It is all still right here, as it always has been.

Right in front of you,

Framed by a heart.

Wind

On By MiCoIn changes, darkness, dreams, earth, god, hope, Joy, light, love, nature, peace, poetry, seasons, summer, sweetness, thunder, Zen4 Comments

Stunted trees

Bend and cower from the wind.

Its Winter howling is incessant.

Its cold all pervasive.

The mountain side Bearberry brambles

Grip tightly to the glacier scarred rocks for safety as the wind

Flows in rivers of the sky

From the White Mountains to the sea.

It feels its way with outstretched arms

Solid and real, over a

Path that is well worn and familiar into the valleys

And river beds along the way.

The power of the wind pushes the sound of thunder ahead of it

And Carries the storm clouds on its back.

It washes over the landscape

In partnership with the trees.

It is a force that can move them to dance,

Shake them to their roots, and love them with its allover touch.

Mountains and trees diminish the wind.

They sap its strength with their reluctance to let it go.

They want to hold on, to experience its freedom and lightness

They yearn for a chance to throw off their earthly chains and soar above the land.

But in the end, at the last, the sea is the master leaving

The wind no choice but to rush into its out-stretched arms, to be consumed by the waves,

To become one with the spray, white with its foam,

And in the crashing of the wind powered waves on the shore,

Release its energy back into the realm from which it came,

Completely the cycle once again.

 

Into Blackness

On By MiCoIn courage, dance, darkness, Death, dreams, love, love poetry, Man, nature, pain, poetry, poetry changes, sadness, spirit, suffereing, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing3 Comments

I made too much of it,

More than it was.

But not at all what I 

Wanted it to be.

Yet I continued, wanting,

Wishing, and hoping and for what?

For another night?  It was just a one night

At a time love.

It feels unreal now,

 a waste of me, of my soul and heart.

And now begins the slow fade into blackness and silence, just like all the others, as

My soul bleeds and my heart beat stops and

My eyes, still in their blindness, wish it were not so.

Storm Dance

On By MiCoIn courage, dance, dreams, faith, hope, light, love, Man, nature, peace, poetry, seasons, spirit, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing, Zen2 Comments

 Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea

As the storm rolls on to the north.

Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.

Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and

Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.

The tourists have all left for the season

Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance

Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.    

Just Look

On By MiCoIn candles, changes, dance, dreams, god, hope, Joy, light, love, love lost, love poetry, Man, nature, peace, poetry, poetry changes, seasons, Uncategorized, Woman, Writing5 Comments

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

The Yellow Room

On By MiCoIn changes, courage, darkness, dreams, hope, love, love lost, love poetry, Man, peace, poetry, poetry changes, spirit, sweetness, Uncategorized3 Comments

I am not a quitter but there comes a time

When the fight is lost.

They say to resist is futile, as some things cannot be defeated

And may not need to be, so,

I have taken the advice given and

Have made the decision.

I have gone to the room,

Cleaned the cobwebs out of the corners, painted the walls yellow,

Arranged the flowers on the table and freshened the bed with clean, crisp linens, after all,

He deserves only the best.

It is a south facing room,

I know he likes the sun and heat.

I looked at all the other rooms – all unoccupied,

But none were quite as nice.

I don’t think he will be lonely there as

I will always be with him.

I’ll have to find a safe place to put the key;

I know I will use it often.

Especially at first,

I know he will come out a lot.

I’ll have to hold him gently in the palm of my hand,

Put him back in and lock the door each time; there is no other way.

I know I’ll complain about the inconvenience,

But it really will be my own fault, as I’ll still think of him too often.

They say in time I’ll see him less and less.

I’m not so sure of that, but I hope they’re right.

But right now I can take no more; he refuses to leave so I have no choice

As he comes uninvited into my thoughts daily.

So when those thoughts and feelings overwhelm me,

I will hold his essence in my hands and send him back.

And when I send him back, he will need no direction

As he knows which room is his.

It’s the first one on the right,

The only yellow room in my heart.