Sun battling dark clouds
For brave peek of winter light
Dim, yet auspicious
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Winter light
Sun battling dark clouds
For brave peek of winter light
Dim, yet auspicious
A Heart-Prick-Pluck
In a Holy space where light resides
My pricking conscience does confide
Luminous Grace Divine
Oft defines, offers resolution lines
My thoughts and noticed signs
Fall out of Sight
A heart-prick-plight
Plucks who I am
Perceiving…
Receiving Grace; forgiveness-Divine
___________________________________________________________________________
Photo Credit: 好的決定帶來豐盛人生: 我們的良心 henryinzion.blogspot.com
Mystic Space of Unknowing
In a mystic space
of unknowing
unlearning all old habits
wisdom of spirit bear
courage and strength
in a place of unravelling
threads of the past
hitched thoughts to cast
out, leaving only present space
for bubbling brook currents of wakened awareness
to calm all ripples of past connection
Summer Flower Scorching
I loved her like a summer flower,
Delicate petals caressed; sweet scent scintillating
Earthy roots creeping into my soul, etching meaning
In the summer sun, her colours enriched my plain palette
We were One Soul
Then she crept away with her youthful grin
And left my heart, crisped vines in the sun
Frozen In Time
Caught in the ebb and flow
ice-shackles, drip to free tattered fall parade
stone bed warbled by chirping robin
In The Rough
Stifled crisp
stilled oyster
drifting in the deep silt
–
gritty particulate sand
sea-deep darkness
still and cold
–
rock-stuck, numb-froze
soft tissue oyster warms
light-point shining bleak shadows
silhouettes dance on the inside of shell
chasing a will to move
an intention to feel
–
stirring
sand-pulse
ocean current sweeping dense grains
light awakens stiff silence
wish
–
tip toe merry go
girl in sand
pearl in hand
sandbar
pink and orange dancing
footprints under dying sun
tingling rays, neck-ticklers
–
fun chuckle, light sand-sweep
tucked to cosy bed
rising sea stung sandbar
damp, chilled bone
silhouettes gone
deep oyster-shell
still again
numb
–
memories of being joy-held
wiggle room in shell
flickering recognition
bobby-pin buddy
–
Poem Credit – Kenne/Ken Adam
Photo Credit – Flickr:
Golden Number Three
https://www.flickr.com/photos/esinuhe69/3056533082/in/faves-125138039@N07/
Sun-Lit Branches
Cupping vines cradle thrusting trunks
Shut-eye owl asleep in a limb
Sun-lit branches refracting; warmed branches
Cool lazy serpent river slinks behind
Roots reaching for the source
Snowbound, the forest dozes.
MOURNING AN ANGEL
Sierra lifted the page of her calendar. November – a picture of desert roses growing in an arid plain. She stroked the picture, and then checked the date. Tonight was exactly one month after Francine’s funeral. Sierra still had a constant throat-ache, she had been virtually voiceless since Francine’s death. Not strep throat the doctor said, not even running a fever. First sleepless nights in Sierra’s life, even after Jacques had spent the night massaging her tense neck. The dreams about Francine were intense: at first they were gentle fragments of childhood play, friendly goodbyes, loving return hellos. They would be playing jumprope with Mary and Posy in the yard; snowball fights in the winter. Always a white light she was, Francine was excarnating from her human body in Sierra’s dreams; evaporating into the cirrus clouds, observing her own body playing with her sisters below from her high perch above. It was horrifying for Sierra when Francine no longer came to play in her dreams, but instead Sierra became a witness. When she woke up in the morning soaked with sweat she hoped it had all been her imagination. Francine was thrown against a wall by an unseen force, bleeding, torn, thrown again and again. Sierra felt ripples of cold crawl up her arms and down her spine, her throat seized up; head pounding. When Francine’s broken body fell it was nothing but veins, strewn out in an anatomical pattern on the floor. She called Jacques who soothed her, insisted she was in trauma, asked her to consider counseling. Recently in Sierra’s dreams, Francine came as an angel blessing Sierra, Posy, and mother. She would raise her hand of light, and drops of light trickled down over the family melting bitterness and grudges.
“Am I going crazy?” Sierra wondered, as she gently awakened and sipped her water. The light dreams persisted. Sierra had been off work for a month now due to her constricted throat.
A few nights later Sierra had trouble sleeping. She read for awhile until she was sleepy. Later, Sierra dreamed about Posy and herself walking along a shiny golden path. Above them were steps to a bright golden castle which felt warm with light. Posy looked at Sierra in the dream and laughed. Posy darted ahead and leapt through the thick, wooden castle door to unknown treasures inside. As Sierra approached the wooden door, she felt a resistance coming from the door. When she reached the door, she rapped on it until her knuckles were sore. The warm golden light dimmed to jet black and Sierra awoke with a start, sweating.
Surprised at how real the dream felt, Sierra carefully got out of bed and poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen. Finding the remote, Sierra flicked on the TV and watched her favorite sitcom, sipping her water gently.
Short prose – copyrighted
K Adam
Shadow Stripes
