Caught in the ebb and flow
ice-shackles, drip to free tattered fall parade
stone bed warbled by chirping robin
drifting in the deep silt
gritty particulate sand
still and cold
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
ocean current sweeping dense grains
light awakens stiff silence
tip toe merry go
girl in sand
pearl in hand
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
memories of being joy-held
wiggle room in shell
Poem Credit – Kenne/Ken Adam
Photo Credit – Flickr:
Golden Number Three
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
Darkness descends on the sleeping lilies, midsummer dreams fading into fitful Autumn wakes, shocking frosts alert the arching leaves to the inevitable blankets of winter snow.
I encourage you to check out my Flickr page:
In the chill of winter night
Dripped the ice-coat Northern fright
Next morning, frozen-toed and white fingered,
In shutter speed shock, I saw Old Man Winter himself, unlocked.
In the deep, dark night the wind howled and raged. Upon dawn the final clouds were snatched away and the calm revealed snow stripes across the fields. The shadows nestled under the snow ridges in contrast, and the tarrying birds hid under the porch eaves.
If I was a tree and you were a nearby stream
I would stretch my roots farther
If you were the sky
I would become a falcon and reach you before dawn
If you were the moon
I would shine a star right beside you
If you were the sun, you are
I will bask in your shining
I will share in your joy
I will never run from your beauty
As a deer runs into the woods
I won’t shy from your smile
Like a bear from a child
poetry from my heart
Healthy, Happy, Holistic Healing.
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Thoughts and Observations from Edward Roads