filling the spider cracks...

filling the spider cracks...

In the clear echo of the faint morning song of sun

the child in the pale dawn does listen

until the night does split from day

sun rays rise to pulverize

and a small shuttle-cock floats with bright feathers

erasing all remnants of the dark to fly into yesterday

as the child sits in the sparkled dew of day

watching the level field ribbon into the distance

as each spider crack of night is soaked through

with sunshine of this soaring new day

all sparkling as dew drops in the strands of the universal

web connecting each blade of grass, each butterfly rising

into the triumphant morning song of sun

blazing, singing, glorious, proclaiming

this new hope, this new promise

this new day

singing

~

The Sunday Whirl « weekly wordles

Returned

pkp - st thomas , usvi 

Returned 

Under the cover of moon the child crept

in clandestine hope - to snatch lost love from those

waves seen crashing over her pair of petulant parents

To lift the buried box of lies from sticky clay

To rend apart sealed serious lips

To seek and find the Angel Hope tossing

sparkling moon-lit smiles

To catch an armful and run on soft silent soft bare soles

back home under the cover of moon - soft- night

To find, to return and to fix in forever-place her parents’

drifting, floating, fragmented all but filamented love ….

and bask blissful in the dawn, soaked in the  

the rising pure peals of her parents’ joined joyous laughter.

Returned.
~

The Sunday Whirl

In pursuit of Venus

photo.php

In pursuit of Venus 

~

In pursuit of Venus I flee

I flee this persimmon pulsed prison

of goods, cash and thwarted passion

I fling off my cloak, gather my

skirt fast-held for flight in one firm fist

and run

In pursuit of Venus I flee

feet flying into the wild wooded luminous lens

into that eye of wanton white whirling light

Possessions. Past. All now tumbled irrelevancies,

dropped, discarded, already forgotten falsities -

Here in the lush madness of mossy green

I toss my shoes and feel the wet earth

cool, calm and welcoming under the arch of

my soul and arrive, -

panting- slowed – at the edge of that

oft envisioned clearing

Here.

At last.

Bathed in the glory of Venus,

Reflected in the lens of the Goddess

Borne on wings of desire into being

waits

my

beloved

bare arms flung wide

in rapacious anticipation

and

I 

stop.

~ 

The Sunday Whirl « weekly wordles