Beyond the Leaning Tree
by Claudia Patchen
Beyond the leaning tree, where the
mist thickens and the trail
shrinks to nothing--do
not despair, you're almost there, you're
almost there, you're almost there.
Your legs and arms are weary and your brain, like mush, but
you're almost there.
Your hopes have been dashed one too many times, your heart
shredded like pulled-pork, your eyes, glazed over with life fatigue,
but still you strain to see.
Where the trail is gone and the cloud en-vel-opes, you spot a faint,
small light, just out of reach.
It beckons, you follow and it leads you to your hearts desire--not
too far, but yes--in the challenging space--beyond the leaning
by Lorraine Hart
I've had enough
Of this empty-headed,
Of the two-legged,
Frantic pace leaves
My breath ragged,
Well I bag
And I hide
Between sweet earth
And open sky,
And content inside,
next to mountains
I'm the right
So I rise
With the wisdom
Of All My Relations,
Time my tides with
My Mother Ocean,
And beckon inner wisdom
wild in my soul.
My Way Out West of Nowhere
by Linda Whaley
I sit out yonder and I ponder at
the wonder tossed asunder in the outback of my way out that is
way out west of nowhere and i hear the air displacement of a thousand tiny wings beating time
to their own tempo as they skitter to and fro chasing dinner or a date for
a destiny with fate so to
mate and pass the moment
onto future generations who will likely never wonder or just ponder
of the spell that they are under as they wing their way adroitly through the outback of my way
out as I watch them full of wonder and I ponder my own fate in
my way out west of nowhere.
Still Yourself in Nature
Please, hear this one desire to tell you
about getting still in your own nature,
like the summer water gone warm and stagnant
green with duck weed--
the mud, where we fail to see
the root going down,
down into softness,
on the surface everything
until we close our eyes.
The lotus bed may bloom without our notice,
a blue dragon-fly lands on the stalk of our fingers,
a loon calls, as if the softness of fog
may we always recall how to pray
Here, look how this branch
curves into turquoise of sky and pond,
please, lie down on the good earth,
one word over and under
until nothing left to do,
nothing to remember or explain--
this wild nature of your stillness
to go inside the violet flame.
Implore into your hands
as the sun passes along your heart,
be grateful for all we will never know
be still in loving, all the parts.
My books may also be purchased through Amazon or Createspace,
yet I'm most grateful for direct purchases through me.
Morning Sky and Western Sky
by Sandy Mauck
Morning Sky sent Western Sky a gift today.
A blanket wove of purest pinks and blues.
day they sat and waited
traversed the sky
Western sky sang back
his thank you
of Golden light resplendent with reds and wondrous purples.
"Dawn," he shouted.
"I send to you all my love with this mantle woven from your own sweet gift.
You are my one and only love."
As with a sigh, Eastern Sky
slipped on the mantle blue and pink
and gently, gently wore it round her shoulders
for all the world to see.
"I love you too,"
the East replied. "Good bye, Goodbye."
West glowed with
gold and peach
just a hint of turquoise enticing her to stay.
But East knew it was time for her to go
"Goodbye, my love"
she reflected back and took her silent leave.
Without his Dawn,
West settled down and began to fade toward sleep
Awaiting his beloved to touch his cheek
and waken him again.