Sunday, August 24, 2014

Discovery (Inspired by Pablo Neruda)

                                                   Inspired by "Sonnet XVII" by Pablo Neruda

I cannot love as though the world was grey,
as if colors did not exist in fact or dream.

I can only love as if born anew each day; 
fragments of memory tug swiftly at my heart 
when I search the landscape of your eyes, 
as wide, as deep, as blue as the sea, as wild as tides 
during tempest-tossed days and clear nights so calm, 
full of stars so near, our fingers gather clusters; 
our lips meet as we are covered in fine, glistening dust.

I cannot love as though love was silent or unnoticeable 
as light streams through lace curtains, sways in gentle wind 
and not be moved to dance within the circle of your arms, 
however distant you might be when this tender music begins - 
you are here with me, inside my heart, long before you arrive
and I run to greet you as a child, hands full of gifts for you alone.

I can only love as wildflowers aflame in vibrant fields, 
as the weary sun lowers itself into mountains' embrace, 
so tall and still; shadows sculpted to immense slopes 
and narrow valleys as dusk retreats, 
as evening slides beneath a sigh, 
each quarter moon beaming approval.

I cannot love without precious fragrance drifting  
through each strand of my hair as I whisper your name,
as I await the soft touch of your winding fingers,
a slow seduction of every moment, every movement, 
every nuance, draped in quiet song before we sleep. 

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Anne's Furies


                                       Inspired by the poem "From the Garden" by Anne Sexton

Your furies planted thorns,
ground petals into madder,
dyeing the earth, murdering the soil, 
casting aspersions until it was no longer fallow, 
only barren and dull.

The staccato sounds of seeds dropped
from your tenuous, tremulous height
fell into the ground with numb exuberance,  
tiny bombs exploding into nothingness
before they could ever begin to bloom.

Your eyes saw two separate worlds — 
one light and one dark —
and still, you could not combine them
into a substitute for Life, an acceptable compromise, 
if only in a peripheral sense.

Why did you allow them to put blinders over your lowered head, 
balanced slightly upon your ears, fastened so neatly into place, 
gray placards designed to block the view of everything 
except for muddy tracks you galloped on, breathless, 
their considerable bets stacked up against you?

Far away from those too-shallow graves,
I shall plant flowers for you, instead - 
not lilies, not orchids, not roses, no ...

I will scatter strange seeds in a vicious circle, 
vibrant wildflowers for one who could never be tamed.

[on spirituality and religion...and butterflies]

[on spirituality and religion...and butterflies]

"...labels and categories have nothing to do with defining who I am and what I stand for - and what I resist, too. No single word or term will ever begin to describe me - I am enigmatic and familiar, all at once. The fact remains that I have my own beliefs about life, about its beginning, middle and end...I saw what I saw and knew what I knew and felt what I felt at the precise moment I needed to the most. I simply cannot look at the shore as the tide retreats and returns again and again, see a horse running freely without reins to tether them, experience the unique singularity of a beautiful sunset that will never be quite the same again or feel the whisper of a butterfly's wing as it rests upon my hand and then say I do not believe there is more to this life than we could ever imagine...Just because you can't see - or feel - something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. For instance, we know there is wind, because we feel it caress the nape of our necks...Others may choose to believe that our presence upon this physical plane is either an accident or a coincidence - I do not. I believe there are reasons for everything, as well as a time and place for each to occur. Physics. Cause and effect. Stars collide and butterflies are born. That is all. That, for me, is enough." 

— Wanda Lea Brayton, excerpts from "Spirituality and Religion"

Monday, August 11, 2014

Soundlessly (Inspired by Marc Creamore)

Inspired by "Shadows Limping Toward Some Blinding Light" by Marc Creamore










Life's precious mandala spins soundlessly —
unseen by unseeing eyes, unheard by unlistening ears, 
untouched by unfeeling hands —

there is only a small space between, 
a veil waiting patiently to be parted;
its shadowed secrets beg for revelation.

Drawn by delicate fingers,
rainbows are revealed within the storm —

there is no time, no winding clock — 
there is only this moment, this Now.

Souls once torn apart by unmerciful tempests 
may choose to rise again or remain inert;

eventual shadows may slowly drape  
across an empty canvas of a quiet wall — 

dim light fights unending darkness 
with knowing strength,
the vivid polarity of a final breath.

Truth leans hard against pulsing hearts of dragons,
survivors of ten thousand wars, ten thousand revolutions,
defenders against inhumanity, against dire dread —

their wings are folded smoothly, 
slant and still beneath infinite warmth, 
ready to emerge once more, 

prepared to exhale their pertinent flames.