Street art on these walls
I walk between here and where
Art is in the air
Street Art
All posts by fhaedra
Ageing Ungracefully
Who calls it Winter
Maybe not anyone
Maybe Winter ought be Wither
an unsettling in becoming undone
Through our adventure cycle we endure
So much unknown ready yet still unsure
We are not captains of our own journeys
until we’ve sailed far and long vast seas
Rejected perfection abandoned second looks
How fortunate the few among many
Who discover knowledge secreted in books
As vision grows blurred our steps grow slow
As thin petals yellow our music hums low
May your withering come easy
May your wisdom stay well hid
May your death pass swift and unexpected
like your brief illustrious lifetime did.
Sundown with Heron
Heron and me
Wind and sea
Space between us
Watcher and watcher watching
Am I alone here
Or part of a whole
Belonging is fleeting
Questions lift and fly
Melody of swash carries
Choirs from other shores
Night birds glide to clouds
I survey you surveying
Graceful hunter
Sky draws her shades
I choose a stone to throw
Stones
Waves toss stones onshore From what depths have they travelled Light and heavy days
Refuge
in this way you find separation
paths familiar yet unmarked
wade into tall fragrant grasses
caresses soft as spring butterfly wings
nature’s choir harmonic tuning
humming from your chest
test your equilibrium
one leg raised for motion
hush your paradiddle heart
chin anointing clavicle
closed eyes filter morning’s sacred light
home home crescendo
sustain your hallelu
hold it close inhale inhabit
invest your all
linger with your knowing gaze
you may never feel
this ready
so alive again
Summer of Wonder 2021
https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-nbb3d-10b7d0c
Short pieces inspired by Twitter prompts and other thought while sleeping quiet under an open rainless summer sky.
Creatives
We exist but not alone. We create from what we may think we know but all knowledge exists in the collective well from which we draw our small dipper these few drops we may hold fast. Palm as precious stones. We may claim as our own. Briefly.
Bench
Hurry your eloquent passion
Time slicing devisor of measures
Breathing’s an act of deliberate intention
Dancers like you touching ground
Leave no trace evidence for eyes
Resting comes soon with practice
A bench to contemplate grace
Warmed by hours in afternoon sunlight
Twilight arrives with patient treasure
Gathered from days of the world
From The Cold
https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-atgky-1065097
A brief story poem of solitude and ice, dream and journey.
Mother Cedar
Mother with Child
quiet in this deep wild
She smiles when I come around
Afternoons I bring white rose petals
fallen from my gardens in bloom
Drop my offering slow to soft earth
Then settle awhile
beneath a canopy of peace green
Read one chapter aloud
to anyone gathering here.
Pencil Notes 