For the final challenge, WP wanted to see an all-time favorite. This small tree growing out of the rock at Lake Tahoe is one of those. Taken with a Kodak point and shoot a few years ago, the mood, color, and form have made it one of my favorite captures.
Not much rain here, but we got the cloud show.
I love blank verse,
though saying something is probably preferred.
I have a passion for free verse,
but getting paid,
so much the better.
And since we’re talking about poetry:
Diamantés are a girl’s best friend.
(Another totally unrelated photograph below. Of course, if you do find a connection, you could probably teach college English!)
I dance in the dark.
Inhibitions cast off,
I twirl and twirl, like a graceful ballerina, free in a broad expansive world.
Walls disappear and the dark of my room rushesto blend with the testimony of the universe—spirit meshed with Spirit.
My arms hug tight and reach wide—
stretch inward and outward to embrace and be embraced.
Move, Spirit, move.
Simple melodies carry my open-chested praise past the corners of the ceiling
to celestial halls unfettered by atmosphere and stars and space.
Miraculous union—the soul’s yearnings unbounded—
unloosed in a moment of genuine worship,
fitted one with the other,
created with Creator.
Slow slow, fast fast, step step – mind and body joined in declaration of Your worth.
My will lays down my right to rule.
I b r e a t h e out surrender as the music plays.
When I sit in church, hands in front, fingers tap…
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Where are the days when I sowed into your life and you into mine? It meant so much
in that moment, but
is that harmony lost to the multitude of noises in the universe—the ever present drone, earth to star. Or is the moment captured and catalogued somewhere in a file called
“Meaning”—memories of things that really mattered and were not lost to time and distance and division.
When you complain that I complain too much or criticize my being critical—
when you accuse me so harshly for not using words that are pure and edifying,
is it not just an ever-turning. never-ending circle, and
what we hate in others,
we hate in ourselves, and
what we judge in others is our own pernicious crime? But how does it stop?
If you stop judging me, and I stop voicing pain and discouragement, does it fade away?
Does it disappear just…
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. . . layered strands of evening.
