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Sketch of Myself/ I can ONLY Imagine

Sketch of Myself
I Can ONLY ‘IMAGINE’ what lies ahead…

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Love Notes

Love Notes

I Love You
like I have loved ‘no’ other.

In ‘all’ others
I am learning—
This is how I came to love you.

It has been years—
traveling through the “seams”
of seasons

—fading colors
—bitter blizzards
     draped in frosted flakes
—bouquets of lily blossoms
—the morning sunrise…
    each one a new painting
    done by the hands of Monet’

I Love you
who I can no longer name.

Perhaps, I will write-on…
trying because my words are 
love notes to you.

Somehow…
I know you read them.
You know from whom they are—

I do not have to splash any
fragrance on the paper…
flowery perfume—

certainly, you would know it 
was not I—

Instead…
my love notes are draped in 
raindrops, bathed in dew,
sprinkled with sands from
the sea…they glisten in
stardust

and, sometimes
words lift
from the paper

flying in formation.

Ink turns to
wings spanning
across the sky
an echo heard—

I love you
    I love you

carry on

At times I think I hear
you laughing.

I close the notebook.

We sit together hand in hand
—the tide rolls in

writing a note in the sand

 

Sketch of Myself/ Spread Yourself

Sketch of Myself
Vision the moment
Spread YOURSELF
and fly to where
you have never dreamed
of going…
Behold the wonder

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Elegy

Elegy

If today
this life of mine
ended with a period….
I trust in run-ons~

Yes, my life has been a 
continuous tale…
peaks and valleys
jagged edges and sandy beaches—

moments of penetrating light
and deep rivers of hid-den darkness.

I have LIVED in it all
and in death (I trust)
I will hold the lessons
from life’s seasons.

Eternal resurrections
flowing into vast
tributaries—
How? In what form?
I am clueless!

Yet, with outstretched 
wings, I will fly on
to new shores

plunging into
lasting tides
transforming with
the ebb and flow
of sacred mystery…

Ah, the sketches of THIS
one solitary Life~~~

The masterpiece
born anew.

Sketch of Myself/ The Stones Sing Out

Sketch of Myself
Listen…
the very stones sing ‘out’
hear the beating of the drum
the whisper of the fife
AND __________!

Let your song play-on
…the very stones
long to hear you ‘rolling.’

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself

A Costume of Changing Colors…

A ‘costume’ of changing colors…

Sketch of Myself/Hanging

Sketch of Myself

Hanging

A simple day—
‘Hanging’
A perfect day to dry—
and be ready for wear!

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Knocking

Knocking

What is it?

What knocks on the center of this breast plate?
On this door?

‘Let me in, let me in!’

Who is this visitor
who raps emphatically—
not with force,
but with a tap
as delicate as a 
feather released from a
bird in flight,
flowing , with a swagger,
to the earth

touching the ground.

Yes, the ground feels, hears,
senses its landing
as does my being

and tucks this soft feather
into itself as if
it were ALWAYS there…

known, yet unknown.

In this hour,
in this pregnant silence,

 a creaking doorway
opens.

Here you are…

Welcome.

Sketch of Myself/ Love Untethered

Sketch of Myself
There is a love,
so un-tethered,
that it holds
no bounds.

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

What I know by Heart

What I know by Heart

The soft cry of a babe—
no words
yet, there is a need.

The howl of the wind
unseen
yet, it bends the 
branches
creating a ballad.

A hawk
soars in the sun’s light
because it can.

Two old lovers
sit side by side,
hand in hand
watching the sun sink
into the sea.

The final farewell—
when the last touch
lives in the heart.

Sketch of Myself/ Beneath the Stain-Glass

Sketch of Myself
Beneath the Stain-Glass

The soft glow
beneath
the stain-glass shade
cast images
where dreams
are made
and yes…even
come true.

 

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

The Rain Fell…

The Rain Fell…

Upward!

Not possible…
it was once my thought, too.

Today,
the pools of drops rose
from the earth.

The flowers
dipped taking in the 
ascent of dew.

Splashes
one after another
climbed an invisible
ladder.

I knew not their reach—
I simply beheld
their flight
—a grand balloon
launch
—soaring drops
—vapor vessels
beholden to nothing

yet, appearing
as if puppets
dangled by a string

Up, Up, Up.

I stood a long while
drenched in disbelief.

I woke
dry as could be.

Was it a dream?

The rain falling upward?

I’ll never tell.