[MD] poetry

[MarshaV]

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Heather Perella" <spiritualadirondack at yahoo.com>
To: <moq_discuss at moqtalk.org>
Sent: Thursday, August 14, 2008 5:43 PM
Subject: Re: [MD] poetry


> The bright moon,
> the wind moves leaves -
> geese not seen.
> 
> Flight across the pond, well met
> A being bigger than names
> 
> raindrops on the roof
> dead leaf oceans scattering
> who knocks at the door?
> 
> Weeping willow, strong old oak,
> fire dancing from ancient skies.
> 
> Fresh sweet cool air
> Solid comfort
> Deep stillness within the rush
> 
> Here..., It..., Is..., desiring,
> galaxies, and swollen breasts.
> 
> the wind stirs
> sick, achy, resting
> quiet sun shines
> 
> Change flowers in the wanting
> Petals inform beauty, grace
> 
> In milky way embrace
> Lustful Impassioned ethereal whisps
> Of angels breath in starry skies
> 
> Nothing, her darkness shining,
> words unwritten, waves unseen.
> 
> Her hair hung lovely as
> the autumns dusk,
> Her eyes dark almonds
> 
> ...by a neurosurgical stroke so fine
> I find myself completely out of my mind...
> 
> clouds and blue,
> earth dripping cold water
>    - Get over it now!
> 
> Laughing, calling, babbling,
> this river flows well.
> 
> unseen beneath trees
> flowing ocean
> of Glowing tune of autumn
> 
> dreaming of approval, approval, approval
> the starving child who never sleeps
> 
> on my PC,
> hours pass like minutes pass like seconds on my PC.
> my childs weeping in his sleep
> 
> Leaf drops overhead
> - I move out of the way.
> 
> Into a future without flow,
> under a sky no longer blue,
> but with its calling no less true.
> 
> I wrote for you then, like Cyrano,
> Words I would never speak.
> 
> the autumn leaves pile by the door
> I almost hear the rustle of her dress
> how can I bring my aching heart to rest
> 
> Skin is green, wart on her nose,
> bitchy as hell, has webbed toes.
> 
> one gray squirrel now five,
> stomach fur, snow lays, teeth push,
> - more white by the moment!
> 
> a preview of things to come,
> as the dog takes in the heat.
> 
> Cold night, cold light,
> thoughts falling from the trees.
> Wind chimes, rabbit rhythms, dancing sea.
> 
> reborn now, chimeric, chameleonic
> a goddess, she thought was she
> 
> Poetic stereotypes, often called tropes,
> Include things like women, graphic pain,
> and darkness.
> 
> On the edge of a long fall,
> breathing you, memory and dream.
> 
> Creativities code...
> Art must do!
> What art does!
> 
> in this quietness
>   - what ya doin'!
> 
> island of senses, She sighs,
> Isness shines and sings,
> slowly to See.  Ecstasy...
> 
> Is your world stale?
> Colors, poems - beautify!!!!
> 
> When I die, let it be
> calling for Her.
> Ma, Mother of all names.
> 
> Small hand searching for treasure.
> Placing it on your heart.  There!
> 
> Giggle the time scale and rocks roll.
> Mountains, crumble and erode
> The fractal forms of valleys flow
> 
> All things cleave and shatter
> Zoom in, Zoom out, refocus.
> 
> Night smoke smelled
> Chimney's burning long
>      - snow is icy.
> 
> Spring winds in the trees now,
> Cold then warm then...
> 
> A germ on the pincer of mite
> On the leg of an ant on the back of an elephant
> Climbs a mountain like a pimple on the planet
> 
> When things cleave they only matter
> If you zoom in, zoom out and refocus.
> 
> hocus-pocus, distorted locus
> only has meaning
> when out of focus
> 
> Focused is as focused does
> When contemplating navel fuzz
> 
> A smile unveils the white of budding teeth
> And belies the sleepless nights
> That brought them to light screaming
> 
> the dream is now lived - a niche!
> I can now express this way.
> 
> A skip of faith,
> as mystical as can be,
> think, and you will see.
> 
> Or leap across a chasm
> And fritter your days free falling
> 
> A ripcord to paint,
> to see and to pull,
> better than missing the bull.
> 
> Shall we dash our heads or skin our knees?
> Are we grounded or living a fantasy?
> 
> Mysticism is the point,
> a "skip of faith"
> as you'd anoint.   
> 
> Faith is the point that I'd concede
> The question is really; how much do you need?
> 
> Experience skips over need.
> Try there is no bridge 
> to sprout from seed.
> 
> Anyone who uses the archives, 
> will not need hundreds of copies 
> 
> leaves in the millions
> green, wavy, rustling wind
> Look!  the fish is still.
> 

In the stillness before the coming storm,
one leaf waving madly.