[MD] poetry

[Heather Perella]

  (an untamed regna)







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.
 
dark, slightly humid
soothing quiet crickets chirp
...lovely heart endures
 
as the subtle arc 
of summer mourns
 
bleeding through it's tender thorns
hostile fresh with growing old
descending flowers falling
 
bright yellow jewelweed
fine ash in the rock circle
 
Exactly, there has never been a shit shortage!
But if you spread it around enough
Something good might sprout.

intellect tries to keep up,
with these changes in the field.