Focal Point

Strawberry Candy

Only the foolish

Are dazzled by perfection

Worn on surface skin

*

Wisdom discovers

Truth stored in secret places,

Coaxes seeds to grow

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Daughter of the King

platycodon

 

True colours are seen

When you let the Light shine through;

Royalty bleeds blue

Known

canyon trail

 

Be still, my heart, in safety wait

For all that’s good from heaven’s gate;

Serene, beat soft in tender tone –

With every cadence, you are known.

~

Thank you, Paul, for the reminder that I am seen and known!

Grading on the Curve

plough

He who puts his hand

to the plough and then looks back

will never plough straight

***********************************

Wind-carved furrows on the open prairie

As the Wheel Turns

yellow aspen (1)

 

And the colour wheel cranks out

its liturgy – opposites 

make the best bedfellows,

draw out the richest blooming.

.

So too this heart, when double

crushed, rises atmospheric

to negate the blow. So too 

this spirit, pinned to velvet

specimen case, dead carcass

to be pitied, inspected,

finds truest freedom within

its prison walls, flying high

above those who would take it

captive, coerce dignity,

boxing it in mere metal

and glass. Deepest pain reflects

truest beauty, once redeemed.

.

And the colour wheel cranks out

its curriculum – bluest 

skies display the purest gold.

 

Far From the Tree

appleblossomkeyhole.jpg

 

When Apple first fell

from the Tree, she bobbed

along on her sea

of forgetfulness,

oblivious to

the bruises on her

backside, pockets of

pus hidden by a

polished red skin. She

named her world Stunning,

and made plans to suit.

.

Tucked in the shadow

of those gnarled roots, her

gnarled senses labelled

sickly vapours ‘air’,

decomposition

‘bed’, insect-breeding

swamp ‘home’. Belonging

lulled feelings into

a caricature

of the love she read

about in novels.

.

But the day she rolled

outside canopy

limits, beyond the

reach of Eden’s bite,

sun-seared retinas

peeled the picture bare –

twisted trunk and sour

fruit and warped world-view

became as glaring

as raw contusions.

.

Now she rolls, rolls, rolls,

far from the madding

shroud, far from the reach

of branches carved like

talons from deformed,

wormy wood. Far from

the Tree, in a patch

of pure light on grass

greener than life, she

sows a single seed.