Phase

evening moom

In viewing me, you cannot see the sum of all my parts;

Your eyes can only scan my skin, they can’t discern my heart.

For as the moon in mystery is shrouded from our gaze,

What we observe in others is but one nocturnal phase.

Keep this in mind if others show a less than stellar frame –

Character is more than what one action can proclaim.

As Mistress Moon evolves each night, her beauty ebbs and wanes,

We cannot judge our neighbour’s heart by what his face contains.

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Her Brush With Death

frosty foliage

 

The frost that ruptures arteries

and makes her foliage weep

is also master of the brush

that earns true glory’s keep,

for as he paints the crimson tide

with blood as palette’s edge,

his lines mark beauty’s truest form,

and trace salvation’s ledge.

 

When Strangers Ask

DSCN7056

 

She’s more than a morning coffee

drinker, more than her function as

office confidante, more yet than

the colour of her eyes or skin.

.

Birth stones and birth order and birth

marks are but petals to her rose,

characteristics folded deep,

convoluted lines and colours

which add or detract from beauty.

.

Shoe size and predisposition

to diabetes, scars hammered

in where wobbly knees met gravel,

violin lessons on rainy

afternoons, the desire to dance –

ruffled layers all, a goldfinch

singing from hidden willow perch.

 .

I see her there, can count petals,

classify by botanical

name – yet, in calculating sums,

have I arrived at her spirit?

.

Do I know where she goes at night

when skeletal remains escape

closeted fears, or of whom she

dreams when her conversation flags,

eyes traversing galaxies hung

somewhere behind my left shoulder?

.

Fingers cannot touch the places

she’s been, nor trace the subtle curves

where geological process

has altered her surface features.

.

I see her there, can count petals,

compare tints to a hardware store

strip, watch as they shift before

sun and shadow – and when strangers

ask if I know her, I say no.

 

Grow Patience

apple tree frost

Grow patience when you can’t grow fruit,

and soul and heart will follow suit

as character rears heaven’s taste

in disposition wisdom-laced.

*

This apple tree waits patiently for the days of frost to end.  So too, I will wait for the blessings to follow soul’s winter season…

Resilient Genes

The frosts have come,

their task complete;

botanic carnage

at fall’s feet,

but you retain

your bright green glow –

how  is it done?

I need to know

why some survive

the holocaust,

and others drop

when all seems lost.

Have you a secret

coping means?

Or do you have

resilient genes?

Alone

Alone, but not lonely,

Single, but not secluded;

Mute, but not silent,

Amiss, but not deluded.

Singular, but not strange,

Particular, but not elusive;

Separate, but not a loner,

Private, but not exclusive.

*

This beautiful leaf stands alone, but somehow is still a part of the world around her.   I find myself drawn to her individuality, charmed by the way she nonchalantly takes her place in her sphere…

You Hide Your Scars Well

You hide your scars well.

Wind has wailed and blasted skin

and sucked the water from every cell.

I see your petals are wearing thin

but from here it’s hard to tell

that you are walking wounded now,

limping with a twisted cane.

Deeper furrows line your brow,

etched with tools of deepest pain.

Yet golden still, your face shines on;

you smile as if you saw the gain –

that tragedy, its substance gone

had fought with you, and fought in vain.