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| | Patchworking from Autums new gamePage 30 of 32 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32) | Walking the fires,
leaning on an primordial staff of hand carved oak,
the Curer walks the middle way,
straight to the heart.
An alchemy of ancient knowledge
and modern philosophy,
she chooses the path of full resistance
tempering herself
to the finest mettle.
Transmutation secured,
she masters the thresholds,
with a fusion of initiation and grace.
Holding the doorways open,
she performs a tantric dance of heightened consciousness
where temperance transforms
visceral to ethereal
and back into being. | |
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| Patchworking from Autums new game
Posted: 3/4/2008 11:13:32 AM | Winters moon shines in our window
illuminating the softest hues of love
candle light flickers the intensity of your gaze
Lovelocked,
nectareous,
I rise to meet you. | |
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| Patchworking from Autums new game
Posted: 3/4/2008 11:34:41 AM |
walks the middle way,
straight to the heart.
An alchemy of ancient knowledge
and modern philosophy,
she chooses the path of full resistance
tempering
Absolutely astonishing stuff, Ravin. Love is being *very* good to you, my friend. ♡ | |
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| Patchworking from Autums new game
Posted: 3/4/2008 11:47:32 AM | Aww thank you! Inspired by two healers I had the pleasure of spending the day with yesterday.
....And yes, love is being very, very good to me. Our stars knew the way all along, didn't they? | |
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| Patchworking from the stars
Posted: 3/9/2008 5:38:15 PM | I'm trying to learn to listen.
I swirl my colours around you
in the dance of the seven veils
played in hues of ancient sands
that shift across trade routes
and time.
You wait for me
languishing in your eternal senses
silk and spices
and sunsets
that illuminate the lost oasis
that we both remember.
Camels ride the desert waves
and sail me to distant shores
where longhouses tell stories of ancient gods
and ravens guard the children
from the intrusions of ignorance.
The whales sing a remembering song
as you paddle home
to me.
Drummers pulse the heartbeat of the earth
and the mysteries
call us beyond our knowing
into the timeless time
where we meet again
in the now. | |
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| Patchworking from the stars
Posted: 3/9/2008 10:09:28 PM | I need a mother and chicken soup..
Influenza inflicting people by the dozens
Needing a break we picked up dinner
And ate it down by the lake
Whitecaps and the lull of the water
Good medicine for healing
He just knew it would work on me
To lift up my spirits and make me forget
The last five days of feeling like a rung out dish rag
Even the cat ran when the sneezes and coughs filled the air
But in all honesty the sun warmed me by its touch
I watched the birds gliding on the cold water
Wondering how they could look so content
With all the snow and biting winds
A nice respite
Our picnic by the lake | |
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| Patchworking from the stars
Posted: 3/10/2008 5:35:12 AM | Every morning coffee
stains my teeth a little more
Yellow is the colour of summer's joy
So, I shant worry about it
With every suckle did drop my breasts
As nourishment left and took it's root
From co-dependency to upright and vehemently self assured
Character traces itself along silvery trails etched in my once flawless skin
Flaw-filled and ridden with mistakes that make me smile to myself
Guilty pleasures
Runaway thoughts, wardrobes saved just in case
I could replace cream with skim someday | |
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| Patchworking from the stars
Posted: 3/10/2008 6:49:45 AM | That is Motherhood...and the changes it makes in us are more than skin deep. Thanks Jes, for bringing your Mother piece here.
Skim instead of cream? never! tee hee. | |
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| Patchworking from Ireland
Posted: 3/17/2008 6:51:50 AM | Irish today, smiling eyes
All is forgotten, in the children's cries
While mothers were hauled from their sleep
and put to the sword for their belief.
Temples were smashed and rites were banned
sacred sites befouled, then they burned the land
Briget was beaten, her followers burned
Pride was destroyed and humility learned
Shame and subjugation enforced by the hand
of the Roman take over, of the once green land
Ya celebrate he who removed all the snakes
with his shamrock trinity and all other fakes
He who murdered all who would not kneel
to their great god of vengeance and swords made of steel.
Today I wear green in honour of the Isle
that Brigit once ruled with her Irish eyes smile.
Previously posted in 1st lines. | |
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| Patchworking from Ashes thread
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:10:31 AM | Warped in perfect symmetry
Ancestral imagery
frayed around the edges
revoke the privileges
of past remembrance.
A tapestry, a cosmic dance
of ideas woven, history acquired
kiln fired
and hand-stitched into the fate
that our lives illuminate
in technicolored illusions
and delusions
of inconsequence,
living in a pretense
of indifference.
Sun awakens
transmutations
of light
and this, is our birthright.
Spirit made into form
flowing through earth
we count our worth
by accumulations
while individual creations
hold no master-peace.
Jason’s fleece
was dearly won,
Argonautic ship of fools
in unison
sang a requiem of placation
to a God that tests the creation
of all sons and daughters
with the fires and waters
of understanding.
Prayer flags
wave in the cosmic winds
as the dance of the seven veils begins
to unravel.
We travel
inner directions
where history spirals galaxies through
merging time and space, me and you
“We all live on a thread of time”
Playing out a pantomime
of the ongoing conversation
that weaves the tapestry of creation. | |
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| Patchworking from Ashes thread
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:11:01 AM | Movement penetrates
And the cosmos transmutates,
Then, when realities converge
“The real Me
Will emerge”
Wings wet with innocence
Painted with designs that influence
The destiny chosen to unfold.
Behold...
I am...
Cocooned in leaves of understanding
Demanding
My right place and time,
I will climb
Those lofty peaks of awareness that silhouette the star filled sky
And I shall spread my wings and fly. | |
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| Patchworking from Ashes thread
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:11:27 AM | I would rather wander Paradise
and play between the stars
I'd pirouette on Saturn's rings
and waltz with you on Mars.
I'd rather be a spirit free
and fly the galaxies
Visit with the Archangels
as pretty as you please
But this old earth she needs us
to help clean up the mess
to love her back to wholeness
So I'll stick around I guess. | |
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| Patchworking from Ashes thread
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:12:26 AM | Winter retreats in rivulets of muddy waters
amidst the discord of feathered harmonies.
The calls for mating fill the damp breezes
with an urgency that happens every year.
Buds burst on the silhouettes of dark trees
causing landscapes to blur in the still frosty mornings,
in this grey silk of the sky day.
I walk alone thinking of you,
and the possibilities we play before us
in this new season of love. | |
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| Patchworking from A Slice of life in 50 words
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:22:56 AM | I like some of the challenges offered here on the pond. This is from the slice of life thread, that has to be exactly 50 words, in this particular format.
Wet fog dripping spring onto dirt encrusted snowbanks where winter runs off in muddy streams. Yawn stretch, brew beans from somewhere else, where flowers are in constant bloom. Sip bitter sweet awakening, sharing dreams over breakfast. The week begins, new day, new season, new life, ending a long cold winter. | |
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| Patchworking from A Slice of life in 50 words
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:38:25 AM | | Azure shore lines breaking into being. Sun rises on a new vista; golden red on blue shimmerings. Coral strategies negotiate Island doorways into paradise found. Cove sought for mooring as anchors seek bottom line. Dory maneuvers tax coffee breakfast basket. Warm waves shift sands beneath bare toes. Breath ocean breeze. | |
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| Patchworking from A Slice of life in 50 words
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:38:52 AM | | highways, sunshine, hands on the wheel, your hands on my thigh, watching me, that smile, electric touch, passing lane, transport trucks, 433 kilometers home, sigh, trade drivers, long passionate kisses and gas fill up, the heat of your leg, your arm, your glance, finally, home, scattered clothing on livingroom floor. | |
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mmmmmy
| | Joined: 2/11/2008
Msg: 744 | |
| Patchworking from A Slice of life in 50 words
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:44:54 AM | Lovely writes here my friend! Thought I might dabble in the water...some!
Implications of Spring come into view
Daffodills blooming , where mother planted them
Warmth of the sun glowing slightly upon my head
Bluejay sitting amongst the bare tree above my deck
Yelling out in such glee...I had to come just to see
as I did...he flew away!
Wonder who he was? Someone I once loved ...I believe!
Shoots bursting out from underground piles of leaves
guilt makes me want to get out there and clean
I smile ...just because all of these things so full of love
Nothing in this life is more vibrant and real
than spring bursting forth chasing away all the blues!
more than 50 words...but well, yanno? | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/8/2008 11:52:54 AM | This is patchworking mmmmmmy...you get as many words as you want, and the format is up to you!
Ya, spring. I can smell it coming. | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/10/2008 7:54:09 PM | I listen to the cantatrici
with my heart
melodic pens with subtle art
spinning language into songs
approaching the cadenza
one by one
capturing the moment
with cachet
grace to linger
as the last notes
fade away
LS
04/10/08
A New Poetry Game | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/10/2008 10:12:02 PM | Mother the planet burns with her haunting desires
To taste the unknown and let the secrets flow down
Through consciousness
As tears dripping inside a beaker of glass
liquid dreams
You want to shout
“I can see, feel, touch and taste everything”
Yes the glass is a kaleidoscope of generations
The forests and their pain
The rising stars crying out for deliverance
Of their birthright
The people who walked the grounds
Underneath your feet
Long before this life you learned to tread softly
Upon the ghosts of those who laid down arms
And wove patterns out of dust
Built temples to worship stone
Stripping down destiny one piece at a time. | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/11/2008 9:28:45 PM | North of Norwood
A cacophony of sounds
Waking up displaced but content
A mare neighing to her foal
Cows in the sunlight waiting to be milked
The soft snore of a man’s dream
And the musty smell of earth everywhere earth
The commune rises in the morning mist
Nomads who are tired of the demise of mother earth
Spread their blankets out beneath the rising sun
To break bread and build fires of friendship they come
Children running round in a field of beginnings
Their hearts beating to the sounds of homemade drums
Sweetgrass purifying the hearts of poets
While the guitar serendipitously strums. | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/12/2008 10:34:50 PM | | Autumn, North of Norwood is outright wonderful! Thanks for the memories!!!! | |
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| Patchworking
Posted: 4/13/2008 10:44:41 AM | I liked it too, Autumn .....Woobs, thanks for reminding me to mention it..... | |
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