Mad Dog Blues

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Following this post, I received a wonderful poem from Mary Yaus, who wrote these lines:

Round and round she goes
thinking about,
nobody but she knows
but have no doubt
it is deep within her heart
radiating into her soul
holding on to life
with gentle hands
feeling vibrational bands
she looks deep into the eyes
reflecting of all her tomorrows
you can almost here her sigh
through thoughts in contemplations
not sorrows
round and round the carousel takes her
dreaming into the silence of words
waiting for her thoughts to be heard
she’ll grab the brass ring
and her heart will open and sing
letting the world see the grace she shall bring

Thank you Mary for adding your own wonderful contribution.

Lee and Isabel.

The Inner Smile

Inner smile (by Andrea Wicks)

I wait for you in August.
I long to see your powdered wings, enrapt at every speck and streak.
Blow into my garden admiral, where I can see you

on parade in all your finery.
Bent low with blooms, your butterfly bush erupts.
Some weed it out. Not me. I planted it for you.

Can it be heard: the sound of cocoons
drying and splitting. Paper wings unfurling.
Tentative first flight.

One ear in the grass, I listen.
My nose touching blades and stems.
Painted shadows sway and lengthen – as day tilts west,

I see you on my finger tip.
Wide eyes hold on to this moment, stitched in my summer memory,
caught between each note.

I loved each line, it flowed like the sea and it gives a whole new nuance to the instrumental. It no longer feels like my solo doodling, it now has become a duet. I’m finding it near impossible to overstate how good it feels. It feels good!!

see more poems, photographs and mindful writings (by Andrea Wicks)

Small Bird: A Song of Innocence

The daylight has lingered on longer than expected, but now the gloom of the short April evening is settling down fast in the wood. The silent and motionless trees rise out of a mysterious shadow, which fills up the spaces between their trunks. Only above, where their delicate outer branches are shown against the dark sky, is there any separation between them?

Somewhere in the deep shadow of the underwood a blackbird calls “ching, ching” before he finally settles himself to roost. In the yew the small birds are already quiet, sheltered by the evergreen spray; they have also sought the ivy-grown trunks. “Twit, twit,” sounds high overhead as one or two belated little creatures, scarcely visible, pass quickly for the cover of the furze on the hill.

Then bird songs lifts me as notes fall from air. They seem to land in my hand. In that  moment, as already the interior of the wood is impenetrable to the glance, music comes alive. Gently chords, subtle rhythms and harmonies rises though the sound of closer birds who have restlessly moved in their roost-trees. Darkness is almost on them, as they settle in their song of innocence. The cawing and dawing rises to a pitch, and then declines; the wood is silent, and it is suddenly night.

Small Bird

You don’t make a song and dance, you simply sit.
I look at you and rest my eyes.
The world slows down, as you adorn
a winter branch with solitude.

You simply sit. A nod – a searching out.
The air around you stills:
particles suspended in mid air.
Tiny eyes, as black as coal.

Pin-prick sharp: driven
by a hunger on the wing.
Heading home to roost, you lay your head.
You sit in stillness, simply.

You are a gatherer.
Minute twigs and down, the fabric
that you weave,
inside this stubby bush outside my window.

How do you think.
Rain shrugger. Sunshine sucker.
Snow, a place to leave your mark
that you were there.

Careful choices. Not a word.
Each crumb considered first.
Kindly, you watch the worm slowly turn
and leave it be.

Feeding flesh to every mouth that begs.
Bones enough for you. You perch
and open-mouthed, a joyous explosion makes
every leaf vibrate.

*Small Bird poem shared with kind permission.

See WiseJourney for more unique poetry, photography and mindful writings.

Free Falling

When I stride through clouds
I see a shadowless heaven
Carpeted with flowers.

I touch them and my fingers
Runs through your hair.
The deserts of my body

Are strewn with oases.
My hands are like a map
Of the Ganges. I rise

Above the stratosphere
I float in outer space.
The hollows between you body

Surrounds me like stars.
I am tied to the mast
My sweat trickles over you.

Free falling