Gather my emotions here
Where they’re sheltered from my fear,
Where a rich serenity
Holds me like a friend who’s near.
When snow rests upon the bloom
May it see beyond the tomb.
Spring sings of fresh liberty,
Gathers life and gives it room.
Text: Linked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by Lillian. The 44-word poem must contain some variation of the word “gather”. The form I am using is a variation on the rubaiyat which I will be featuring this Thursday.
Photos: “Gathering of Blue Blooms and Snow”, above, “Spring Beginnings”, below.
Saturday afternoon the snow started slowly. Being warm the flakes became thick. I started my walk catching some of it, missing most of it. I am not aware enough to be aware of everything. I must leave some for the saint’s creative contemplation or the monk’s mindful meditation.
The snow came down thicker and more beautifully as I walked back through sparkling white. I did not expect so late in my grey year to have so many blessings as if my impatience and despair had been forgiven.
GREY SKY WITH WHITE OWL
WAITING IN THE SNOW-FILLED TREE
LOOK–HE FLIES AWAY
Conspiracy theories come in pairs. There’s the nutty theory I won’t believe in, because–well–it’s nutty, and there’s the opposite theory that, for some possibly nutty reason, I do. Motivated enough I could likely prove anything is true, which doesn’t imply that nothing is true.
Every time I take a stand I lock the front door, but I keep the back door open to offer protection to those good folk polarized in the same direction that I am. If there are monsters coming at me, this is a reasonable thing to do. Often I am pleasantly surprised by who comes through the back door seeking and offering protection. Sometimes it is the very people I thought would be storming the front door. Sometimes I look out the window on the front door after a major storm and see blue skies, pleasantly surprised at the absence of monsters.
The day turned cold and dark. We went to bed.
Our eyes closed on a starry, winter’s night.
Visitors appeared and we were led
Through lost, forgotten, ancient, truer light.
Their messages grew clear with inner sight.
When morning showed the brightness of fresh snow,
Those secrets we uncovered we let go.
Text: Linked to dVerse Poetics. Lillian is hosting with the prompt word “visit”.