Monday, June 30, 2014

Wasted Beauty

It is my longing to ask the flowers how the sidewalk cracks are wasted ... could not the rain and moss marry to fill their emptiness with rapture ... if the humans cared to see the trees as brother and sister once more ... if they would delve for the stone of remembrance lying at the bottom of their dreaming pools ... holding the knowledge once more in their palms that dreams were once a bright birth also ... as they seek the surface air forgetting ancient gills would heal lung and heart alike through will ... in how the same dusty stars now recycle to feed the poet's soul ... in the essential desires of these flowers looking on.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Earlier in June

The catfish are slow as sleeping submarines today ... black gray orbiting intentions beneath the lake's glassy surface shadows ... the breeze breaks in sheets of gathered cumber buns in rippled tight dancing laced light ... dissolving into unseen reflections of greedy green graciousness ... being held puzzle locked in this spell of Monet mirrors only by seldom cloud perfected patience of the cautious blue sky ... a proud buck  has come to quench his thirst at the wild fork of Hazel brush across the fullest length of the lake ... there pollen and sun strung steaming ribbons dance together in matte and highlight islands of paradox play ... the red willows have begun to leaf seeming underwater coral ... bluegill and sunfish to flirt about preparing for the coming June rituals ... the curling willow feeding new and tender branches for the swallows to lite upon ... assured safety before stamping the mud bank with their thirst or mouthfuls of nest mending cement ... a blue heron's approach from the north east causes the girl pup to resound a warning on my behalf ... the flying fossil pays her littleness no mind ... continuous in it's unspoken grace and ever silent gliding path above my head ... I marvel at the blessings of sights this given afternoon at Wren Haven ... where the songbirds keep times with the work of the ladder backs ... the wind makes love the every tree living or dead ... the sky seldom knows it is possible to be imperfect ... and loosing your way is a choice you allow others to make for you in moments of weakness ... taken by Her beauty ... yet still there is no sign of Mr. Pong today ... perhaps tomorrow he will show himself to the eyes of the Mother ...  

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, June 21, 2014

The Mathisen Corollary: Summer solstice, 2014

The Mathisen Corollary: Summer solstice, 2014: image: Summer solstice sunrise behind heel stone, Stonehenge (2005).  Andrew Dunn.  Wikimedia commons ( link )...


SUMMER SOLSTICE - Twice per year, the planet literally tilts on its axis, from one extreme to another. Winter solstice is the shortest day ...

Friday, June 13, 2014

Scent of Heaven

Photo Credit Carla Dunlap 
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

It was a Friday the Thirteenth, like today, to be exact when they laid her to rest. My cousin Mona making sure there were Iris in the coffin quilt, for the moon was as full and white as it is this very night. She is a good daughter of the Goddess after all and knows the ways of Selene and Pheobe alike. I had called the florists to inquire as to the availability of the delicate flora. Upon finding they had all been reserved, I was a bit sad. I wasn't going to be able to gift my Grandmother with the soul scent on which she would be carried to Heaven for this is what the magnificent Iris does. Their iridescent nose gay alone in all the beauteous mentions God gave to the flower, the Iris has this power to carry the soul to Heaven on it scent. I was  unable to attend her funeral for I lived so far away at the time. It seemed the least I could do for her. I should have known, as I would learn later, it had been my own family who had horded every available Iris in Butler County that week. They all would grace the coffin of Iva Mae to send her home once again to be with our Grandfather. He had gone on before her by forty some years. Perhaps, the most ironic and fitting coincidence was that a butterfly had taken her from us.

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Note: My Grandmother passed of a Butterfly Glioblastoma brain tumor. She was 91 years old and lived alone being active until 3 weeks before her death. She had a wonderful life really. 

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Lonely Warrior

Image from Kaleidoscope China

No one cannot seek peace more than the lonely warriors
 who sit at the greatest Earthly gates ever ready to defend them.
They are both the reason the gates are needed and the cause for the defense. 
For if they were to lay down their arms and open the gates ...
their battle would be brought to an end without triumphant struggle.
There are no winners in such struggle and there are no losers, 
only willing participants.
In a struggle to the death, the only challenge is a desire to overcome the need for such.
The question of what actions would be honored beyond those gates is another matter entirely. 
It is a matter for us all ... for we are all warriors in our own life.
© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved
I dreamed of pink negligees with black trim and you ... in your copper black skin ... holding me ... belly to belly by whisper's soft collection ... arms of positive glance gloving my shell blank balance ... as banyan vines of sweet cocoa weave across my back ... I had been missing you for far too long ...  

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Per Chance

Photo and Art Credit: Carla Dunlap © 2014 All Rights Reserved

Fill my dreams with the tales you will sing to me ... you in your deep plum robes before the tall open windows where the night breezes of Arabian air blow the violet sheers on shadow sands of magic carpet rides ... I stand before you, washed and willing ... palms up, in yellow dress and veils ... eyes closed, heart open the ancient voices speaking through you dangling from my fingertips as tendrils we wove from forbidden~ness ... fill me ... my heart is stained with a warmth only the removal of sin could press as candle wax seals upon obedience ... eyes falling to eyes, ears begging for a moment more, smiles sent winged from angel's gardens, and laughter ... Oh the sweet simpleness of laughter being the gift it is ... when centuries lie between ... how you see reality and I know my illusions to be formed ... of sandalwood smoke and cardamom biscuits ... summer tea pressed from violet flowers gathered at nightfall ... and ... your ability to turn me away ... if need be ... without ever having touched your lips to mine beneath the weeping Moon's white light ... 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Spent Blossoms

I crush your violet~red petals, the yellow, and the blue ... slow streams of yesterday's juicy rain residing in their hues ... gathering themselves together as all wishes will to water ... the lesser being taken over by the cardinal color's merriment ... sunshine and sky yielding to majesty ... I did trail with your pigmented joy, running down my hand from the tributaries my fingers made ... marking now my battle scars as islands in the smooth summer land of frail taunt flesh ... veins raised at the ready and vigilant ...  this purple ink staining the finest  map in my wrinkled edges and knuckle ponds of closed fist fusion ... sinew telling tapestries elbow bound ... an open palm print plant for the Indian fortune teller and star map magician on the corner ... left parchment pressed clues to pale onion skins addressing ... such Vedic key turns in my locked time tomb... I am never quite sure I have the dignity to receive with proper honors. 

© 2014 C.D.D. All Rights Reserved

"Love is the only reality and it is not a mere sentiment. It is the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation" 
Rabindranath Tagore 

Flowers of Peace by Philopoiet Lina Ru

This is a beautiful and heartfelt poem offered by the extra ~ordinary writer Lina Ru
Please visit her site and support her work it is vital.