Dust

what of dust, of fortune telling,
of lightning coming too soon?
what will I become?, I wondered,
whispering to the moon

she told me I already know,
I know from where I came;
the rest is right in front of me,
try dusting off my name

-image found on Pinterest; shared as part of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt, dust

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Hollow

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they say the pines a’whisper,
a rustling lullaby song,
as the breeze plucks at treetops,
and cool nights grow dark and long

but their sound does not lull, no,
it sings harshly of a ‘bye,
disappearing in shadow,
and cruel whispering of lies

there’s no bogeyman hiding,
in the darkest nooks of night,
it’s absence that’s a’haunting,
hollow howls in the moonlight

-image found via rebloggy.com, revised older poem

Grace, a Quadrille

I don’t know if I can go on;
your words haunt me,
a constant murmer,
ringing in my ears

I miss you
the world has dulled,
and everything has gone gray

I just keep thinking –
true strength paints itself
in the colors of grace

-created in response to the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge #201, as well as the dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille Challenge, Murmur; image by Kyle Thompson

Weary Bones, a Quadrille 

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 the slap-flapping of valves
   working overtime,
     ‘cuz they’re leaking

I feel the slowing tempo
 of waves receding,
   the acquiescence
     of my spirit weeping

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 but I can’t give in –

my soul’s still seeking

-image via Tumblr, source unknown; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille prompt

Snow, a Quadrille 

once, her world sagged 
under the weight of the storm 

today, the storm is finally receding;
rain’s long, wet fingers caress,
hope falling in chilly droplets,
cleansing in goosefleshed trails 

there is something peaceful about her,
as if snow has settled inside her soul

-image via Pixabay; created and shared as part of dVerse’s Quadrille Monday

White Noise

beside me races the brawny river,
Mother Earth’s lifeline cascading from snowy peaks and forcing its winding path
down, down, down,
it’s miracle reaching through the circle of all living things

rippling and licking at the pure mountain air,
it opens and closes its sunlit doors
as it folds and rolls over itself,
kneading and knotting the collective thread of the life it feeds, 
past, present, and future into one connectedness,
while projecting its time-ridiculing ROAR

I feel in my bones,
the reverberation of its irony –

fast, fast, fast,
it flows,
it’s commanding voice reminding me to
slow, slow, slow,
to listen

for we all end up back where we began
if we only
follow, follow, follow

our spirits are ROARING,
the lifelines feeding our souls, 
forging our winding paths,
speaking to us with powerfully pure voices,
ones which are not ever meant to become 
white noise

-image is mine; poem dedicated to my mountain friend; shared as part of dVerse’s open link night

Gardening

the sweet glow of summer rests,
ripened to golden on cheeks,
as fastidious fingers tug and pull
that which is not meant
to take root

a curious breeze blows welcomed secrets,
as deliciously sore muscles
and hard-earned sweat
unearth truths once hidden
beneath the now upturned
soil and rocks

anxious leaves rustle a whispered concerto
in the tree tops,
as she gathers herself in handfuls,
piece by organically grown piece,
leaving behind for fertilizer
that which is no longer useful
above ground

and when the work for today is done,
she rests,
under the blue light of the August moon,
ready for the change a’comin’

-image credit Pinterest; shared as part of dVerse Poets Open Link Night; also shared as part of Mindlovemisery’s tale weaver