Voices of Promise

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Silent the forest
holds ten thousand tongues
Souls reach for a voice
wait for a breath

With the lovers embrace
to come and enter
their story

What cries will be heard
songs to be sung
moments and measures
in the sharps and the flats

Melodies sewn into horizons
and snowfalls hushed
without sound

The nightfall has settled
as dew in the morning
The calling of doves
will remain

A sacred reminder
of promise to be
As cottonwood drifts
on the wind

Image: http://austine.com/shop/available-work/cottonwood-tree/

between the cracks


street signs reflecting
ask questions between
life lives in moments
of eye sight and dreams

pause for a passing
light guides the way
there for the taking
love comes our way

not knowing the reason
what destiny seems
to answer our questions
through cracks in between

the days of our lives
are filling the air
with measures of truth
in smiles we will share

Image: http://wonderopolis.org/wonder/why-do-sidewalks-have-lines/

I Have Dreamed by Mary Oliver

apple tree
I have dreamed
of accomplishment.
I have fed
I have traded
nights of sleep
for a length of work.
Lo, and I have discovered
how soft bloom
turns to green fruit
which turns to sweet fruit.
Lo, and I have discovered
all winds blow cold
at last,
and the leaves,
so pretty, so many,
in the great, black
packet of time,
in the great, black
packet of ambition,
and the ripeness
of the apple
is its downfall.

……Mary Oliver

The Invitation by Oriah

The Invitation by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved

Visit Oriah at – http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/


Mike HailwoodInvolved in the rush of the silence of wind
and a touch with all senses involved
So quick, so fleet, no beast can compare
As the heartbeat quickens against the tide
While the laughter rings cheerfully inside
Till the mind thinks the hands
Have lost all sense
… and a break
… and leveling
… in flight

I wrote this not long after high school – sometime in the early 1970’s. I rode a bike back then that came to be known as The Widowmaker. From the many close calls I had I understand why, and I also know why today I believe in guardian Angels
The picture is of the great Mike Hailwood riding a 250CC Honda Grand Prix bike heeled over and drifting at well over 100 mph …

Image: http://vroum52.com/pilotesdelegendes.html

House of the rising sun

stonehenge summer solstice sunrise

What we seek
in days gone by
are words
of ways and means
This brief moment
stands at once
within our nights
and dreams

Dew drops glisten
as days will rise
from underneath
the sun
Foot falls heard
across a plain
Where life
has learned
to run

Far from where
the thought
took form
within a sacred
Unfolds its life
as breath
and scent
come into love’s
new season

Image: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2345638/Summer-Solstice-2013-Revellers-rise-dawn-celebrate-drumming-dancing.html/

summer passing


it seems
a little sad
to grow
into wanting
feelings of missing
the colors of days
shared with
flowers blooming
honeysuckle scent
and summer afternoons

lazy times tanning
not caring
of the world
its hardness
its acres and acres
of diamonds
just sandy beaches
washing away
our shadows
in the sun

wide brimmed hats
and day dreams
seabirds calling
sandpipers swift
on their feet
passing the sounds
lost in the wash
lines and waves
in the sand

sea grass
and seaweeds
tide lines
and sand castles
seashells collected
all are ways
the child

nearer the water
the land and sky
waiting as ever
for mothers
and fathers
to show them
the way

Image: http://fineartamerica.com/featured/1-sand-castles-corey-ford.html

the loom of life

Native American Weaver

as children we’re taught to pledge
to do the things we’re told
because, of course, it’s good for us
despite the way it hurt

we went to school and learned
the contradictions to the golden rule
on the playground and in the gym
dodging balls and crowds of bullies

the lesson of abuse was to take the hurt
it made you a man, or a woman, and you grew
angry that life wasn’t easy, wasn’t always fair
and always told it was good for you

this was the way, every day, year in, year out
until you believed and followed the rules
maybe got drafted to serve and die for a flag
a promise of freedom you never understood

some were survivors, came home to find
the lie in believe and rarity of truth
innocence is born and then slowly undone
by the loom and the weaver in this fabric of life

Ebony waking


streams of rising suns begin
where dew drops glisten still
an empty cup of waiting stone
with ebony and clouds to fill

the dreamers empty head returns
and sipping learns the light of day
has waited at the garden gate
for travelers to pass this way

into the streets we pave with gold
the sacrifice of native sons
their blood the dew upon the grass
drained to where the river runs

rushing ever out to sea
the greatest of them all
lies the lowest to receive
all creatures great and small

Image: http://store.soy.com/Breakfast-in-Bed-Blend-50-Soy-50-coffee-Single_p_178.html

The Searchers


What wasteland waits the seeker
Or wilderness abides in time
Its shadows long upon the land
light through darkness come to find

A morning fog obscures the view
though rising sun will warm the day
and render all there lost below
to sparkling waves across the bay

Dreams awake are scattered there
as puzzle pieces sorted through
The eye seems lost while wondering
of places fair the heart once knew

When suddenly the sound of thunder
rolling far from lofty height
Reminds the traveler of home
and hearths that burn into the night

Where was the place where love became
the sacred breath of life concealed
Into the sand and stone of time
the face of Isis there unveiled

Image: http://worldmysteries.tv/2012/04/03/nazca-lines/