Sunday, March 31, 2013

the shepherd calls



the wandering lost
could see the pit,
peaks of the moon-unreachable,
written into flowers, with drooping petals 
soaked but unable to drink,
 
the wandering lost
could hear the calls.
they became emotions shaken loose behind the locks
written into stones,
herded by the shepherds staff.

fenced in fields of safety.
boundaries to comfort, food to feed,
safety in stillness. 
wanting no longer. filled the lost.
after the rising
no more grasping to be held.
Released to embracing.





The words for this weeks wordle are:  peak, powders, lost, calls, locks, pit,moon, staff, stone, after, written, petals 











Sunday, March 24, 2013

Waiting



Settled into clay and sand.
Fallen and forgotten.
Across four hundred years of yesterdays.
Stirred and wound into the unmoving firmness.
Now boldly hushing leaves,
Stirred without hurry.
A jar filled with lavender husks,
Sweetness disguised in the longing.

Even the mighty oak tree disguises itself as an acorn for awhile. 
This is my country of waiting.




this weeks words over at Brenda's are:disguised, forgotten, country, hurry, tree, wound,
mind, sand, stirred, jar, across, yesterday

Sunday, March 17, 2013

against the curve



Above the door of the train,unseen destinations 

mapped out like sturdy veins under graffiti tattoos.
Emotionless conductor, the master of balance,
utters the names of places blurring into focus.
His words, for a moment firmly march,
then stretch out in futility -falling between- metal upon metal.
Against the curve, straining, the words jiggle free
become faint and vanish.    
Like change that rolls out of sight under boots and heels.
Settling hidden, in a greasy dark corner.




The 100th Sunday Whirl- Congratulations Brenda! The words this week are:                     master, street, change, share, train, die, calls, stretch, march, words, places, create, faint

Sunday, March 10, 2013

March



March
Dispatching in sprees;
a temper tantrum of  snow squalls.



The visitor awakes, to March
dispatching in sprees
a temper tantrum of snow squalls.

Fearsome outsider. Torn from comfort.
Immersed in a unbending body of faded paint,
with mute and colorless skies.

A quota of snow,
lingering in the reserves of winter
falls outside the window.

Reluctantly, I add my part.
This heart is frightened.
These written words
too intimate to share.
The offering of brightness
Suffocates in the cold and airless room.
I reach to steady my heart-  
In the driveway,
outside the window
my Sunday escape waits.
Road salt covers the black paint.

Sunday Wordle #99- March 10, 2013 words:
paint, use, sprees, outsider, away, fearsome, part,reserves, body, intimate, written, window

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Echoes Of Laura's Observation

Inspired by Laura Hegfield's Post Surround Sound
 

Echoes of Laura's Observation 

by Teri H Hoover

Noticing
my breath on the back of my throat. 

Expanding
the bay window vibrates
with the song of the heat pump.
Feeling 

warm air from the heating vent,under the table
Catching
a piece of my hair and tickling my cheek.
Hearing

the recliner squeak in the other room 
as my dog gets more comfortable.
Noticing
something a friend said.




Sunday, March 03, 2013

awaiting the answer


not what anyone deserves. 

within the first moment of unbalance,
the snare of gasps,
neglects the breath.
nearly blue, she will ride the wings 
of others prayers.
a dust trail of broken green chords,
heaven slaps with blessed instant grace- unfelt.
a sharp inhale skids along the surface
startling 
then 
still







A first wordle since, gasp, November.  The Sunday Whirl- The words: blue, blessed, deserves, first, gasps, instant,
slap, snare, dust, unbalance, ride, wings

Saturday, March 02, 2013

Later

Later by Teri H Hoover
(for my nephew who just found  his wallet, checkbook and father this week..He found his father on facebook.) 



later 
Nearly 20 years
between his wallet and his check book
He found his father


He found his father 
between his wallet and his check book
Nearly twenty years 
later


a hole is left by what is lost 
sometimes
finding is more empty 

finding is more empty
sometimes
a hole is left by what is lost 


who you are will not unfray
once that day comes
breathe

breathe 
once that day comes
who you are will not unfray



 
still the echoes

still the echoes