
Image From Wallpapers.com
swam under the ice
pushed whole lakes with my palms
now my fire has died
From my books Bohemian Scents and Riverthink
Image From Wallpapers.com
swam under the ice
pushed whole lakes with my palms
now my fire has died
From my books Bohemian Scents and Riverthink
“Icy Lake” by Janet James
cold hard edges of winter
recede from a slow nearing sun
ice diminishes
clarity ousts opaque finishes
surfaces find their reveal
living waters
at long last exhale
lakes and millponds
released from their
three moons of torpor
no longer incumbent
on holding their seasonal breath
come again now to quicken
in rippling submission
to mountain-sent winds
casting choppy reflections
in caricature of the sentient
clouds set to oversee
osprey and heron
return to their bars
frigid shadowy shallows
emergent with coldblooded
fish coming out of
their wintery lethargy
stirred by the hooting
and hollering voices ashore
lucky folks who a year ago
chose today’s date
in the age-old tradition of
ice-out day calendar lottery
Image from Richa Art Club
placid glimmerglass sheen
stretched canvas of forest and sky
but I can’t find my youth
in the diurnal scud of the clouds
flying faster and further
from halcyon days in the sun
cooled by frolicsome leaps
with my dog from the dock
diving into the depths of my future
now I sit here in invalid’s pose
on the bench that I built with
my pals sixty summers ago
propped and pained by the
memories clenched in my hands
with a flick of my least impaired
arthritic wrist I give sail to a
perfectly triple-skipped stone
breaking into a smile in excelsis
From my book Pieces of Wine
“Row Boat No. 3” by Delilah Smith
lake ice nearly gone
boats shiver in their moorage
heron bide their time
Photo by David Maslen
placid aperture
liquid lens focused skyward
fish swim through the clouds
(originally posted January 2014)
Lake Como Villa – Image From hdwallpapers.com
confluent crystal blue rivers
emerge from pristine
glades of pre-alpine heights
infilling deep tracks of a
glacial retreat that left time
the slow usher of ambient
Mediterranean climate
clear water the purest and
plainest of elements
placidly courses beyond
thirsty reach of the peasantry
pooling itself in elongated
sunlit patrician geography
cypress aristocrats
gathered in groves
overseeing the lake
that gave beckon to caesars
impressed the nobility
down through the centuries
castles and villas serenely
seducing celebrity
into their present day cantons
chic outposts of luxury
fixing the daydreams of
those held by circumstance
lesser with fortune
“Dark Magic Sky Reflected in the Lake” by Rock Bull
watching the lake watch the sky
still in youth of a trimester summer
these dim ancient eyes trying hard
to interpret the rippling of clouds
scudding gold in formations of flight
from an angry explosion of sunset
confessing their sins to these waters
unaware of my witness and eavesdrop
that causes my turn of attention to
all that I’ve done in my long day of life
I stand into the lake till it covers me
cleanses me washed with both water
and sky before time sends descent of its
deaf dumb and blind seal of darkness
Image from pinterest.com
swam under the ice
pushed whole lakes with my palms
now my fire has died
skyblue rippled
summer surface
clouds captured
like shimmering
photographs
five thousand
tranquil high
altitude acres
pristine gift of
glaciers whose
solemn retreat
made magnificent
work of their
passage enticing
the ancient
arrivals of hunters
of fishers the hardy
the stalwart untamed
tribes of man
clear deeply
chilled waters
teased lightly by
wingtips in glide
of the swift
great blue heron
by crisp jibe and
tack of sleek
cutters and sloops
under sail
these soft shores
crouch enshrined
by dense forest
green towering stands
of pine maple and ash
among elegant
granite erratics
inviting our pleasure
inducing our reverence
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...