(It’s Good)
between poems
placid moments
a weightlessness
feathers the mind
words become
unimportant
no turn of a phrase
begs attention
no theme
demands focus
it’s good
just the breathing
From my book Onionskin
(It’s Good)
between poems
placid moments
a weightlessness
feathers the mind
words become
unimportant
no turn of a phrase
begs attention
no theme
demands focus
it’s good
just the breathing
From my book Onionskin
shimmering landscape
white midnight
entices the notice
of sleepless old bones
philosophical questions
retreat the late light
better left to the
candlelit labor of shadows
uncommon bright moments
too special to darken
with deepthink solemnity
weightlessness wanting
no dragging of dreams
don the snowshoes
make stride through that
small easy world
spanning none but the
intimate acres of heart
with a mind free of thought
left to regulate breathing
the breath of the moon
break the fast
of a serenade night
set the tile-laid table
al fresco beneath
an Italian made sun
seaside terrace
of soft ancient stone
Roman columns and urns
dressed in blossoms
distinct with a tincture
resplending the morning
of Mediterraneum
such is a day
worth remembering
rich with tranquility
deaf to the din
of the rest of the world
a day in a place
of a time when
two lovers may savor
a sensory rhapsody
heartbeats in phase with
the lilt of cool waves
rolling home
(It’s Good)
between poems
placid moments
a weightlessness
feathers the mind
words become
unimportant
no turn of a phrase
begs attention
no theme
demands focus
it’s good
just the breathing
secluded amid old growth forest
tucked in among histories gallant
with nobly achieved revolution
long since come to peace and
prosperity settled by ruminant
creatures who carry no war in the
velvet reserve of their memories
here has retirement planted its
final phase roots meant to grow
sweet serenity quiet tranquility
giving the gift of escape from a
life long with labor in jungles of
concrete and commerce a time
and a place to regenerate joy
the natural progression of time
is to lay expectations asunder
ten years in exquisite communion
with nature have proved more and
less than foreseen such is life
ever strewn with surprise each new
day cast with traits of adventure
From my book Onionskin
a quiet cathedral
walk in worship
along serene
snow-padded paths
among reverent
supplicant pines
breathe of rich
earthen incense
share gentle prayer
with its peaceable
creatures the wolf
and the moose
in their genuflect
moments raise
eyes to esteem
a cerulean sky
through the lean
latticed fingers
of white birch and
sycamore hear of
soft whispering
psalms on the
baldachin breeze
as it ruffles the
canopy cloth this
is heaven on earth
to be sure and
whatever one’s faith
it can’t fail to
instill veneration
From my book Onionskin
snow peaks the barn
owls doze in its loft
latches glisten with rime
quiet drifts among fenceposts
rural architectonics of winter
put moose and red fox
at their ease
vernacular serenity
peaceful state of mind
free from want and from fear
tastes sweet on the tongue
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
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
rejuvenatement - not retirement