#Soar #writephoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Soar

I dreamt of the voice shuttered

tight against the storm. Words

held behind the clouded window, urgent

We are here!

Blue feathers lined in black resting

in sunlit trees. Impossibly large

No, they cannot be mine

I doubted the impossible

stroking the membrane of the quill

so many gathered stories filling

the space beneath, calling

through the echo of time

wondering why the throat

is like a storm cloud waiting to break

open to the sun. Wondering why

space needs to be confined and the bird

of truth lies in wait

for permission to soar

 

Once again, I had a feeling that Sue’s photo would echo my dreams. For Sue’s #writephoto writing prompt,#Soar.

“First Woman”: A Solstice Dream #poetry #poems #dreampoetry #solsticepoem

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Photo Credit: Pixabay

First Woman

You may call her Eve

but I knew her as Melissa

The first woman born of her clay

write her story, they whispered

and so I do, following the trace

of her line. The curve of the body

born supine to face the sun

my eyes, watching the slow unwrap

of the goddess. A womb like a hive

my mind, pulled toward the drones

anxious in the hurry to follow a crowd

to nowhere. I turn back

relearning the slow unfolding

of woman. The mother skin lifting

its mold. I watch her smooth the lines

so slowly I am pained by the thought

that we will be left behind. But she

cares not of the train rushing

to the forgetting land. Her fingers

the mystery I need to remember

how carefully she births self

without division and smooths the folds

until lines become curves

until there is no beginning

and no ending

she just is.

The Pope & His Son #poetry #dreams #rebirth #italy #pope

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Photo Credit: <a href="http://Image by enriquelopezgarre from Pixabay” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>Pixabay

The Pope & His Son

I dreamt of the pope and his son

nonsensical except with eyes closed

Italy, untamed and free. A sea on the rise

reclaiming what was always hers. She

whipped blue waves to release structure

mighty fortresses vanishing in one breath

as the pope and his son washed

naked in her womb

and I, above the horizon

watching in awe this wild fresco

of rebirth

 

Romany #dreams #poetry #pastlives

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Self portrait dated 11/1/78. Age 5

Romany

I went to Romany in a dream to banish ghosts

“Don’t you remember,” It told my mother

“We’ve been here before.” She thought

the road pointed one way. I, the other

Time erased memory and blurred definition

as a great bear loomed

in a land turned dark and filled

with ghosts. Confusion sought the beauty

of colors vividly defined

it ran through nightmare

slipping to escape fear, until I climbed

the beloved stones above darkness

and felt the joy of the gypsy

girl return

 

 

Arch #writephoto prompt

 

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

 

I dreamt of holding white dresses

like a wedding

because we all seek to be adorned with beauty

don’t we?

A brown cake rippled

in frosted garlands by a child’s

hand guided with a confidence

so easily lost to age

My feet run the hallway of records

life’s footsteps echoing off walls

which seem so solid to the mind

The light beyond the tunnel almost

an illusion

when matter enfolds the path

My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt challenge. If you would like to participate, please click here

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