Tag: rose

Sharpening Stone (day 2326)

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Upon a knee
Our warrior was blasphemed
Rose in teeth
Cut down
And consecrated
Upside down
By a dagger
Ten inches long
Through the girth
Of his left rib
Icy reverie ensued
From the coldest of hands
From the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
Blood thickly rolled
Like dreadful winter freeze
All words lost
In the eyes of our warrior
Who at long last
Veil removed
Saw truth
Darkness in the heart
Ice in the touch
Of the North Sea Queen.

Upon a knee
A heart slowly broke
Glossed over
With ice
A deep cold
For within this
Intimate hearth
Exposed, revealed
A sharpening stone
Ancient and froze
And our warrior’s sadness
Frigid
Clasped
By the North Sea Queen.

North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers
North Sea Queen II by Doreen Broers (ig)

Broken Path (day 2224)

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When out walking amidst trees today
I found a broken path
That led me around a big ol’ fir
Three houndred years or more
I scrambled over wild roses
And a patch of red clover
To find myself face to face
With bark of an ancient race
Here I stood wondering about
All the years that have gone past
What have I touched
What have I called
Who have I known before
To which I instantly knew more
That deep inside my soul
The answer lay awaiting me
For not was I of anything
Held back was I to guilt
But for a speed at which I flew
That kept my needles dry
So each and every day I knew
I’d be challenged by the race
And my greatest test
Of each my time
Lay finding just one slow breath.

Dusk (day 2158)

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This is the spark that sets seed
A jubilant setting free
A sunset beyond every sea
With a new day the grain that grows.

And if each sign these clouds do point
Expose a pasture fit for rose
Should a foot that heals the earth
Lay thin dust that bitter burns?

Nay, each dusk a seat be found
To hold each glass, a little worn
A ritual many should be warmed
At last, sweet moon, a gray cocoon.

Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)

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When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.

I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.

When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.

So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.

Journals (day 1902)

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I want to prescribe my love to a book,
Hold it like dead leaves
Ready for to crumble.
I want my dreams to spill
Into a molten desert
My toes slowly roast in,
Pealing at the seams
As my typed heart scowers
Horizon lines flickering between
Icy reverence and painful reality
And papercuts
That read like smudged fingers
Of a well loved journal.

Journal by Ned Tobin

Return (day 1528)

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Return my mouth of suffering;
Return to a place where a brook lightly flows,
Where footsteps – delicately laid –
Digress with foggy mountain hillsides
Tangled deep amidst rose bushes,
Willow whips, cedars wide and pine needles fallen.
Return my mind to awake and aware,
Where fluttering wings present
Gusts of wind amidst tiny chatter from illustrious nutcrackers.
Return me to my home –
Nestled among wild things,
For ohana lives there.
Namaskar, Namaskar, Namaskar.