“Awake, the crickets are out
why do you hide?
Your music is ready for playing
why do you hide?
Behind dark hair, a humming voice is heard
Awake and come out
for the dove coos in the early hours of the morning
with the dawning of the summer sun
why do you hide?”
“We sat in the wet grass
we watched the clouds roll in.
All to see your glory,
to see you.
I lay in the grass and rain,
All to feel your thunderous laughter,
To hear you.
And you came out,
and roared within the sound of the wind,
you wept with the rain,
and laughed with the thunder.
All so we could see you,
to feel you,
to be with you,
“So I called you lover,
I called you my all.
But I shut you out,
and I left you standing in Your garden,
I found my own way out.
So I left you lover,
I left you friend.
Yet still you waited in the garden.
How I was alone,
and I watched the clouds run down the mountain slopes,
covering trees and rock.
Though I left you in the garden,
You called me back through the thunder in the clouds,
I heard your fury,
I heard your love.”
“He took me time-travelling,
he took me far out to sea,
he showed me lands that I would never have dared to walk on,
and now he’s left me out to bleed.
Salt filled my wounds,
and sun kissed the skin that he’s forgotten.
Nonetheless, there are marks left where I let him grow.
Like the avo-seed,
sitting too long in his waters,
I let him split through me,
and sprout his roots.
Now he is his own kind of tree.”
“Stones and pebbles tumble down the face of a great mountain;
and meanwhile they slip and toss along the belly of the ocean;
little shards within a great body.
Rolling around on their faces,
smoothing and breaking their shapes.
Pebbles turn into sand,
and someday blowing away,
into returning to the sea,
or filling the clouds,
turning into stars whom disappear into the bright,
The sand tumbles,
and the dust flies,
forever it continues into a unending swell of infinity.
Dust is the pebble’s final form,
turning into an even greater body of matter than is first faced.”
“The stars are seeds,
planted by a hand whom called out a spirit,
and that spirit became light.
The stars are seeds in a giant pod,
a universal forest of churning,
dancing chemicals and explosions.
These seeds burst out flowers of light.
These seeds are songs,
lullaby’s in the night.”
“Where doth your mind wonder?
Does your heart float with as careless a weight as your mind does?
You bird, your feathers change with the light;
Blue, grey, black, turquoise.
Your colors change with the time.
Seconds turn to hours in the cold hours of the early morning.
Candles in lanterns flicker,
Just as stars dance in the clouded sky outside,
Covering themselves like your salt glazed eyes.
Wet pillow cases,
Yellow threaded blankets,
These are your things of the early morning hours.
Where has your heart flown to – oh bird that I knew?
And with which planet has your mind started spinning around the Milky Way?
Will we ever see another day’s dawn together?
Or have our paths turned down different valleys;
Always to share the same mountain,
But never a single road?
Oh bird that I know,
Your coos and early morning song are missed in my ears,
Dear feathered friend,
Your branch has broken,
And your wings tired of flying.
Come back to my nest,
And sing with me. ”
“Oh dreams you swallow my soul,
My eyes drown in the experience,
My heart lives in the understanding of the story.
Visions you take hold of my mind,
Questions answered and not.
Visions of warning,
How fearful I am before they come true.
Dreams awaking me shaking and in sweat.
Dreams where comforting darkness would be more welcome.
Visions I fear you.
Visions I want to know more.
But I will not go prowling in the crevices of my mind.
For dreams float atop my mind and the visions hug the backs of my eyes.
Blinded by foresight.
Dreams and visions,
Your reality is unreal.
Dreams and visions,
You prick my floating soul.
Oh hallucinations stay at bay in my mind.”
“I once had a dream, and in the dream I talked to my heart.
I asked my heart, “what do you want?”
But there was just a quiet stillness that replied.
So I asked my heart again, in a quiet voice, “what do you want heart?”
I saw from the darkness inside myself the two eyes belonging to my heart.
They looked up at my own eyes, past my eyes, up towards the grey clouds passing up overhead in the cool sky.
My heart’s eyes then returned to mine, took two slow blinks, as a round hot tear slid from my heart’s eyes.
The tear fell from my heart, and splashed into the dark void of myself where it made a puddle.
The puddle became a mirror, and reflected the sky, and my own eyes.
I looked at myself, at the void, at the clouds, and then back at my heart.
Letting out a small scared breath, my heart replied, “you want to be good, and to have good. To love, and be loved.”
I heard a small splash, and the mirrored puddle reflected my own tears whom where falling.
And then I heard it, like a little child, a sound coming from the belly of a little child…laughter.
The puddle grew, and reflected more and more sky, and I saw it was me whom was laughing.
This sound I had buried and lost under the cloud of darkness and fear began to swallow the void.
And I saw my heart’s eyes turn to crescent moons as they smiled back at me.
There was no-more void, no puddle, no child, and no sound.
It was all in one place, within myself.
And I felt my heart beat slow and steady, as I sighed a sigh of sleep.
For there were no nightmares, and no cold hours.
Just blinking stars in the swirling space of gold and blue dust.”
“My grandmother’s house has a lot of history.
Years of childhood memories from my father’s day as well as my own are buried deep within the white damp walls as the ghosts of friendly games hide in the passage and it’s many paintings.
People’s past footprints are left embedded in the Persian carpets, and their voices reflected off the many gold-rimmed mirrors.
The river below the one side of the house is the flowing pull of history, all the way down to the beach where old people walk along the ever changing white sandy shoreline.
The wind that whips around the house and up the giant pine tree in the garden carries the calls of all the children whom have lived and passed through my grandfather’s garden.
Their laughter sits, vibrating in all the colorful flower-heads.
My grandparent’s house is a home that calls the generations, like the seagulls who fly over the rooftop, and perch in the trees.
The home by the river mouth. ”
– Kate, one of the Granddaughters.