Three short writings

I would stay in love with you. Would you love to be with me
I'd slip into the summers day with you down the stream of blue

A nestled bark, a bending oak, the steam is all I see
rising to meet us as we glide in the sunshine of our dreams

Say you will be my love, will the waters wrestle in our way
I spin my boat around the rock

The crystal tides are long since passed
was morning when they came.

like a tide I spied and lost was my walk you.

chorus

dont be saddened by my leaving
dont be sorry that I go
the song we sang was sweet like rain on the top of my feet

remember the moon and the lullaby I sang
I remember your lips coming to greet me in the gentle rain

the song we made was sweet, soft like the falling leaves
beneath them I paddled while you were asleep

the water washes over the grain and still I am here in this memory

Many times I will remember you when the water is against my shutters
see how long the droplets stay before falling, like soft glances

I ran to the king's servant and begged an audience; after much waiting I gained entry to the throne room. When I crossed the hall I fell at the feet of the one on the throne, humiliated to realize I had nothing to say.

The king looked down with a smile saying, "you have nothing to say do you?" I was speechless.

There are many like you you have more value than you know. sit and be at peace within yourself
for in doing so, you bring peace to what is around you.

It is necessary for you to be here, for it is where you are. You can only observe there and in doing so become and observer here also.

The time for observations has passed although observation itself never ceases; go and do being satisfied that you are doing.

2nd Writing

My body thinks I neglect the present, for I do not reside here where I am. So I say now that we are but blinking beggars grateful for our sight; like twirling talkers satisfied with our tongues.

The ink, like an octopuses' ninth arm, gestures far afield to be absorbed by eyes and not ears. To follow this thought further, the hand is to the eyes as the mouth is to the ears.

The written word is polite and inviting whereas the spoken word compels the listener.

Writing 3

I felt the pen within my fingers as I began to write. I grip it lightly. It is no wonder the words flow in ink like our own actions, immutable on the fabric of time. The typed word is so different, so freely altered, so correctable. Yet once sent, both word styles gain permanence; as much so as the spoken word.

What will be written from a blank space. A line of thought of terse verse so long I lay like a viper's brood waiting out the suns slipping behind our own planet. Feel that it is the feeling of a planet cold and lonely in space. A place so immense, austere is the first word to mind. It is not so much to picture the planet's smallness, it is to feel the emptiness of space and this planet in it.

Loosely is a vague connection between what is held and what is holding. To hold loosely may be the correct approach but to hold too loosely is too far.

I hold my thoughts loosely and grasp my wits tightly. My sounding of thoughts do not echo, so I hold loosely to them as they pass. The arc of holding loosely is the power to have proper control. You grip the reins too tight to be effective. Your power is wasted by holding the reins rather than by using them. Instead, hold the reins loosely yet effectively that you may be confident of their effect. In this way you hold the power of the reins by holding the reins. Such is the way of many things.

1st writing

tarry not before the toilers
for they cause one's step to stray plunging
headlong to the tar that parches out my clay
with misty eyes I seek the one whose mercy is sure

My clear brows know it is not often I feel cured
An authority I was but only to myself and robed thus I robbed my potential.
Now is where I am here is also
Now is when I can hear is what I strive to do

Heavenly Father create in me apure heart that I might walk humbly before you. This is truly my prayer. Cause me to concentrate on my working tasks and focus me towards the routines that will give life and help me support my son.

You are the Great Creator and I want to sit at your feet.

feel the breeze brazen in its intrusion
like the chilling freeze of winter it asks not before entry

Smell the invisible sustainer that carries what is both near and distant.
The skilled are animals especially our best friends
finding meaning in what we cannot know.



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