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Posts Tagged ‘PostADay2011’

mess

 

“mess”

We opened presents Christmas Eve, so here is a mess of media stuff and packing boxes…this is the way this corner usually looks; DH is notoriously messy and this is his stuff, mostly.  I call it “bunny piles”.

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treadmill

running frantic

arms flailing

eyes fixed on the mounting to-do list

deadlines blurring by

feet fumbling in dismay toward

a rapidly approaching hazy future

until i plop down once

feet jerked out

and i land

surprised

in the present

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solo

flying notes cascade

pool in glistening streams

rivulets and

cataracts from quick-certain fingers

dancing

sparkling

scintillate showering

dusting the motionless orchestra

with floating gold

frozen expectant humming

trills and torrents

shimmering flashing rills

flowing over listening grey stone

blushes

stirs

raising living bows

poised and dives

joyously

headlong over the edge

into the final cadence and

leap

of a curling

breaking

wave of song

.

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take this iron prophet

go to the brook

Cherith

a hot-forged knife cutting out impurities

as sharp wings etch air

coal-dark

carrying bread

and the brook Cherith cuts

quenches

until time for the refiner’s fire

Zarephath

the place of widow’s faith in

ever-renewing bread

and prophet’s pleading for resurrection

till purged

tempered

faith honed to razor-edge

to cleave hearts to worship

the fiery prophet

climbs Mount Carmel and

calls down God’s

fire

.

(1 Kings 17:2-24, 18:36-38)

Cherith means ‘cutting’, and Zarephath means ‘refiner’s forge’.

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late

with a shake of inexpert wings

he thrusts

dark neck rising

from water to slickness

gingerly testing an unfamiliar surface

one wary step

another

webs digging in

caution personified

as he realizes

thin ice is the signal to

fly

now

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traveling

gone

all gone

red stars of maple

supple trails of willow

feathery tops of white grass

all gone

flown away with the

southering geese

into the pink-edged wings

of late clouds

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when November comes

i look for stark beauty

sere golden reeds

rippling to the reflected blue edge

of an overcast sky

a single scarlet leaf

caught

in an empty branch

the ancient high calls

of a v-wedge of dark birds

escaping the frost

naked trees spiked on a

burning sunset

and the faint silver music

of a lonely cold

star

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