I am greeting September with a quiet poem for my readers. The bustle of summer is now past. Here in Colorado our mornings begin with chilled autumn like temperatures. Spots of orange are appearing on the scrub oak and the aspens are tinged with golden on their tips of their leaves. So now make a cup of vanilla almond tea, settle in and read from the Journey On Collection Listening for My Name. I thank you for reading my words.
Listening for My Name
You returned with mysteries forgiven
a gentle cover of darkness surrounded
me with the wonder of anticipation.
You became yourself once more
someone long forgotten, this time promising
never to be lessened by fear again.
Inner stirrings beckoned for you
beneath my hidden need.
And then, you began to give
while I began to take with delicious breath.
Beyond the window pane the rains fell,
the thunder moved in from far off distances.
You gathered me in like fog clinging to a river,
refreshing sleep whispered this gift
as moonlight drifted through brushed away clouds.
In the quiet days and nights of winter to come,
I will turn to you,
and listen for my name.
Le petit lapin espiègle à la veste bleue vous a toujours séduit par ses facéties et vous souhaitez en savoir plus sur celle qui lui a donné vie, ce blog vous ouvre la porte du monde fascinant de Beatrix Potter
A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sailaway from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ~ Mark Twain
The poetry of ineptitude.
Blurring the lines between poetry and prose
by Lize Bard
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