Nursery Fall
Nursery Tree I
Nursery Winter
Nursery Tree II
Nursery Spring
Nursery Summer
Wood Shed Flower Mural
Nursery Fairies
Elemental
Here I am,
with eyes beholding,
a world unfolding.
Each breath
feeds the breadth
of my elaborate constructions
of what I have
and what I am making.
My vision sculpts the soft curves of something-ness
and the hard angles of nothingness.
In the focus on my perception,
each tangle of ideas,
each wash of new emotion,
structures my new devotion,
to the world of this moment.
My being,
births a world,
and my becoming,
keeps it moving.
Here I am,
with eyes beholding,
a world unfolding.
Each breath
feeds the breadth
of my elaborate constructions
of what I have
and what I am making.
My vision sculpts the soft curves of something-ness
and the hard angles of nothingness.
In the focus on my perception,
each tangle of ideas,
each wash of new emotion,
structures my new devotion,
to the world of this moment.
My being,
births a world,
and my becoming,
keeps it moving.
Forsythia Study
Pathway
I am the sacred soil of my family.
I await the will of heaven.
I surrender my hunger,
to the nourishment of the sun,
whose light feeds longer days.
I will feed myself with patience;
hold my arms and my heart open;
and breathe each breath just,
one
at
a
time.
I know what I want,
but,
I can not will it alone.
I need the will of love joined.
I need the blessing of new life
to my open, waiting womb.
Bless me and anoint me, mother.
For I am your daughter,
whose daughter's daughter will
dance to your song.
I am the sacred soil of my family.
I await the will of heaven.
I surrender my hunger,
to the nourishment of the sun,
whose light feeds longer days.
I will feed myself with patience;
hold my arms and my heart open;
and breathe each breath just,
one
at
a
time.
I know what I want,
but,
I can not will it alone.
I need the will of love joined.
I need the blessing of new life
to my open, waiting womb.
Bless me and anoint me, mother.
For I am your daughter,
whose daughter's daughter will
dance to your song.
God's Wife Wating
I am here for you,
at your disposal,
in your mind and in my mind,
I am here,
just waiting.
That's what I am here for, right?
I should just want to be wanted.
I will wait for you to want me.
I will wait for you to marry me.
I will wait for you to decide when you are ready.
I am ready,
but I have to wait.
I am kept warm for when the time is right,
for you,
but what about my time?
What about my wanting?
I desire something too
and it is deep in these embers,
deep in the fire that has been burning slowly,
this whole time.
Its brightness is reaching out from my root.
I don't know where this fire will go,
nevertheless, I will eventually go from this spot
and stride towards what I want,
for once,
instead of waiting.
I am here for you,
at your disposal,
in your mind and in my mind,
I am here,
just waiting.
That's what I am here for, right?
I should just want to be wanted.
I will wait for you to want me.
I will wait for you to marry me.
I will wait for you to decide when you are ready.
I am ready,
but I have to wait.
I am kept warm for when the time is right,
for you,
but what about my time?
What about my wanting?
I desire something too
and it is deep in these embers,
deep in the fire that has been burning slowly,
this whole time.
Its brightness is reaching out from my root.
I don't know where this fire will go,
nevertheless, I will eventually go from this spot
and stride towards what I want,
for once,
instead of waiting.
Passion Puddle
Sloping grasses,
are crawling slowly,
to the water's edge.
Waiting water,
for the sun to give it reflection,
as it tickles and pickles the skin.
Potential stillness in dancers,
crackling through the stretch marks of barks.
Meditation of thieves in the shadows,
with itchy feathers,
flapping correction.
I feel,
the wine of the grass roots dip into my fingers,
I hear,
the summons of hecklers bounce off of blue ceiling.
Grass, softer than my skin,
wind, sweeter than my perfume,
lines, unapproachable by my hand,
Songs, misinterpreted by my voice.
Body of my spirit,
meddling or of the melody,
a stain, weaved into fabrics,
of rhythm and radiation,
all balanced,
on the whisper of a fool.
A dog falls into the water.
Sloping grasses,
are crawling slowly,
to the water's edge.
Waiting water,
for the sun to give it reflection,
as it tickles and pickles the skin.
Potential stillness in dancers,
crackling through the stretch marks of barks.
Meditation of thieves in the shadows,
with itchy feathers,
flapping correction.
I feel,
the wine of the grass roots dip into my fingers,
I hear,
the summons of hecklers bounce off of blue ceiling.
Grass, softer than my skin,
wind, sweeter than my perfume,
lines, unapproachable by my hand,
Songs, misinterpreted by my voice.
Body of my spirit,
meddling or of the melody,
a stain, weaved into fabrics,
of rhythm and radiation,
all balanced,
on the whisper of a fool.
A dog falls into the water.
Waterfall I