The Elephant's Room

It's ten before midnight.
December's in twilight.

The cards face their falling

in an unfinished drawing

near the end of this year.

It's ten before midnight.
December's in twilight.

The book is recycling

as the tree pens the writing

near the end of this year

It's ten before midnight.
December's in twilight.

Time is kept swaying

by a waltz that's been playing

near the end of this year.

It's ten before midnight.
December's in twilight.
The cat knows who's hiding.
The doves know who's flying

near the end of this year.

.......

Mohini Dancing

From behind the ring of fire
made when the moon
covers the sun,
she's danced out of hiding
to earth attuned
her veil undone.

Wearing earth on her body
clay on her face
mud in her hair,
shells dangle from flowers
twined round her waist,
her feet are bare.

She moves her hips
her right arm twirls
the sun's ring round
her wrist aloft,
making scent and sound
of stars a crossed
this tambourine earth.

...

This Wooden Drum

Earth, Air, Fire, and Water

here am I your long lost daughter.

To ocean’s sand and mountain’s loam

I have returned I have come home.

I wandered off a little child

into a storm, a tempest wild.

No wind no rain did fuel this storm

its tumult was of mortals born.

Earth, Air Fire, and Water

Here am I your weary daughter.    

I've traveled far through dimming skies 

and stumbled long with blinded eyes.

Pray let me sleep and dream awhile

on lily petals by the Nile.

Or I could curl up in a bower 

atop the tallest redwood tower.

Earth, Air, Fire, and Water

here am I your beloved daughter.  

This wooden drum is all I own

my hands upon it brought me home.

... 

Photograph by ©Brian Allison

bcaphotography.com
brian@lostcoastprinting.com
lostcoastprinting.com

as always, poem by Judy

...

Passenger Number Three

When searching for a dragon,

the one who sleeps at sea,

take sail with a Phoenician 

in a boat that carries three.

With you and the Phoenician,

of three, that makes but two. 

That which fills the space that's left

is woven from bamboo.

This basket's lined with mirrors

reflecting moon and sea.

This paper covered lantern

is passenger number three. 

Don't look into the lantern.

Ha! this you shouldn't do,

for all that you will find there

is a mirror holding you...

...alone with your reflection

in a boat that carries three.

Beyond your sight a dragon

crests the surface of the sea.

.......

(the moral of the story - when sailing with Phoenicians,
wait till you get home to look in the mirror.)

Feathers Flying

I cannot sleep, I cannot keep from chasing thoughts that lead to troubles, 

real or imagined. 

I go outside, I try to hide in the solace of the night, 

but my thoughts come with me.

A sound sweeps by through this night's sky, then another. It's the rush

of wind through feathers, flying, on the wing.

I leave behind my fretful mind and begin to dream that I have wings, 

that I am flying.

The sound soon fades, again the shades of doubt surround me. 

It was just the wind, or my imagination.

Then something twirls, it spirals, whirls into my hand, one small feather

fallen, fallen from the wing.

I close my hand around it and go back to bed. I close my eyes 

and soon I'm sleeping.

Again I hear a sound come near - the rush of wind, of feathers flying.

I must be dreaming.

A great wing lifts, it circles, drifts. It is searching for the fallen,

the one small feather held within my hand. 

The great wing fans, the sky it spans. The wing sweeps back,

scoops up the feather and takes me with it.

Now comes to me with mystery, in whispers like secrets, tales of now,

tales of old, and stories of tomorrow.

I listen to what dreamers do where they have flown upon the wing 

in the time between now and everafter.

And when I land in morning's hand within my own rests a feather, 

my keepsake of the wing. 

Oh, feathers fly, so can I, for it is the dream that is the wing

that takes us flying.

Yet I wonder...

as my dream flies through distant skies, should another feather fall, 

could it be my dream that circles back to catch it?

Where Have All The Children Gone?

Don't know. Didn't see

which way they went.

Said they'd be back later.

Might be down by the river

up on the hill

sleeping under a tree.

Could be way over yonder

working the fields

or, they've gone off to sea.

Maybe took to a dreamwalk

out of the blue

barefoot wandering free.

Should be on their way home now

back before long.

Look up and there they'll be.

Till then, open the curtain

set out the lamp.

Might be, they'll need to see

their way home

and, would you light

a candle for me?

Lullaby Of The Wing

For those who are as sleepy as I am, a lullaby...

Close your eyes now

you will know how

to find your way.

You don't have to

see your way through

the darkness to dream.

Go to sleep then

you will know when

to come back here.

Little traveler

you'll remember

each one of your dreams.

Drift away now

you will know how

to fly up high,

little feather
lifted ever

on the wing of dreams.

(chorus)
close your eyes

sleep's not far
close your eyes
to dream