Swallows flown away

Can silence echo?
The weight of absence heavy
Swallows flown away

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This is stunning photography and very moving (and clever) poetry.

THROUGH THE HEALING LENS

The time has
Come.

She
Composes
Herself

After a long
Gratifying
Day,

Slowly
Spiraling
Down

to
Commence

The Grand
Finale

of

Yet
Another

Stellar
Performance.

~

He
Waits

Beneath
the
Dimly
Lit

Golden
Sky

Anticipating
Her

Glorious
Descent,

Longing
For

The
Moment

He’s
Envisioned

All
Day.

~

The
Moment

She gracefully
Dips into
His

Fluid
Embrace;

~

The
Moment

She
Glides

Atop
the
Moist
Ripples

of
His

Unyielding
Crests;

~

The
Moment

He
Sizzles,

Feeling
the

Impassioned
Electric
Charge

of

Her
Heart’s
Fiery rays;

~

And

The
Moment

She Sets

Herself
Down
Tenderly

Over
His

Strong
Exhilarated
Body.

~
But
~

He
Reminds
Himself that

This
Ecstatic
Moment

Will be
Brief,

 And then
Without warning

She will
Mysteriously
Vanish;

Fading

Into
Pure
Nothingness,

Disappearing

Below
Dusk’s
Horizon,

 Beyond the
Sheer
Curtain

of

Night’s
Darkness,

Leaving behind
Only

Her

Faint
Glow

Warm
Mist

Radiant
Memory.

 ~

And he will
Harbor

This

View original post 33 more words

All My Little Words – Magnetic Fields

This is a beautiful love song from the Magnetic Fields

 

You are a splendid butterfly
It is your wings that make you beautiful
And I could make you fly away
But I could never make you stay

You said you were in love with me
Both of us know that that’s impossible
And I could make you rue the day
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn’t matter what I do
Not for all my little words

Now that you made me want to die
You tell me that you’re unboyfriendable
And I could make you pay and pay
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn’t matter what I do
Not for all my little words

Waste not a moment

Let’s not kid ourselves people
Life is short
And it’s getting shorter with each passing moment
When you have finished reading this poem
You will be a little closer to the end

The point is not to be morbid
The point is to stop wasting your time

If at any point in the day
You think “This is a waste of my time”
Please stop whatever it is
And find something else worth spending time on

Don’t waste time hating
Don’t waste time regretting
Don’t waste time feeling sorry
For every bloody thing in your life

And above all
Don’t waste time on things that make you unhappy

Winter

(from the vaults)

This land is strangely barren, but intact
Autumn settles heavily here
Baroque for so brief an entr’acte
Before the winter’s cold, unyielding fact

All noses sniff the air this time of year
Some dreaming of life in warmer places
The wingbeat of an owl lends nothing the ear
A warning to those who love the less severe

Winter’s god has let fall traces
Of snow to lure the romantic weak
He knows he cannot fool the lesser races
Of beasts who’ve felt too hard his bitter stasis

A raven flies above the river, something in its beak
It has simply found what it had lacked
And summer’s dull green goddess, mild but far too meek
Gives finally what she can to those who seek

When I think about my life so far

When I think about my life so far
The highs and lows, the pleasure and the pain
I feel I’ve climbed from ocean floors to mountains, stars,
And slid back down again through mud and rain

Through trackless forests I have chased the scent
And in turn been chased by many a fearsome beast
But the glimpse of happiness that I’ve been sent
Has wrung the greatest pleasure from the least

And after wending home, when footsteps tire
I feel the happiness that waits me there
Of simply sitting, resting by the crackling fire
And breathing, with deep breaths, my native air

We fools need both the homefire and the chase
Until we find our perfect resting place

Song of myself

(With apologies to Walt Whitman …)

I sing myself to create myself in the world
Singing the song that Gaia danced to when she emerged from Chaos
Emerging from Chaos with Love, Hell and Darkness, I emerge too
I emerge to hang from the world-tree like a newly-ripened fruit

I sing my mortal frame
My middle-aged pot-bellied spindly-shanked grey-headed pieball-bearded brown-eyed shell
Like the shell of long-lived ocean-dwelling mollusc
Pitted and warped by time and tide

I sing my shivering monkey mind
The quivering mass of neurosis, fear, anticipation, love, hate, sentimentality, bravery and cowardice
I sing my compassion and my selfishness
I sing and celebrate my innate human foolishness

I arise from the ashes of past poetry, past stories and songs
They have burned away in a great blaze of love
An inferno of passion and self-hatred and self-regard
They are burned utterly, and from them I arise renewed

I step out and raise my voice to my fellow poets and to my fellow non-poets
(If such a thing exists for we are all poets of our own life-poems)
To bloggers and tweeters and facebookers and tumblrers and flickrers
To carpenters and financiers and politicians and window cleaners

Like the gallous blackbird and mighty jenny wren I sing without fear or favour
I sing whether or not I am heard or liked
I sing because I must
I sing because a song is born and must go into the world

So listen, rapt, or don’t listen, applaud or curse,
I will be here regardless, singing the song of myself
And listening to the songs of others, all singing themselves too
So that the great harmony of us all will reach the astonished ear of the Universe