never a leaving
of the ancient light
but an aligning-
of season and the flow,
of swirling petals
and a soft leaf air
in presence
of the sacred birds
a simple traveling
to share the quiet
and pray a gratitude
to every gift of day
(art by Veneta Docheva)
i’ve been feeling
your hand in my hand
since when you showed
where every path begins
and as the woods slowly
turn pale amber phoenix
on the edge of our meadow
i’m holding a holy feather
of your light immortal
without and within
how breathfully
the smile of lotus moon
is shaping the entirety
of river’s flaming night
rippling its autumn sound
with bloom of gentle silver
dawning its vesper silence
with a reverie unbound
(art by Brent Cotton)
it’s the simple gift
of daily air and water,
shared freely on a path
blooming the open fields,
that leads to spirit’s home
a place to wholly be
(art by Romona Youngquist)
much warmer
in the shadows
of your silverness
each quiet profusion
of the mist and miracle
soaring from sea to moon,
from moon to sacred sea
yes, my dearest bird
we are ever free
(art by Veneta Docheva)
the softest autumn wings are often felt along a wonderscape of early incense cloud and blur of cyan breeze, close to the shore where any notions disappear. such wings are letting tears flow- until they merge with whispered inner seas. until the heart is breathing peace
(art by Dirk Wüstenhagen)
how an elven mystery beams,
stirring the still of earth
with sun’s happy tears,
shaping the vision of a vessel
on the eve of a bonfire evening
..as the air is waving cello
from each cadence of the spirit
and a pale rose window is ajar
to the blush of dimming fields
(art by Brent Cotton)
no losing of harmony
whenever the sky swan nest
twinkles in time with every dusk.
autumn is home, andante blue
guarding a gentle grail of smiles
-and shades and crimson veils
and amethysts of silence
..while above a willowlake
softer and softer aspires
an amber calling of stars
enshrined within
a fragrant sense
of pilgrim bells chiming
the ancient still
of lone earth flame
as a fervent witness
of every starleaf falling
to mingle with our steps
becoming sylvan sky
(art by Dirk Wüstenhagen)
chaque automne
fleurit le monde
où l’esprit
n’a jamais dansé
mais tous ses vents
sont enracinés
dans l’éveil
du familier
ta chanson
de tendresse
