By Marie J. Ross
Alone with Twilight I was driving alone just before dusk melted shades Of lavender were breathing across the horizon, and Silence evoked a sense of the ethereal within me. Headlights were beaming like a thousand blinking Fireflies, And as the road lengthened so did the horizon, I could Feel it mold me, draw me in, and recalled how I dreamed Of fabulous sunsets, the kind you see on calendars, of the Way they spilled in tint of vermilion and raspberry, with Tangerine rippling through like a quiet river. I wondered why I chose this very night to feel complete freedom Of its unstirring grasp. I pulled off at the junction the open road becoming less appealing, Turned the wheel slightly and caught the edge of the shoulder, stopped And let the brief hush invade, surround me with calm, and I sat captivated And alone. The horizon had ushered me through in silent calling and breathed its Lavender, as twilight painted his canvas of magnificent tapestry. |
Picture by Mark Macmill
|
By Marie J. Ross
Ghost Trees
In the Valley
They bent like skeletons,
wind had twisting them
roughly, limbs ravished
by fists of bluster.
I was told this forest was magnificent
in spring, natures noises coming alive.
Frogs croaked and splashed on lily pods,
pine cones rolled down grassy knolls in
wild chase as , lofty trees fanning acrobatic
breezes for winging birds.
Yet now I stand;
needles pricking my finger as I pick up a cone;
leaves like ancient parchment quaking under
my feet..
I witness seasons cruel scattering, tangled roots,
bark sliced naked and thought to myself;
I’d rather be banished on creaky sidewalks of a
ghost town listening to the silence;
than inhale the last breath of those bent skeletons
in the valley of ghost trees.
Ghost Trees
In the Valley
They bent like skeletons,
wind had twisting them
roughly, limbs ravished
by fists of bluster.
I was told this forest was magnificent
in spring, natures noises coming alive.
Frogs croaked and splashed on lily pods,
pine cones rolled down grassy knolls in
wild chase as , lofty trees fanning acrobatic
breezes for winging birds.
Yet now I stand;
needles pricking my finger as I pick up a cone;
leaves like ancient parchment quaking under
my feet..
I witness seasons cruel scattering, tangled roots,
bark sliced naked and thought to myself;
I’d rather be banished on creaky sidewalks of a
ghost town listening to the silence;
than inhale the last breath of those bent skeletons
in the valley of ghost trees.
In The Still
By Marie Ross
In the still
when wind is not
heard,
yet,
laps up the suns
vital words;
it moves like flutter,
solitude taking ride
on its sweet surrender.
And
like flitter of wings,
thin and wispy,
it listens,
then sings the song
of quiet.
When breeze whispers
through a cracked jar,
that sunbeams have spliced,
solitude joins the dance
and is revitalized.
In the still;
the temple of where suns
vital words speak,
the wind is not heard,
yet, breaths through flutter
of wings, thin and wispy.
By Marie Ross
In the still
when wind is not
heard,
yet,
laps up the suns
vital words;
it moves like flutter,
solitude taking ride
on its sweet surrender.
And
like flitter of wings,
thin and wispy,
it listens,
then sings the song
of quiet.
When breeze whispers
through a cracked jar,
that sunbeams have spliced,
solitude joins the dance
and is revitalized.
In the still;
the temple of where suns
vital words speak,
the wind is not heard,
yet, breaths through flutter
of wings, thin and wispy.
By Marie J. Ross
Moon Asunder
I tapped shadow of moon
On my window pane
He shown through…
Combative and unreasonable.
Why the slight?
The face of promised love
Eluded under hood of his mood.
Night bought shine, excellence of
Romantic thought;
Planted seed of hope in my mind’s
Eye. A dream of soul mate evident,
A stroll under his ambiance in stellar
Emotion.
I lifted my window shivered in the
Evening air;
My eye-lids tense, baffled;
Moon had vanished, his mystic eye in
Unanswered question.
Moon Asunder
I tapped shadow of moon
On my window pane
He shown through…
Combative and unreasonable.
Why the slight?
The face of promised love
Eluded under hood of his mood.
Night bought shine, excellence of
Romantic thought;
Planted seed of hope in my mind’s
Eye. A dream of soul mate evident,
A stroll under his ambiance in stellar
Emotion.
I lifted my window shivered in the
Evening air;
My eye-lids tense, baffled;
Moon had vanished, his mystic eye in
Unanswered question.
Marie J. Ross
Ocean Wilderness
The ocean looms
Weaves like a white
Moth,
Mountains blanketed
With distance sleep in
The salty air
I stand atop a boulder
Sandals gripping a slice
Of moss;
Gaze at the royal view in awe,
The icy flow shifting in and out
Over the calloused shore.
With the sway wilderness echoes;
Clouds not touching, air not breathing
I hear nothing, nothing,
But calming space wrapped in cool breezes
And pristine shadows.
Gloaming will fleece the silence, erase footsteps
Yet in the morrow reappear;
Dipping in the shifting sands of oceans wilderness.
Ocean Wilderness
The ocean looms
Weaves like a white
Moth,
Mountains blanketed
With distance sleep in
The salty air
I stand atop a boulder
Sandals gripping a slice
Of moss;
Gaze at the royal view in awe,
The icy flow shifting in and out
Over the calloused shore.
With the sway wilderness echoes;
Clouds not touching, air not breathing
I hear nothing, nothing,
But calming space wrapped in cool breezes
And pristine shadows.
Gloaming will fleece the silence, erase footsteps
Yet in the morrow reappear;
Dipping in the shifting sands of oceans wilderness.
By Marie J. Ross
Pregnant Spring
She laid in rest through passing storm
And winter snow, preparing to discard
Her bulging smock and give birth.
I watched as blades of grass march in green
As the breeze curls petals like a paint brush
Over her newborn.
She garnered birds and lent them twitter, so I
Might hear their music, so, all creatures who wing,
Or stray on thread-like legs, could roam free under
Her yellow bonnet.
My garden is exceptional because of perennials, those
Eager pouches of bloom that unfolded like a butterfly
From cocoon.
And, when her smock begins to wrinkle in heat of sister
Summer, I revere her royal chest as the cradle of natures
Infancy.
Pregnant Spring
She laid in rest through passing storm
And winter snow, preparing to discard
Her bulging smock and give birth.
I watched as blades of grass march in green
As the breeze curls petals like a paint brush
Over her newborn.
She garnered birds and lent them twitter, so I
Might hear their music, so, all creatures who wing,
Or stray on thread-like legs, could roam free under
Her yellow bonnet.
My garden is exceptional because of perennials, those
Eager pouches of bloom that unfolded like a butterfly
From cocoon.
And, when her smock begins to wrinkle in heat of sister
Summer, I revere her royal chest as the cradle of natures
Infancy.
By Marie J. Ross
Stars Flicker
(a mystic poem)
stars flicker in mystical
repertoires
lighting time like neon
in dazzle and distance
lies their fascination
like blinking eyes of a
million gaiting horses,
they conquer the universe.
They twist exotically,
Like beads on a belly dancers skirt,
Shimmy to moons magic carpet to the
Kingdom of utopia
Night turns silver key;
Sparkle of mystic dominance,
Flicker the, key hole to times ethereal travel.
Stars Flicker
(a mystic poem)
stars flicker in mystical
repertoires
lighting time like neon
in dazzle and distance
lies their fascination
like blinking eyes of a
million gaiting horses,
they conquer the universe.
They twist exotically,
Like beads on a belly dancers skirt,
Shimmy to moons magic carpet to the
Kingdom of utopia
Night turns silver key;
Sparkle of mystic dominance,
Flicker the, key hole to times ethereal travel.
By Marie J. Ross
Winter
Beginning
The sun touches lightly
Air is brisk,
Can you feel the chill
Feel it circle?
Autumn has blown satchels
Of leaves to the wild wind,
No reversal or colorful hues
To reinstate
We meander now in the slow entrance;
In cool tides of early morning mist;
The tilt of Tule fog along the delta swamps,
And numbing frost beneath our shoes.
Winter
Beginning
The sun touches lightly
Air is brisk,
Can you feel the chill
Feel it circle?
Autumn has blown satchels
Of leaves to the wild wind,
No reversal or colorful hues
To reinstate
We meander now in the slow entrance;
In cool tides of early morning mist;
The tilt of Tule fog along the delta swamps,
And numbing frost beneath our shoes.
Marie J. Ross
You Are There
I see your face a thousand times
In flowers placed by your picture
Each Mother’s Day.
I hear your voice saying Hello, through
The twitter of birds, and imagine it on the
Wings of fairies, as you read their stories
To me at bed time.
And from the crisp flow of water, spilling
Peacefully from the fountain on my dresser,
Reminds me that the spiritual sound…
Is where you are, looking down loving me
As before.
You Are There
I see your face a thousand times
In flowers placed by your picture
Each Mother’s Day.
I hear your voice saying Hello, through
The twitter of birds, and imagine it on the
Wings of fairies, as you read their stories
To me at bed time.
And from the crisp flow of water, spilling
Peacefully from the fountain on my dresser,
Reminds me that the spiritual sound…
Is where you are, looking down loving me
As before.