at the edge of sleep
the fine line of morning
blossoms unfurl gently
dreaming of the taste of summer
dreaming of the brush of snow
Begonia – A Fanciful Nature
Every May (and sometimes into June), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.
For more flights of fancy, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
At the edges of the mountains
the bones of old pulleys
graves of dead sluices
are piled underneath layers
of rockfall and regrowth
machinery of the gold-that-wasn’t
the people with fools’ dreams
left nothing of themselves
sometimes though
in the skeletons of old cabins
we children were never meant
to find
we would pull out old sunflower labels
from under the floorboards
the only gold that
any of us ever
found
Sunflower – False Riches
Every May, I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.
For more deceptive treasure, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
The right kind of gate
is not a barrier but a
transformation
it exists to say that
nothing beyond this place
this step that is taken
will ever be the same
We offer the glimpse of magic; the next step is yours.
There is something about the teasing marriage of greenery and fencing that is made for magic and adventure. Thus also ends Alliteration Month! I hope that you enjoyed the title fun.
For more stories of magical gates and transformative steps, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
In the oldest forests
a thousand seedlings die
in darkness
When one of the giants falls
there is an explosion
of green things
desperate youth
In these spaces everything
reaches upwards a thousand
faces searching for
light
We all need space to grow
Transitions are both painful and beautiful.
For more stories of light and transition, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
in a land where water
disappears
ponds draw all threads
together
every plant large and small carefully
woven
without regard for their
differences
in a desperate dance of
survival
There are few tapestries as richly varied as the edges of ponds
In the wildlands, water both draws and binds.
For more tales of water, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
As a small child
I saw faces everywhere
weeping women in the curve of the river
old men in the shadow of twisted bark
As I grew older
there were monsters as well as people
watching carefully for me to stumble
The forest still greets me
with a thousand faces
but I am person
and monster enough
to love them all
What we see is always our own mirror
Even in a landscape devoid of people, we still bring ourselves with us.
For more faces of the human and inhuman, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
Does the land remember
what came before?
there were forests here once
and after them fields
this little corner now that is
filled with small flowers
how short is the life
of that garden
compared to all of the land’s forms
and yet-
a thousand years from now
maybe this small part of the world
will dream of blue flowers
and be at peace
Forget-Me-Not: Memories
Every May (and sometimes into June), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.
For more memories and persistence, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
Do they dream
those not yet opened buds?
Before there are flowers
do the slow-unfurling petals
imagine the face
of the sun?
What do the buds know of the world they are about to enter?
I’m always fascinated by the giant leap between development and living.
For more waking to mysterious worlds, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
We speak of scenery
as frozen snapshots
moments as beautiful
as they are sterile
stripped of context
and mosquitoes
and there is a difference
I think
between the pinned and catalogued
collection of distant mountains
of long-passed perfection
and standing in the messy brush of the sub-alpine
and feeling the mountain
beneath your feet
The world is best experienced by living it
There is a distance created with perfect imagery that loses the true power of imperfect reality.
For more of the imperfect business of living, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
I waited in the city
and anticipation tasted sweet
and disappointing
but there is something to be said
for opening a door
and stepping into
magic
It is hard to describe the power of an alien world outside your window
There are few words to explain the feeling of realizing your front door is a portal to adventure.
For more portals and adventures, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
Cat Amesbury 