The Face of the Sun

We are blinded

sunstruck

our eyes only able

to see the brightest light

all else fading into

shadow

burned into silhouette

by our need to

gaze into

the face of the sun

We are drawn always to the brightest flame

One of our first lessons as children walking outside is to avoid looking into the light.


For more light, dangerous and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

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Reflections, Past and Present

The water carries the mountains

The streams carve out the arteries

the inevitable points of failure

but even in the valleys

those lakes that are not connected

hold the faces of the peaks

of the space between the heavens

and the place where the mountains

slept before they reached for a

higher more dangerous

blue

The water remembers when the mountains were below rather than above

The world has a long memory.


For more memories, long or otherwise, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Garden, Gated

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.

Securing Sunshine

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.

Water Wound

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.

Forest Faces

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.

The Darling Buds – Marigold

When everything else has died

the marigolds are planted

their leaves too bitter for insects

or maybe they are supposed to be grown

with the crops to protect them

rather than being left

to bloom merrily

amongst the sick-sweet

stench of their rotting

companions

Marigold – Sorrow

Marigolds survive but make it impossible to forget those that did not. Every May, I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.


For more tales of survival in the face of sorrow, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

The Darling Buds – Forsythia

Long winters birth meek springs

Buds and blossoms slow to unfurl

cautiously feel their way through the still

frozen nights

But

sandwiched between the forest and the field

there is an explosion

forsythia

rising golden and unafraid

It lives in the future, fearless with

Joy at the tips of branches

Joy as a perfume in the air

Joy in the willingness to stare into the face

of the unknown

and blossom

Forsythia – Anticipation

Every May (and sometimes fashionably late in May because of a lack of blossoms), I do a series of poems based on Victorian flower meanings. Welcome to the Darling Buds.


For more anticipation in the face of danger, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Prelude

The first steps of leaves

are always fumbling, unsure

Buds spread in every direction

The fine fuzz of birth slowly hardening

into a firmer and less innocent shell

This is the beauty of spring:

it is always somewhere

someone’s first dance

into the sun

The beauty of hope

I love the starting dance steps and the final steps and all the steps in between.


For more dancing, metaphorical and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Sleeping and Waking

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.