SerenemStarsailor

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White dressed for a bridal day's purity and beautifuL

Heaven's lily on reflective water is quietly humble, toO.

Intoxicated by her graceful sway, dragonflies dutifully assisT

Ten thousand little sighs for this moment, so needful of haikU,

Evanesce like sunlit dew drops spilling from the petals of the lotuS

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I wonder why the sea reaches out for land,

always seeking the solid comfort of its embrace

only to fall back, return, fall back again,

(so you to me)

I tell you...

It's not the sea that drowns us,

not the strange and unknown

land that overwhelms,

nor the blinding of a moon too bright--

no,

it's the turning of the mind,

a closing of the heart--

the clenched hand that remains still

at a sad and angry hipbone

as you slowly walk away.

I would reach out for a savior,

hands desperate

and flailing,

but, instead, I'll choose

to go gratefully under

so I'll never see that

you weren't there.

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In the Language of Bees

My love,

now broken with October.

A dead bee on the windowsill.

I could hear a crow across the field

chanting, it will rain tonight,

it will rain tonight...

and in between the lonely sound

I would not, could not cry

or speak beyond the measured silence.

I could only write my sorrows mutely,

my fingers dancing the

language of bees

across my heart.

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I have not traveled this path before--

lilacs once bloomed here,

but they are gone in this rough season,

forgotten in deep, drifting snow

soft-marked beside my own

with tracks

of jays and rabbits.

The earth remembers, though,

keeping the memory safe

for me

and warm for sunshine

and the greening of spring.

I have not traveled this path before--

but soon,

I will gather an armfull of lilacs

and remember

my rough winter and this path

I have traveled before.

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Infinity

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Slipping

through lacework branches

there is blue sky

and infinity.

I pray for those who have no name written,

the ones whose lips never felt a passing breath

and, in blue sky,

I feel infinity slipping

through a lacework of branches,

and a breath slipping past my lips,

my name written in the lacework

of branches through blue sky

and infinity.

The Secret

(for Daniel Alan)

Hello, my little one.

I am here,

waiting to catch you in my arms,

already loving you.

Your sweet mother stands,

a timeless image, hand resting

on the fullness of you-- waiting,

and I am moved to tell you a secret...

I have known you for years upon many years;

do you see? You were in the seed within me

when I learned to breathe!

I knew you so long ago, when we were but the dust

left behind when an ancient sun went super nova!

I knew you when we were the sea

that gave birth to the rugged, rolling land;

I knew you when we became the rain

for a while and I was with you

when we once played as the wind

racing madly across a trembling sky.

I even knew you before I knew

whether your eyes were brown or blue

or bright and green as moss

or if your skin was creamy pale or a warm brown,

a gentle yellow or a deep and dusky olive.

Yes, I know you better than anything,

better than the cadence of my own breath

in and out. In

and out. And,

I knew you when the only thing

I knew for certain was that you were a force

of limitless possibilities--

and, oh, yes.

That you are loved.

I know you now,

before you have come into this world, anew,

because you are already here,

wedged firmly under my sternum and cage of ribs;

here in every beatbeatbeat of my heart,

pounding out loud the joy

of your impending arrival.

So, do you see? Don't fret!

That is the secret!

I am here, already loving you,

just as I loved you, long

before time began.

So, come on, little one, come on!

My arms are stretched out, and I am here,

just waiting to catch you.

In the following line in a poem I am writing,

'between the stars and earth and a father and child,

there suddenly seems as if there *is/were* no distance at all.'

which is correct-- is or were?

Thanks muchly, in advance, Yahooers!

Nostalgia means remembering something fondly and langsyne means remembering something in the distant past with nostalgia. I'm trying to find a similar word that means to remember something with sadness, but I'm not having much luck.

Any help will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

I remember being taught that lept, crept, swept and hung (and like words) were proper usage, but now I always seem to hear leaped, creeped, sweeped and hanged used instead. Why is this and which is proper?

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reeds, straight and tall

disturbed by the wind

prefer to sing

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I have been on Humulin R (30 minutes before meals) Lantus (long-acting) before bedtime for about a year, now and it has been working... somewhat well... yesterday, they gave me Humalog (rapid-acting, within 15 minutes of eating)

I go to a clinic and my doctor is not available at this time, and I'm hoping someone here can give me some knowledgeable advice. How do I use these in conjunction with each other? I know I should continue with the Lantus, but how do I use the humulin and humalog with each other-- if I do at all?

Thanks, everyone!

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Revelations

I know not what lies around this bend,

it winds and twists away from sight,

where I have not traveled before,

a shadow turning from the light.

My journey is set with deliberate step,

though marked by an unknown fear.

I desire to learn what lies ahead

and am not content in delaying here.

If I do not question the dark beyond,

and seek the answers great and small,

to not rise and try the course,

I will not have lived at all.

Past where the shadow turns to light,

There, what is at present, concealed,

shall number my life with honorable days,

the vanishing point revealed.

MKL

I came on this morning to find four of my poems were deleted for a 'violation' with no e-mail even to explain why. I don't understand what I did wrong, and I can't find the place to ask except for here.

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Morning Song

There!

Night is lingering, loathe

to depart before

the symphony begins.

Listen, my child! Do you hear?

Fragile feathered pipers

herald the green,

hesitant notes, one by one.

Ethereal, pure morning song,

slow,

soft, rising bolder,

rising stronger,

greeting now,

with unrestrained joy!

Streaming gossamer threads

unspool, sliver-tinged,

pink upon gold entwined,

fade into sharp, crystal blue.

Warp and weft, weft and warp,

so faithfully laid,

strand by infinite strand,

the wheel spins without end.

Brilliant, euphoric light

of sheer, aching beauty unfolds,

sweeping away the dark!

Oh, look, my child!

There!

The world has spun a day!

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Before I Could Live

Once I prayed as a poet,

my face upturned to the expansive sky,

this was before I could speak

and all the stars poured into my throat.

Once I believed as an artist,

my questions thrown to the uncaring world;

this was before I could see

and all the rivers flooded my eyes.

Once I laughed as a singer,

my voice failing to fill the vibrating air;

this was before I could hear

and all the winds brushed against my ears.

Once I thought as a dancer,

my feet running, searching for faith;

this was before I could move

and all the grasses caressed my limbs.

Once I understood as a Philosopher,

my mind starving and searching for truth;

this was before I could learn

and all the light enlivened my mind.

Once I existed as a solitary soul,

my heart arrogant, too bitter to hope;

this was before I could live

and all his love enveloped me

as he stood to show me the way.

MKL

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The Smallest Thing

There is no brilliance, now,

only the silence separating

the written and the unwritten

and that thing which can't be voiced

within the indefinable ache

of too many moments

that will never come to be.

I have found

that even

the smallest thing matters,

in life and in loss;

their importance too often

denied

by those who do not know.

So much has fallen

from my grasp

and I wish

for what can't be changed--

for your place at my side, for years

that never were

or memories never made.

All that's left

are the memories we wrote together

and the moments that once lived

between us and no one else

and that,

as it was meant to be, comforts

and will, one day,

be enough.

MKL

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It's silly to blame a goat for being a goat.

It's foolish to fault a cat for being a cat.

It's unwise to whine at a snake for being a snake.

And it's terrible to chide a child for being a child.

So, what am I when I yell at you for being you?

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The Wild Grass is Filled With Music

The wild grass

is filled with music

and the breeze

of a young September moves

in quiet counterpoint

with her quickening breaths.

On a pillow of willow leaves

she embraces the rich depth of morning

and feels the sun's caress

upon her parted thighs.

Her love rises in the light

as she opens to his gentle touch,

taking him into her heart, her body, her soul--

and the wild grass is filled with music

and the breeze of a young September

turns, turns

and moves softly on.

MKL

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The > #&*?%@<!

pressed flowers

squashed heart

sweet memories

torn apart

love undone

he showed no care

he was a > #&*?%@<!

extraordinaire

MKL

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I Want to Know You

I want to know you

as if you were earth and I were rain.

I need to learn the deeply layered scents of us

on sheet-tangled Wednesday afternoons

and hear our laughter echo

through soft Sundays

by the lake

when nightfall isn't far.

I need to know you through the storms

that come with each season

and I want to hold you

in the peace

that consoles the morning after.

I want to fall slowly

into the circle of your arms

and be the universe, complete,

our bodies still, but our souls

rumbling like thunder.

MKL

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