Category Archives: Photography
Sensual lines above the plain,
seductive curves of coming rain,
poised o’er sweetened fields of corn
whose tassels, golden, so adorn the jasmine jade and green.
Stretching long in verdant scent,
musk of summer’s soaking lent
whispers hope beneath its blush,
silenced, calm, poised in hush, steeping in a rain drop’s dream.
Low and steady, broken lines,
rolling, thrumming drums unwind,
summer’s man-of-war released,
yet held in time’s anticipation,
lightning strikes, no hesitation,
ionizing heaven’s crease.
Tis here I pause to count the beat,
retrieve the distance senses meet,
study past the bruised sky blue,
strain an ocher hope or two, as warm July plays on.
Hushing silk, brushing husks,
decry the rhythm in each of us,
capture breath at lightening’s twain,
count, wait, breathe the rain, before the moment’s gone.
“Distant Rain” photograph by Sharon Knight
© Sharon Knight
Golden ochre steeped in time,
aged by every season’s crime,
twined through burnished lacquer’s rust,
recalling each last sunray’s lust,
and every blue jay’s call…
Here it sits in still refrain
beneath the willow’s sweeping mane,
here imbibes in summer’s wine,
cast between these reaching vines,
that too, each year recall…
Among this life in moments stalled,
drifting cries of summer fall,
merge the glad of waiting dusk
with laughter from the day’s sweet musk,
and so record it all…
In grains of oak now tarnished brown,
in rusted bolts and furled crown,
in baked on mud upon its feet,
together aging perfumes sweet,
so sits here proudly small…
in whispers, beckons all…
Tucked among the southern pines,
seams of road in shadowed lines,
rend the compass pause, despair,
dissolves to solve the anywhere my journey longs to hold.
Sweet the ardor clings in green,
Spanish moss as ghosts between
the flickered gold of summer’s light,
or silver damp by moonlit night, defines the dewy cold.
Yet dodging through each quilted bank,
between the berms that stand in flank,
with balanced roar and roll of wings,
I slay each dragon tail there seen
to dance into the sun,
and through the southern forests run!
Written for dVerse Poetics and tonight’s prompt in the Poet’s Pub – “Come Fly With Me”… a prompt to see the perspective of feathers, in whatever fashion, form, or purpose. I chose to consider those that collect feathers and the thoughts that may just be connected to each one… Enjoy!
Whispered in a prayer’s hope,
defined, each one, in purpose there,
gathered, placed and balanced gently
through aging dreams she holds with care.
A summer’s dream of love.
A midnight’s waltz beneath the moon.
A Georgia peach in sweetest harvest.
The one who passed too soon.
Coyly nodding to the jar,
the dusts of eons briefly spark,
acknowledging their place in time,
acknowledging this ark
where subtle memories echo,
hushed in pleasures poised release,
dancing dreams in freedom’s hope,
sparkling eyes in flight, in peace.
Cast across the virgin snow,
a starkly naked silhouette,
contrast black on diamond white,
full moon with no regret.
Thinly, night airs acquiesce
within a hushed reluctant freeze,
draws her limbs above her,
till shadow’s edge is crisply teased.
No sound or whisper wants,
her silent solace, her lonely stead,
grief, a separate solitude
through dreams of summer’s weeping dead.
She stands alone as beauty.
She nurses bold courageous stirs.
She haunts this meadow, her duty
in echoed light that’s solely hers.
Painted thin beneath the dawn, a steel grey world rejoices morn,
tho nothing in this moment’s play gives rise to thought that hope is born.
Slow breezes bite and fiercely gnaw at stalks of summer’s grasses, downed.
Cattails’ chorus, stiff and brash, mourning in a whispered sound.
Tattered, torn, hollow reeds of spring’s seductive blushing,
crushed beneath the ice and snow, tossed in panic’s rushing.
Horizon holds the key. No hint of warmth is brought from thee.
Blackened poplar drives a nail of hopelessness in slivers,
renouncing dawning light’s quick glimpse. The distance holds a shiver.
Ice in flows from aged snows pins here and there to earth,
beneath a solid mastic flood where none escape its scattered girth.
Bitter. Uncontained. Eternal death and grey’s disdain.
Yet notice how the dawning light paints rivulets of frosted time.
Feel the sharp awareness build a frozen poise, sublime.
How perfectly the pain’s displayed
in grass and reed whose cattails fray.
How true the starving tree defies
the threat of death, the naked cries
of hungry ice in winter’s hand
tossed by driven wind’s demand.
How every frozen rivulet sustained in waves upon the ground,
stretches sensual, luxurious, across the patchy earth it drowns.
In supplication, mourning songs drift through the meadow’s air,
holding vigil, holding patience, while whispering a prayer.
The ghosts of summer haunt here, captured and betrayed,
to paint this lea horrifically, requited here in death, displayed.
Oh! Sorrow in this languid sight
that draws the bitter morn from night,
for winter’s step has just begun,
much more of what is here will come.
Spring, the hope and harbinger of dreams in softened virile soil,
yet only clings in beauty’s mask within this season’s toil.
Yet hope remains in hopelessness, when death and sleeping cast their play,
for time is what will take them past the frozen grace that runs this day.