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Trying something a bit new… appreciate feedback. Thanks
Hello my friends –
I have just published another collection of poetry entitled “Scattered Light”.
This is a large collection of poems ranging back to 2002, yet most of the poetry comes from writings between 2011 and 2013. The collection contains 114 poems along with 53 color photos of my own.
The poems in this collection have been selected as individual points of light, sourced from a diverse array of perspective across the strands of personal experience.
Much as the morning sun shares its spectrum through the bevel of ancient glass, this collection too intends to refract your senses and intrigue your desire to see more.
Included are images in reality’s fabric, conjured of the imagination, and borrowed from hints of history. Each song belongs to a unique perception of heart tenderly and carefully stitched throughout.
The poems are drawn through the wide angled lens of life and encompass images of love, war, humor, heartache, triumph and the essence of those living, dead and imagined.
It is my profound wish that you not only enjoy, but claim some vestibule of reflection as your own.
May you always find the fabric of hope, love, and timelessness within this collection.
The book is available in paperback through most brick-and-mortar bookstores and is also available in several forms of eBook through many on-line book retailers.
Thanks to all my friends that have provided such wonderful support and kind words of guidance over the years. It has been through this forum and by way of your heartfelt encouragement that I managed to motivate myself to get this done. Thank you all so very much.
Jay Blue (jaybluepoems.com)
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.
Between the hills of time I rise to meet the last of autumn still,
paused at moment’s pondering, with cup in hand near lea and rill.
The morning air does call me to kiss my love, my fall, goodbye,
to trek the path to timber’s edge, to meadow’s cirque where first snows fly.
So gather what I need and must, I set my path to cairns I trust.
Between the hills of time I walk along the rill that whispers still,
I leave the lea behind me with grateful steps to bless my will.
The grasses dry, and seedless,enwrap the feet of aspen groves
whose spotted bark stands white and bare, midst ruddy leaves heaped up in loaves.
The summer’s scrub that once was green stands burnt in tarnished autumn red,
portrays a pillow sweetly laid in meadow grass for winter’s bed.
The silent breath of morning prays undisturbed by wind’s caress,
yet joined by quiet prattling of falling leaves released to rest.
As the hills in confluence meet, the dell’s denied its fold,
leads me cresting rise and roll to stand at valley’s longest hold.
In the distance stand the Massives, the granite Kings and Queens of Earth,
that draw my journey westward in hope to witness winter’s birth.
As stream’s companion through the valley, I step in quiet contemplation,
drawing every whisper in that speaks anticipation.
At Massive’s knees the valley ends with guarding alpine fir,
whose dense and stretching boughs deny the slightest wind to stir.
So to climbing stream I must, to lead me to the cairns I trust.
Above the stream’s sharp climb I find a path that deer and elk must know.
In steps of theirs I follow, ‘til only echoes far below.
There I find the higher road that very few have seen.
There I rest within the sight of Massive King and Queen.
Through alpine thick, luxurious, I trod with gypsy song in heart
and sing until the green wood rings through echoes harmonized in part.
As through last twist of trail I climb, I rise upon the final crest,
where blowing snow does kindly greet and hide the Massives grey in dress.
I turn my face from stinging snow as wind whips cold toward autumn’s eye,
now caught between the Court of Kings and crystal azure sky.
Before the stolid cirque I kneel, courage facing King and Queen,
I beseech a moment’s council and beg the sun to grace the scene.
At their feet the marsh stands still, reverent yet commanding,
as I in drying grasses claim the truth of where I’m standing.
In whispered tones and crystal light, winter’s voice asked why I’m here.
With gracious bow and nod I said, “To find if winter’s edge is near.
I’ve come to seek the point of flux where sun and storm cast crystals blue.
I’ve come to vow my love of life and give my thanks to all of you.”
In sudden hush the clouds withdrew! The sun in glowing rays did stream
upon the cirque and meadow’s keep! Upon the face of King and Queen!
Awestruck from my lowly stance I raised my face to God above,
whispered kindly, “thank you! This moment blessed! This life is love!”
Gently in the warming air October’s court drew softly blue
and stood this life in sharp relief against the growing azure hue.
As winter’s force is master in October’s court of King and Queen,
with bows and some relenting, I turned to face the alpine green.
As I walked my path to home, I thought of Autumn’s fade,
knowing well her work was done and winter’s bed was surely made.
Today I gathered what I must along the cairns I’ve come to trust.