Untitled

Where shall I meet you
At the intersection of yesterday and forever?

Where the sun gently kisses the moon
Or at the end of the horizon gently resting on the ocean

The mountaintops caressing clouds
Made from dreams

Should I find you in the verses of poems
Or laughter of children

In the sweet smell of plumeria
Or the shade of the palm

The quiet whisper of the wave or the shriek of the seagull

Oh no, but you are in the gentle breeze of the wind

The salty wind.
That's where you are.

-LH

alive

every wave pulsates new life 
through my tired 
soul
The energy of the universe 
channeled into a powerful 
roar
Voices of distant 
souls
Whispers of passing 
dreams
Atoms of water and air 
colliding in a mystical 
dance of the cosmos
Capturing the breath of 
a past
Too present
A future 
lived
Already
Perfect symphony of 
hearts
Beating
I am alive
Now...

-LH

I. Am. Ocean.

i 
am 
the 
ocean
I carry my power 
and rumble 
my pain 
and suffering 
my fish 
and coral
 I am deep blue 
and 
I am dark 
and twisted 
i am calm 
and 
inviting 
I am 
a destructive force
I 
host the giant whale 
but also the shark
The slimy seaweed,
 but also the hard stone
Beneath my calmness 
lies 
a rumble
Heard over the ages
The moon 
and I live in 
symbiosis 

Together.

Yet so distant.

Across the universe

He smiles

I roar
-LH

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A poem I absolutely adore

We all have something that makes us come apart completely, something that touches us deeply, that unravels us. For me that is poetry. Only music touches me more.

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before--"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

    May Sarton