| Blogs > jiminycricket1 > My Blog |
|
Mermaids On the sandy beaches of my solitude Skies of gray, and stillness of air I search the shore, in pensive mood discover my mermaid there. She came on worded wings That lit upon my soul. Revealing things that could be Things that make whole. She took a distant shore A place of "should have been" Her magic kept mesmerized With dreams she'd come again She departed without a fond adieu Her words painted on my mind I wonder if she ever knew She left her art behind. Now, I walk along the water's edge All her footprints washed away Seeking her magic's knowledge Finding her clues along the way. A sea of glimmering silver and turquoise Blonde seaweed that curls and flows Seashells that make an echoing noise of the precious moment, magic knows. My thoughts, my prayers, my devotion Someday a return the magic land Til then, I'll hold her hand across an ocean Til then, I'll feel her heartbeat in the sand. . |
|||
|
I, Oh so want to believe In Mermaids of the sea, In God, In hope and love, In all that can be When Life becomes too painful It ebbs the tide of dreams And mermaids vanish from the sea The greater loss, so it seems The challenge is not asking "why" you get, what you got But not having life's pain deny the challenge of "why not"
| ||
|
**Exactly~~~ Thank you for sharing this! 
| ||
|
LOVE IS NOT AN ISLAND The mermaid slips back to the sea Now in hiding, from the sailor in me But there she'll ponder how love goes That life is only what she knows Lost upon the mermaid's island The sailor seeks the safe highland and there he'll ponder how love goes That life is only what he knows Love, it may come and go As in life, God has made it so Each measure of joy, not meaning much But simply defined through those you touch For in seeking the highland, or the sea It matters not, where love can be If your life can touch another heart Then your love can leave, but not depart
| ||
|
Thank you :- ) - I really enjoy your relatable poems, the imagery they evoke. T S Eliot's 'Little Gidding' comes to mind with its strong imagery and thrilling sense of immediacy/timelessness. It is my favourite poem and hope you don't mind the inclusion of the opening verse by way of invitation (if not already familiar with it). 'Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart's heat, Reflecting in a watery mirror A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon. And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier, Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom Of snow, a bloom more sudden Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading, Not in the scheme of generation. Where is the summer, the unimaginable Zero summer?'
| ||
|
Thank you :- ) - I really enjoy your relatable poems, the imagery they evoke. T S Eliot's 'Little Gidding' comes to mind with its strong imagery and thrilling sense of immediacy/timelessness. It is my favourite poem and hope you don't mind the inclusion of the opening verse by way of invitation (if not already familiar with it). 'Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart's heat, Reflecting in a watery mirror A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon. And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier, Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom Of snow, a bloom more sudden Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading, Not in the scheme of generation. Where is the summer, the unimaginable Zero summer?' A taser for one's hibernation A peace that "lies" between fire and ice. That reveals it's own imperfection A Midwinter Spring that declares.... No truth...but It's absence
|
×
×