NaPoWriMo 2016 #14

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1454625_634342436609043_570995081_nOpen and Close of Day

The sunrise is the hue of pink champagne this morning … the blessed first light most favoured breaths taken of the day … it’s blush, chasing a thin ribbon of periwinkle towards the evacuating night … the shyest whispers of The Phoenix’s burnt orange and cinnabar tail feathers … peak out into the ocean of space patiently awaiting for it’s moment to eclipse the bladed grass’ shadow dance … a brief lived reign in which an eleventh atmospheric parallel remains …  stolen from pain … Now, as I sit resting at days near end … the West has swallowed up the day’s lantern … lichen wash water of the subtlest green shadows … hold court behind the paper cut wall off  trees and time … the sky has chosen aquamarine for his duster … and marble cake of violets kissing  coral  remains as his waking tea … ’tis ever the fewest moments of hushing as the night’s shield approaches … he hides behind this ancient armor watching Venus awaken … yawning in her sea spun gown of illusion to meet again  the suitors of evening tide … spoken of as Everafter, this is a peace all may know … closed eyes and a deep inhale … the music of souls becomes unmistakable.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

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NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

The prompt tonight was to use a fortune cookie saying in some way in our poem. I keep all my fortunes in my purse. Odd little quirk of mine. This is one of my favorites, Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere.

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

2015 - 1 (2)

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere. “, said Miss Ling, as she opened the door for her guest.

“Then I must be a king tonight.” chortled Dishi, ” Quite happy I wore my silk that is best!”

“Please,” she motioned, “come inside. The dumplings are steaming and the rice is already fried.”

“I am hungry !! ” he exclaimed, then felt a little ashamed. “I miss dumplings since Mother died.”

“You are our honored guest tonight, Dishi. I made your Mother’s dumplings special for you.” Miss Ling took his arm as he deftly offered.

In they strolled, friends rose in welcome, amidst candle light, aromas, and a table full of delicious coffers.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

Photo Credit: https://www.papermasters.com/zen-buddhism.html

NaPoWriMo 2016 #10

The Pullet’s Song

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The heart rushes at times ahead of its rhythms … expanding beyond what oxygen can supply for salvation … in these times, when the ache is so acute … death is so near … I listen for the pullet’s song … I heard it as a child, so sweet … in the balm of the afternoon on Grandmother’s farm … the hens worrying about the yard …  their peck and choose of bug or root … falling into a muse of melodic solvents … the innocence falling together in pure harmony … I believe even the clouds stayed a moment … suspended in a way uncommon to them … listening to the simplicity of nature’s music … calling Spirit back to a heart with constancy once more it’s own … these brief moments …touching the mystic beyond are gifts … drifting through our lives … as we attempt their capture in our butterfly nets of cellular memory.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #8

Let There Be Love

 

May the children in the morning rays,

Remember love will always stay,

In their hearts if they are gay,

As they grow not forgetting to play,

Let There Be Love.

 

May our brothers come together fast,

Building bonds of strength to last,

A creed defined across all caste,

Molded from the ghosts of visions past,

Let There Be Love.

 

Will sisters struggle arm in arm,

Heal at last and do no harm,

Beat the drum fighting back the swarm,

Grow hearts at home and fruit upon the farms,

Let There Be Love.

 

And when at end of day we rest,

Bring kindness, joy, and peace to test,

Care for Mother Earth’s children best,

For We are seen and We are blessed,

Let There Be Love.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

 

This is my wish for you all today and every day. May we all be as One and May there be Love.

 

 

NaPoWriMo #4

The Cruelest Month of All
Mankind, in all his glory, found it fit to define time … to harness the blessed abandon grace, happening holds not the witness’ wine … with this his attempt to break the spirit of flow, as to bind it to reasonable heights … declaring triumph over vast mountain peaks, some feat above ordinary minds … he swallowed sound, clabbered chaos, indoctrinated the blind … appointed gears, false hands, gold plate, and instrumental chimes … to replace the cycle and rhythm of Mother Nature’s mind … 13 months he set forth to enslave, those he deemed to be lower class … to serve, to rape, to plunder, to gash, the freedom of universal design … in shackles and chains live man, woman, and child, their intellectual seasons now 4 by 3 … to cause cellular holidays to be bred out of the beast … forming worker hives and thought numb disease … man is the cruelest to man you see, no matter what month it be … a fabricated semblance, a mere slight, of all we were meant to be.

May we awaken once more … moment by moment.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

 

#NaPoWriMo 26 For Whom is the Honey Made?

Why does the bee labour so?

Why do the blossoms come?

Why has the honeycomb stood?

So long in this trusted wood?

For whom is the honey made?

For man, for beast, for micro mind?

For metamorphic clocks of time?

Why have we come to drink our own?

And murder so the host that binds?

For whom is the honey made?

Ask yourself, while there is still time.

#NaPoWriMo 26
© 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

#NaPoWriMo 25

The virgining leaves tremble in the morning’s essential breeze … Dawn awakens to chase the chill of Night and warm the liquid light bodies of snail and tree frog … the slip and candid fasten frail tendrils of all blossoming vines open their awareness … unfurling the paper white fragility of their dance petal symphony … nodding head mosses stretch through the drench of dew bonnets upon their  sleepy heads … as the iridescence of their quartz footings kiss the Master good morning … “It is in your light, I find my freedom” they whisper softly … bluebells opening their life giving sweet songs written in the law of true unconditional love … this mystery turns in the gathering morn … we human have long forgotten … soon, the morel stands witness …

 #NaPoWriMo 25

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved