The Masks

The Masks

So lost, she stared upon the row of masks

Wondering which was her and which was them,

These were her expectations and her tasks

But which one was her own- her own inner gem?

So lost, she tried each on for size

Till she saw her shadow on the floor,

The mask leering up before her eyes

She was revealed as she tore it off in horror.

Dancing

Dancing
Let loose your hair and free your roving mind
To truly feel and meld within your form;
Let loose the mask that holds your soul in bind
And loose your joy and all the tears that storm;
Passion shines through as you fly before the moon
And bend your limbs beyond limitation,
Connected to the earth, your feet glide in tune,
Mind relaxing into meditation;
As colored lights revolve in silent darkness
Peace and joy are found to free all gain-less stress.

cinquain and haiku

Spiderlings of Time

Blue skies

Scent of coffee

Moth upon the window;

One moment caught webbed in time, spins

Away.

 

Vitality

Energy flowing

Creates life beneath the earth;

Who can stop the growth?

Stories

Stories

Fallen leaves, a roughened rock, a blade of grass-

What hidden stories do you hold within?

What feet have trod this pebble smooth like glass?

From what boulders did this rock begin?

Yellow leaves flutter down upon a lawn

Holding forgotten words of love and hate-

Whispers of people the wind has not withdrawn.

Who were these people, and what were their fate?

Did some child gaze upon this very leaf?

Their energy and stories have ebbed away,

Locked away in a vast and jumbled sheaf

That the sticks and stones will never betray.

Meloncholy

Meloncholy

Do you feel a great stirring within you?

Sitting under rain and swirling mist,

The magic slowly sinking into bliss.

Do you feel a great yearning for this stirring?

Staring out at city lights that shine like gems

'Midst the glowing headlights where the traffic stems.

Do you contemplate this joyful sorrow?

Watching the hawks wheel in the bright blue sky,

Up above where the rugged mountains lie.

Then, flying in the sky through clouds, it's clear,

It is a wistfulness for heaven,

That's showing small reflections in its mirror.

The Rose Bush

He told me I was brilliant with that charming smile on his face and said he wished to give me a rose. I followed him out of the house into an enclosed garden with high brick walls full of apple and cherry trees covered in a blanket of white and pink blossoms. He brought me into the center of the garden towards a single rose bush and gestured for me to pick a rose. The leaves were a deep, vivid green, and all over the bush were perfect, pale pink roses. Each rose was faultlessly shaped, graceful and delicate, with a just a blush of deeper pink. I drew closer, slowly walking around the bush. Each rose was laden with a certain richness, somehow majestic in their delicateness. I stopped, drawn towards a rose that scarcely looked like a rose. It was still flower-like and beautiful, but it lacked the same majesty. It was just weird and awry. I hesitated, looking up at a perfect rose above. Then I decided. I told him I wanted the one strange rose. He stepped near and clipped the stem, handing it to me with a smile. I walked along the bush and came to another weird rose, lovely in its quaintness. I asked him if I could have this one also, and he replied by clipping the rose with his shears and handing it to me. We walked back towards the house to find a vase, and I stopped one more time to look back at all those sublime, pale pink roses. They were too powerful for me and far too unsullied. Besides, I preferred the eccentric. I always had. After all, that's why I had chosen him.