Urge to Freedom

Above the rain wet valley
grey and black clouds swirl,
the sun burning through
to light another day.
The land’s desire
rising along root,
up leaf and branches
into the cool spring air
as flowering trees
blanket the ground
with fallen color.
Hunger for new life
awake from winter sleep
lifts from the dark soil,
climbing evergreen towers
and spread by dark-winged crows.
The urge to freedom
long-held beneath the ground
floating now like fertile pollen
broad across the earth.

 

 


photograph by Will Hornyak


 


Venturing into the Unknown

Reaching down into the old earth
to loosen the moorings
of the time driven world,
we follow the roots
of what may yet be
into the dark loam of potential.
Not into the battlefield
where many serve,
but into the mystery, to seek
the solace of the long forgotten,
to retrieve a life beyond despair
that waits beneath the kivas
of the silent guardians.
The new Jerusalem,
an image in the distance
not shaped by human hands,
inviting us to release the predictable
and venture into the unknown.

 

 


encaustic painting by Eilish Hynes @touchthenexus


 


Our Longing Eyes

Bread and wine,
a crown of thorns,
lies of judgement
and lonely walk.
To carry a cross
and know betrayal
the mortal road
yet the cherry tree
blossoms
and throughout
the earth
a risen life
in green and gold
bathes our longing eyes
with the beauty
once again
of morning.

 

 


 


Bridging the Distance

Wet with spring rain
silence rises
into the quarantine
of isolation.
As outer noise quiets
the sound of songbirds,
a few friendly faces.
We smile as we pass,
the separation
connecting us,
the hardship
common ground.
We may find ourselves
in this silence,
who we are and who
we might yet be;
bridging the distance,
again there will be joy.

 

 


photograph by Edward Curtis


 


Forgotten Symphony

The illness showed in many symptoms
but the cause lied layers deep,
a rejection hard as stone,
entangled as a spider’s web.
When the keeper lost balance
the planet leaned, continents shifted
and the perfect orbit unwound.
The age of the predator
rose with a blood red moon
and the time of loneliness began.
Off in the starry distance
light embarked on a long, long journey
with the sound of angels
traveling to the aching void.
Heard first and seen by gypsies
wandering roads without a home,
then throughout the farms and cities,
the sight and melody a gentle rain
slowly softening beleaguered hearts,
encouraging them to play once more
the long forgotten symphony of kindness.

 

 


photograph by Jenny Yang @yzjenni


 


Plum Tree Sparrow

There is a sparrow
on a branch of the plum tree,
just one of the songbirds
left in this city of crows.
She sings with desire
for the light that rises,
she sings for the day
and the warmth to come,
her tuft of feathers
and russet crown
full with the beauty
of invisible touch.
The sound of her music
welcomes the swell
of deep woven roots,
the lift of leaves
to the light of the sun
and here I sit
with the plum tree sparrow,
her bright voice calling
a morning gift.

 

 


photograph by James Frid


 


Soul at Rest

Lay down like the snow
wet and peaceful
in this wintry March storm,
your heart calm
as the white blanket
dusting early spring flowers.
The urge to upset
roils like a river,
hollows us for a harvest
we rarely understand.
Resist that threshing
with the power of silence,
let your soul come to rest
with the gravity of snow.
We’re all connected
like evergreen branches
fed from below by dark wet roots
while reaching upward
toward the light.

 

 


photograph by Tim Petersen


 


Quietly Awake

After a night of rain
with clouds so dense
the full moon barely shown,
a gray morning
of dim light and showers;
tall evergreens stretch their limbs,
birds circle in the mist and quietly
the budding plum tree awakes.

 

 


photography by Louis MacKenzie


 


Unfasten the Lock

I see your struggle,
the weight etched
on your face
as you bear up
under the gravity
known only to you.
The world pulls
while you strive
to gain altitude,
clawing at the trap
set on the day
you were born.
Don’t bother
with confession
or aphorism,
just reach down
to the glint of metal
at the bottom
of your soul,
the remembrance
of who you are
clear and shining,
and with that key
unfasten the lock.

 

 


Grief by David L. Miller


 


Something Like Praise

With first light
the soul of the earth rises,
reaching through evergreen
and shy herds of deer,
silver cords of river fish
and human hearts
no longer sleeping.
The dome of the night sky
recedes to the west, leaving
the earth altar silent.
Quietly we come,
something like praise
a lilt in our voices,
gathering the stones
of what we’ve forgotten
in a cairn of remembrance
to mark the day
we chose to awake.