turning to leave—
moment frozen in time
on the threshold
Friday, September 29, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
acorn
by Karyn Huntting Peters
he leans against the oak, his pain filling
trunk, branches, leaves. the shade
is lulling, his eyes see no shell
surrounding his world.
autumn winds blow the leaves of pain
about me, and the sun is beginning to set.
I bend to pick up a tiny acorn. shaking it
to my ear, I near a tiny man crying inside.
he leans against the oak, his pain filling
trunk, branches, leaves. the shade
is lulling, his eyes see no shell
surrounding his world.
autumn winds blow the leaves of pain
about me, and the sun is beginning to set.
I bend to pick up a tiny acorn. shaking it
to my ear, I near a tiny man crying inside.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
parchment and ink
by Karyn Huntting Peters
soft, flowing characters
of some ancient alphabet
painted with sharpened reeds
upon hand-pressed parchment
black ink of yore makes images
of peaceful streams and mountains
hanging in the gentle spring sun
slowly drying to permanence
delicate parchment is at peace
reflecting the tranquility within
never cognizant in its free expression
of inherent fragility and grace
of the pointed, cold steel blade
thrust into its woody fibers
by the hand of the very artist
who had brought its words to life
it falls now from its hanging place
waving to and fro in the breeze
comes to rest in the moist grasses
its still wet ink crying into itself
tales of joy and beauty lost
as stream and mountains run together
bleeding tears of ink and despair
beneath the artist's loving hands
soft, flowing characters
of some ancient alphabet
painted with sharpened reeds
upon hand-pressed parchment
black ink of yore makes images
of peaceful streams and mountains
hanging in the gentle spring sun
slowly drying to permanence
delicate parchment is at peace
reflecting the tranquility within
never cognizant in its free expression
of inherent fragility and grace
of the pointed, cold steel blade
thrust into its woody fibers
by the hand of the very artist
who had brought its words to life
it falls now from its hanging place
waving to and fro in the breeze
comes to rest in the moist grasses
its still wet ink crying into itself
tales of joy and beauty lost
as stream and mountains run together
bleeding tears of ink and despair
beneath the artist's loving hands
Friday, September 22, 2006
never mended
by Karyn Huntting Peters
so long a sacrifice
wore bitter in his breast
turning ashen and hard
save for the stone’s center
from which seeped slow words
onto a long hour’s parchment
emptiness never mended,
a parched thirst never sated
in a soul left divided.
now and again sleep came
or verse floated in a dream,
and the life after this
rode swift with the wind of promise
enough to keep the shadow of
day’s mirage in sight
so long a sacrifice
wore bitter in his breast
turning ashen and hard
save for the stone’s center
from which seeped slow words
onto a long hour’s parchment
emptiness never mended,
a parched thirst never sated
in a soul left divided.
now and again sleep came
or verse floated in a dream,
and the life after this
rode swift with the wind of promise
enough to keep the shadow of
day’s mirage in sight
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
mirage
by Karyn Huntting Peters
long wandering lost the desert sun
tatters of cloth 'tween the heat and thou
closer thou came in such saddened state
eyes seeing not any water there
only mirage did thine eyes reflect
no hope reflect for thy long dry mouth
long wandering lost the desert sun
tatters of cloth 'tween the heat and thou
closer thou came in such saddened state
eyes seeing not any water there
only mirage did thine eyes reflect
no hope reflect for thy long dry mouth
Thursday, September 14, 2006
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