February 10, 2008 • 1:12 am
The Wave
Inspiration
In the truest form.
Something in the mist.
On the edge of existing.
The Movement of the water over the sand.
Graceful in it’s quiet, calm, rhythmic, breath.
Pen to Page
Feasible and tangible
on the tip of your tongue
The feeling remains but the words won’t come
Choppy and uncertain. Tensing then relaxing. Belief then unbelief
The vastness of the sea, building, taking shape.
Furious Transposing
The reason and the rhymne are one
The time has come to pass
He whispers as he walks the way, “No one wave is the last”
The Wave, white capped and fierce crashes against the cliffs
Dread fills my heart as the tide comes in, it’s song my spirits lift
Still
The calm must come to carry on, the cadence of the deeps
I find rest, and am challenged by the secrets that they keep
If truly this is the first of many enigmatic waves
I pray that I might be all caught up and in the beauteous torrent be found safe.
Filed under: art, inspiration, life, poetry , life, poetry, thoughts
February 5, 2008 • 5:54 am
Momentary beauty
in what may have been a dream
mysterious and lovely
quiet and serene
if in a dream it was we met
appropriation of
all beauty and truth beget
you; mysterious icon
Haunting my imagination
puzzling vapors and remnants
the you of my creation
thought of which leads to divinity
Filed under: life, poem, poetry , life, poem, poetry
January 26, 2008 • 7:36 am
Whose woods these are I think I know. 
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost
I try to keep my eyes open for experiences like this every day. A moment or two of pure beauty. I am not sure I agree with everything this poem has to offer up(I mean doesn’t life itself have the potential to be beautiful, could the promises that we have to keep end up being beautiful as well?), but the place it takes me is magical.
ryan
*photos from The Walden Project
Filed under: beauty, life, poem, poetry , beauty, poetry, Robert Frost
January 23, 2008 • 3:54 am
It’s happening
The trees are growing roots in the sky
Nurtured in the unchanging earth
And being whipped around in the wind and warmed by the sun.
Rings their milestones, cycles their markers
They are drawn ever deeper, ever higher
It’s happening
The trees are growing roots in the sky
Filed under: life, literature, people, poetry, trees , life, people, poetry, trees
