Practice, Patterns and Passable Poetry

Today is the anniversary of my grandmother's death; this year has been mentally and emotionally exhausting, a struggle to find fleeting moments of inspiration, of fulfilment.  Without realizing, in your grief you can put up roadblocks that prevent you from growing, from living.  What you focus on becomes your reality.

Gratefully, I have had the presence of mind to shift my attention over the past month or so.  Practising mindfulness and creativity helps put you in tune with where you need to be to live with authenticity.

As a start, lately I have been making up little poems to go with my Instagram posts.

Even our sunrise coffee holds a map
Whose fresh lines contour gentle slopes explored
and as a gift the crema, slow, unwraps
Each mountain splendour, vale and vast fjord

Seasoned bone flower
Eye of the day, all-seeing
Divine chains of fate

Second storey view
Window you could see me through
Wistful as we grew

Two lips pressed shut
Like tulips, uncut
Resting in tall grass
Beneath the Oak Moon

Looks just like the sun
Lighting us in language lost
Love obscured by time

Fifteen year old flowers
Line some written pages
Counting down the hours
Until your whole life changes

Salt water tide pool
Silken mermaid's tresses thrive
Drowned in the sunrise

Plasma crown, a wreath of light
Summer sun, hidden from sight
Clouds like mountains, seas ignite
On crested waves with caps of white
Lamenting divers call in flight
Songs to make the stars unite
Our parted sleep we dare not fight;
In dreams we wave from such great height