Zen & the Art of Visualization #1

 

Poetry & Photo Sharonlee Goodhand

 

Zen & the Art of Visualization #1

 

closing eyes

a scene unfolds on mind-dark panorama

over-grown with weeds & fragrant wildflowers

a path opens up before me…

the intrusive drone of distant traffic

fades in forest echoes

fades… softer…fades… fainter…. fainter –

whisperings of cool wind ripple treetops gently

caressingly fingering blushing green

as pools of sunlight stream

through filigree branches…

 

soft mosses glisten with sweet pure moisture

‘neath trees of regal poise

I step onto the beckoning path

no fear to where it goes

just yearning within my heart & soul

to walk a little ways

to sooth my flagging spirit

in incandescent haze…

 

closed eyes miss not a single sight

such profound tranquillity wrapped in an echo of sound

I let my feet slowly wander

not caring where I was bound…

willows brushed the path-edge….a delicate gentle tune

and between the lace-like branches

I glimpsed both sun and moon

star-jasmine grew in trailing vine

… and as I paused to breath the perfumed threads

tendrils wove a garland

which was placed upon my head….

 

on I walked with measured pace

through fragrant air that was soft & light

the haunting notes of an ancient flute

spoke of the balance of day & night

emerald shadows beckoned me

to leave the overgrown path

beckoned me to follow

the hollow echo of a distant laugh…

 

the way opened up before me

and closed as I passed through

no fear nor phobia plagued me…

no negativity trailed my step

I felt so strange yet oh so calm

as if I was returning home

to a place

…. I could neither remember nor forget…

and still I walked… quite boldly

the way the forest showed

lost in surreal tranquillity

enchanted by an ethereal glow…

 

 

a clearing opened around me

and in amongst tumbled stone

a waterfall danced merrily

singing for me and me alone

and in this place of whispered echoes

I knew had come home…

 

Poetry & Photo sharonlee©

 

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Immersed In the Scent of a World Moist With Rain

 

Immersed In the Scent of a World Moist With Rain

Thoughts Drift Far and Away and Back Again

Soft visions, Rain-Kissed, Tender Memories, Warm Lips

Trans-i-ent Moments of Unity’s Bliss

 Softly…softly the rain misted to the sodden ground

soaking into the earth as if it had found

its final resting place…

a loose and lawless blast of wind

swept in

briefly billowing across my face…

 rich fragrances wafting in  muted light

moist earth, wet forest

a hint of jasmine-scented delight…

…. in the higher reaches

native trees swayed in graceful lullaby

as soft rain wept from the sky;

 vaporous gauze-like morning rain

in wispiest virgin veil

breathing in the cleansing air

I slowly… softly…. exhale….

silence echoes silence

rain whispers through the trees….

a misty moist world

murmurs  peacefully…

 a calmness settles ‘bout me

a feeling of dreamlike quietude

so silent is the moment

the air delicate and smooth….

not a soul is stirring….just the muffled morn and I

an unruffled world silenced by

 misty moments mellowed by rain

… in the ensuing silence I feel

almost sane….

 vaporous gauze-like morning rain

a calmness settles ‘bout me

silence echoes silence

 

just the muffled morn and me….

the trees stained

a dark shade of wood-grain

 the leaves washed dust-free

rustling

 in a still damp breeze

the land looked refreshed again

after the rain…

 

Mist on the mountain

A sky of grey… I wander wet paths on a rain-blessed day

Newly washed colors in vibrant hues

 Forest-glades a much loved view

Raindrops that tremble from leaf and flowers

 Silence beckons me into tranquil bowers

 

Butterflies hover, with elegant grace

Here I Embrace… breathing space

 rain splatter splashing on wide green leaves

rebellious the roar of tumbling seas

 the earth wafted, rich and fertile

 with the first drops of rain

 and slowly, oh so slowly

I began to feel again…

 

the rain gently misting

hissing

in a soft fine shroud

like a new brides

virginal lace veil…

 the morning  ambiance

seemed somehow

subdued and muted …. sounds muffled and frail…

watercolour hues

patchy sky a denim-washed

blur of blue

I paused beneath

the spreading branches

of an unknown tree

taking shelter from

a sudden shower

sighing with breathless

reverence

for Mother nature’s beauty

and her power…

unexpected pleasure

bursting with

unexpected treasures…

waterfalls that gurgled

and tumbled over stones

winding paths

that meandered on

past flowerbeds

and wetland ponds…

 once again I feel the old urge

 my gypsy feet

 long to wander

 down unknown byways

 and un-trampled highway’s…

 to feel freedom in the air

 anticipating what’s beyond

 the new horizon…

 

POETRY & IMAGES SHARONLEE GLOODHAND

Winter-Born Moments

Self Portrait PhotoArt by Sharonlee

 

Winter-Born Moments

 

How sweet it is… to sit in winter sun

let thoughts delicious, drift with the fragrance of the day

birds sing in mist-risen melody, of Nature’s grace

voicing their appreciation of Nature’s way…

I lost myself, as I often do, in inner thought

allowing my eyes to feast on mottled shade

naked branches of the sleeping frangipani

crisscrossing dark shadow-limbs on moss- speckled grass…

 

Pearl-hued clouds drifted in, devouring the sun

sky turning a thousand shades of grey

a mischievous breeze wafted across my face

temperature plunging in sudden freefall…

… I rose, small shivers shook my body

as I returned inside…

*

Coffee cools too fast in winter…

and one hand aches with cold as I pound the keyboard

one finger flying with rapid flow

typing as the thoughts tumble and spill

and lock themselves behind inner doors…

… the other hand lay warm & snug

bedded between crossed legs;

 

A mantle of cloud lay across the sun

a cold dampness invades the bones

a good day for a ‘blanket-day’

… if only I wasn’t alone.

*

SharonleeGoodhand©9-Jun-14

Healing Candle

Healing Candle

Like a Manuscript in the Wind

 

Art by Sharonlee

Like a Manuscript in the Wind

 

 

It seems my mind is not my own today

it wanders as the minutes lead to hours

scattered, like a manuscript  in the wind

an unchained melody, my soul sings…

 

emotion ebbs and flows… eddying and surging

reaching peaks of self-fulfilling ecstasy

plunging into maelstroms of confusion…

too dizzy to even snatch at straying thoughts

I let them meander where they choose…

 

disjointed emotions … co-mingling like a Roman orgy

I no longer know if my mind knows what’s going on, all feelings

and mind-images merging and uniting…. separating

completely anew… to reform, anew

… do I make sense?

I think not…

 

besieged I am

by insane, zany crazy thoughts…

exclamations symbols pirouette

like demented ballet dancers-

– my inner woman gleams

at innuendos not yet born

as sighs escape to infect the breeze

with hedonistic  delirium….

 

spinning… dizzy… into a vortex 

I whirl on waves of energy…

I cannot breathe… have lost control

scattered, like a manuscript  in the wind;

*

SharonleeGoodhand©8-Jun-14

SharonLee…. Matriarch, Poet, Artist, Lover of Life

 

You ARE Home

Collateral Damage

Collateral Damage

*

Morning sun filtered in at angles through the window

outside dogs bark as they are known to do at the rattling of the milkman;

breakfast served on faded plates salvaged from a dusty box in the basement

sat uneaten, and will most likely find its way back to the kitchen;

and she must then endure another lecture and gentle reprimands to eat more

along with the cooks motherly tsk tsk… sounding like a broody hen

she sighed, following with melancholy eyes the trampled garden path

that bordered the edges of the park across the street.

Almost she expected to see his hurrying feet, hurrying to her… but no, she muttered

no… I am merely day-dreaming… hallucinating… no longer aware of night and day;

the cold damp rises up through weathered boards and chills her, body & soul.

Of time she loses track, for months now the Grandfather clock has stood stock still & stopped

filigree hands paused eternally at 6 o’clock;

She bade the housemaids never to touch it… ever.

Sprouting daisies bespeckled the lawn beyond the window but she despondently

refused, at wits end with grief, to leave the room… her tomb… her self-imposed area

of exile… and still she dwelt at the gates of hell tortured by the memory

of those brown eyes… those loving eyes.

Waves of anguish washed over her like a fog… stealing even the sweet release of sleep

toss and turn in nightmare clutches… up in the wee hours to hide from reoccurring visions.

What’s happening to me, she sobs, collapsing in a twisted heap on the floor

she sees her face reflected in the three bay window

tears stream down three pain-wracked faces.

Sunlight falls in from a clear sky, outside the birds in graceful flight

skim the bottom of the garden but never alight but she notices little of the birds’ joy and delight;

she watches the park… the busy street… imagining she hears his tapping feet.

And passing neighbors glance up to see her sad and shadowed face

all wave in greeting but a tear lingers in their eye, they never get a wave from her

so hurry on by, so little they can do, a simple wave as a passer-by.

With solemn eyes they hurry away down the muddy street

gents with their dapper hats, the ladies with ruffled skirts;

An aimless thought almost made her smile… a sweet memory that hovers in her heart,

the day her young man professed his feelings… vowing they’d never part

shouting love into the soft spring air. Bells rang soon after, chiming to the rafters

And then the moment vanishes… as realization crawls along her spine

for the future seemed so empty, no level of release can she find;

as the morning sun shifted across the roofs

she let the minutes drift by, each silent second, like the one before

as young widow wept another causality of war.

Sharonlee©

SharonleeGoodhand©