Raindrops on Damp Ground

In a dripping rainforest
where mushrooms sleep
on cushions of moss
eons deep
where the melody of nature
is pure and sweet
and the water, untainted
from free-flowing crystal creeks:
-there is a world of wonder
I wish l could share with you
imbued with ancient resonance
of every earthy hue..

And it is here
I hear the whispers-
-echoes of ages past
and see the thrumming aura glow softly as I pass
Of all the energy of nature united in natural synergy…
I see spirits rising
through low mist that hugs the ground
and understand the message
that they share with me…
In my wanderings
I had stumbled
upon Mother Natures sacred ground
… and learnt that she had secrets
not intended to be found…
but I was allowed
to linger
in the untouched purity
of this spiritual glade
for just a few precious moments
was all the spirits gave…

Enough for me to feel
universal elements at play
and know
no human foot
had trodden there before that day
and as l stood in breathless wonder
of the beauty I had found
I left a token of my reverence
… tear drops on dampened ground.
Poetry and Art by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Mountain Meditations

Mountain Meditations

I feel the mountains regular rhythm
breathing around me
healing this spirit
bruised by the demands of life
soothing this soul
that has for so long felt
restless…homeless
feeding this mind, weary
of the weight
of humanity’s apathy…
the hills breathe for me…
breathe with me…
breathe inside of me…

I feel the mountains
earthy vibrations
I sense its concern
for a world caught up
in material glory
I hear wisdom whispers echoing
down the tree covered hillside
who listens to these mystic echoes
that share tales of elemental beginnings…
surely more than just I
listen with your souls!
See with spiritual eyes!
Don’t deny the honest healing
found in mountain meditations….

The mountains breathe for us all.

Poetry and Image Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Evolving

Evolving Rhythms (Before these knees began to seize)

Before these knees began to seize
like un-oiled breaks
I use to walk for days
sleeping where ever I landed

fear was an unknown factor
each day moving to a different rhythm

I lived on windfall apples and creek water
not tied to an address on a bill or payslip

I could change my name in every town
and sometimes I did
but I never hid
from myself

I use to write poetry on pie bags
and litter I found in the street
stuffing them in a buff envelop that had a stamp
of a kangaroo in one corner…

I’d bath in rivers, or not at all

• weave flowers in my hair
  people stopped and stared

I didn’t care

I fell in and out of love, without the angst and tears
and moved on
when I got bored….
for a month in the late 70’s
I wore the same flowered bellbottoms
without taking them off
and waded into a river to get ‘em clean

I didn’t know it then
but I was living the dream
my older self would look back on
after knees began to seize;
*
Poetry and AI Imagery SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver ©