Portal of Zenosyne

Portal of Zenosyne

Hesitating, as if… if she entered she may choose to never return ….
so she stood in the dense silent haze, watching, thinking;

Every 55 minutes the portal appeared between the giant trees
a wavering, viridescent whirlpool when open
… a vague woodsy mist when closed… it would simply be as innocent as walking between any two trees… except… she felt the residual energy others might not feel…

Surreal Forest Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Three times she ventured between the tree Guardians
when the Way was closed… three times she wandered back
to stand and watch, listening to the forest rustlings
and her own beating heart…

Life is short. And life is long. But not in that order, and sometimes
it appears to stand still as if caught in a timeloop of timelessness.

Surreal Forest Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

This was one of those timeless times, for how long she stood
she didn’t know – suddenly suspended in liquid skies, stars glowed and faded…
a day flowed by in silent green shadows as she stood in this woods alone.

Guarding the Guardians… nay, observing the space between, as
night closed in again, in muted greens, she realised the Portal
appeared to be sleeping, she watched as moon rose high overhead
and when the viridescent whirlpool did not reopen, she lay in leaf-fall, sleeping as well;

Surreal Forest Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Dawningtime, birdsong swelled only trailing to silence when
the Portal of Zenosyne glowed into be-ing…
Hesitating, as if… as if she entered she may choose to never return
how well she knows that Life is short. And life is long.
And not necessarily in that order…
She breathed in the forest air
And took a step into the viridescent glow, finally ready for whatever
lay beyond…

Surreal Forest Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Poetry and Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Zenosyne: The Sense That Time Keeps Going Faster
(From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

The Day that ‘We’ Were Born

The Day that ‘We’ Were Born

We were born into the wind
in days when the sun was young
we found our voice and learned to sing
into the mystic of time begun…

We talked all through the night until first light
an ocean of words slept before the dawn
nothing was left untouched or unsaid
on the day we were reborn…

On the day that we were born, the dynamics of life changed
some things ceased forever, others rearranged
the you and me and destiny
reached out beneath an endless sea of stars
in those days when the sun was young
when we found our voice and learned to sing
into the mystic wind.

*
SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver
2021
Inspired by Van Morrison

Image Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Seeped in Magic

There is an old deep magic in this forest
which has seeped into my bones
becoming one with roots
that reach to
embrace this Earth with tenderness…
… a deep old magic which resonates
through my blood and recognises
the kindred sacredness
in the beating of my heart;

The energy is pure and palpable
embracing growing trees and rich earth soaking
in moisture which nurtures
the lines of my blood, making me weep
with gratitude for all that holds sway
in the stillness of deep old places …
… the shadows echo and whisper
echoes whisper of wisdom and nature
which resonates through my blood
and recognises the kindred sacredness in my soul

As we transcend the unconscious
and as we transcend the ego
and as we transcend the chaos
to a place of deep inner understanding
We will find a place in our hearts
where we will know the truth of our own heartbeat
And we know we are home
in the deep old magic of the forest.
*
Poetry and Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

A Dribble is Half a Drabble

A “Dribble” is half a “Drabble”… and a Drabble is 100 words… see Wikipedia for full explanation.

The “dribble” (also known as the “minisaga,” 50 words)

The “drabble” (also known as “microfiction,” 100 words)

Metaphysical Dantesque

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Much I marvelled the wordsworthian dantean
I crave the mystical, magnificent metaphysical
In there stepped a supernal dystopianite
But only laughed the poet benthamite
Suddenly, I heard some sound horrifying
All my soul within me personifying
Back into my memories intimidating
Take thy tragic from out my heart!

Much I pondered this mythical textualist
That sorrow propagated such sorrow
‘It’s that poignancy,’ I muttered
My mind always strays to shadings, true
Remembering many daliesque, elvish hues wherein
The catastrophic contrition crying
And the profundity often decrying
I crave the melancholy, mozartian mischievousness
While I pondered, things fantastical and mystifying.
*


Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

Created by Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Below I shared the explanations behind my word usage and inspiration-

Metaphysical Poetry: highly intellectualized poetry marked by bold and ingenious conceits, incongruous imagery, complexity and subtlety of thought, frequent use of paradox, and often by deliberate harshness or rigidity of expression.

Dystopias are societies in cataclysmic decline, with characters who battle environmental ruin, technological control, and government oppression. 
A dystopianite, therefore, is a person belonging to such a society.

adjective

• relating to or consistent with the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“the Benthamite calculus of pains and pleasures”

noun

• a person who supports the philosophical system of utilitarianism proposed by the English philosopher and jurist Jeremy Bentham.

“for the Benthamite a natural right was both false and meaningless”

Bentham’s greatest happiness principle is the principle of utility, or “greatest happiness principle,” which forms the cornerstone of all Bentham’s thought. … His principle of utility regards good as that which produces the greatest amount of pleasure and the minimum amount of pain and evil as that which produces the most pain without the pleasure