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
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
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
I decided to make a new Spoken word poetry video… unfortunately the quality of the sound isn’t very good, or loud… so, for anyone who wishes to hear me read a short poem presented with my images, crank up your sound… I guess I need to speak up next time… if there is a next time
I have attempted to verbalise poetry from time to time, however I feel I lack a certain polished flare. I’ve created some spoken word poetry but rarely share it for this reason.
Full Moon Magic Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver
True Test of Time
The full moon rose over suburban streets faint traces of daylight slowly draining from a shadowed sky… … bats swooped above tree silhouettes darker shades against the night…
Branches echoed with a babbled chorus as parrots squabbled for tree-space and one by one lights shone from regimented rows of houses…
There was a measure of stillness as night took over from day autumn kissed my aging cheeks chill lips against my skin as a muted sense of calmness permeated the quiet streets somewhere a dog barked and the last echoes of children playing fell to silence…
I realized there was a peacefulness in such a setting even though it was not the tranquility of my beloved wilderness… … was it that I had become accustomed to my new surroundings acclimatized to the hum of traffic and the way buildings blocked the view?
Me by Me
As I ambled through the twi-lit streets my youngest son, at 22, slowed his pace to match his mum’s… … yes, the same mum who had hurried his little feet to school- – stopped to tie his scuffed shoes… held his small hand in hers and smiled… come on son, we’ll be late… … as if sensing my poignant thoughts my man-child smiled at me, nice night, was all he said. * How things change, as the years change pace slows and thoughts take on reflective layers each passing month… each year that slips by offers insights new and rewarding as a full moon rose over suburban streets faint traces of daylight slowly drained from a shadowed sky… I smiled at the evening stars that appeared one by one and realized there was a peacefulness in such a setting even though it was not the tranquility of my beloved wilderness…
Perhaps the true test of time is to find such peace where ever one resides. *
PANTOUM A poem in a fixed form, consisting of a varying number of four-line stanzas with lines rhyming alternately; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated to form the first and third lines of the succeeding stanza, with the first and third lines of the first stanza forming the second and fourth of the last stanza, but in reverse order, so that the opening and closing lines of the poem are identical.”
Motion Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver
You and I
When the night is spread out against the sky shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon.
Shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon.
Secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon When the night is spread out against the sky. * Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021
Feed Your Soul & Free Your Spirit 