In June, the Jacaranda bloom. Loud, splendid in the southern California sun. In the Northwest, the show starts softly. Demure, delicate among the pines.
wisteria, the color of sun rays blushing … peeking shyly through the clouds at the rebirth of a spring day.
On the craggy cliffs of Jamaica’s western shore, an out-of-body experience.
Looking out
luminous Caribbean bends and sways
black ink beckoning in darkness
foaming wild around fingers of lava stone.
How exquisite it would be to slip in
a smooth decent in silence.
sliding away from the Knowing,
release of muscle and bone, shaking off past and pain
flight of heart and mind, salt dissolving the no longer.
Pitching forward
breathing in brine and breeze
lulled by the sleep of forever …
but for that touch from nature’s hand
observing from just behind.
Turning away shoulder from the tide, the edge of night
pressing closely, pushing inward to the Truth of the Root
cast away of wicked thought, filling of well with water
urgent now,
revealing the case for holding on
in the glow of light and love.
The oil is olive
liquid luscious golden deep
already fresh with flavor and hungry for more
poured over fruit and flower, herb and spice
it breathes in the good, generates the heat
bathed in time, soaked in warmth, it transforms into
potion, at once olive and orange, new and gently made
a taste to savor, never the same as before.
You visit me in a dream
writing down things left to do on your yellow pad.
We can take care of it, yes.
You let me hug you
I see the black and blue, feel the lump in my throat
as the dream moves off in a new direction
My last words to you are, “I love you Frank.”
Sometimes surrender is the sweetest love.
Life love, way of the world
Precious package
Best we could do
the only thing
Mailed to the heartland
open it, feel full
Keep the postman employed.
Travel in circles carrying
The Message
cradled in arms of grace
Give it away, passion played
Let the anchorman headline.
Life love, it was life love all along.
Follow me to the water
Where fingertips pedal softly on the keys
The silent notes travel across ripples of blue
and fall away into stillness.
I see the rosebud, tender and tempting
Tight layers of smoothness and simplicity
vibrating with life
capturing imagination, then admiration
revealed in the mind’s eye, lids closed one moment more.
Janet Muniz is an award-winning professional writer known for informative articles, inspiring blog posts and effective video content. To hire her, contact her here.
Cold, damp
Fever grows
Petals shiver, rained upon
uncertainty floats in, marine layer on the edge
moving quickly, hovering just above … and to the right.
Coat and flannel
lovie, blanket
Wake up, I am.
Get up, I am not.
lingering in cloud, vision still dark, after a long night.
Janet Muniz is an award-winning professional writer known for informative articles, inspiring blog posts and effective video content. To hire her, contact her here.
I mean to be consumed by a device, unapproachable and far away.
Like all the rest.
But I hear the music, and it’s been years.
Blue of sky, grumbling floor, wide expanse of bridge and blur
Warm to the touch, imagining the ride,
I open up
to light and air, and a bald eagle traveling.
We fly side by side, nose to nose. Like a run for the roses-
he on the outside, me on the in- only we mean to arrive together.
I look around, no one else is seeing.
I look again, white feather fan in the breeze, and I know.
Match his smile and sway, before he soars out of sight.
Later, as sky descends with the power of steel and metallic might-
a rainbow appears against the dark.
I look around, no one else is seeing.
I look again, sun breaks to the west, and I know.
Come in close, then let go, with outstretched arms and toes.
photo of an eagle in flight by jc.winkler
Written
on June 13, 2012