Monthly Archives: February 2015

New Day

DoubleU = W

Morning frost glistens like diamonds,

Frozen grass crackles under foot,

The air lies still and bitter cold,

Sunrise will warm the morning chill.

I and my dog on morning rounds,

To investigate the new day.



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Cheap Words



I don’t want a penny for your thoughts
A single cent is worth more than that
How cheap are words we speak
We crawl in dirt and talk of skies

I’m lost in a world
My mouth opens not
Still I sing this song
It’s Love that makes me move

Inside we are one
Come and join me here
In this house of God
We dance through the night

Sipping Truth from Beauty’s cup
Nothing else will suffice
The words that you hear
Will fall at your feet
And crumble into dust

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Lotus Collaboration (Part VI)

Thoughts of the Fallen

Inwards I fall and fall and fall perpetual into an empty centre of mirrored illusion
I see reflections of another and look upon and ponder
But ponder and wonder still the stillness of it shakes me
By virtue of the fallen they’ll think of lesser men who’ve reigned
Men and man and I is same and whole the reign does not stretch far enough
But enough to know who knew the lost in times of thoughtless hours
So lost and still the body roams lusting for a life it was promised
Blissful thinking but yet sinking to the depths of the mindless drone
And such a steady drone to ring and rattle through ears and minds so madmen might yield
Falling to their knees to speak of entities who pass judgement without will
Now I wallow and weep on dirty knees and no ones there not anyone I want at…

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carefully chosen notes.

Wallflower Whimsy

Surreal Birds, by Alexandria Baker Surreal Birds, by Alexandria Baker

As day rolls into night

and night into day,

the shaman sparrow

sings his lilting song

of secret, sacred notes

performed for a

slumbering Spring.

Slicing through the

bitter silence of

frozen twilight skies,

each note is a

brilliant reminder

of what once was

and again will be,

inspiring a breathy answer

for the beating hearts

of everyone awake to hear:

“Soon, sweet sparrow. Soon.”

Would the sparrow travel

to warmer skies

if he knew how closely

they existed?

Just through the fabric

of here and now,

a short trip to

Somewhere Spring,

does the sparrow

seek this eternal paradise

of chartreuse rebirth,

or does he patiently sing

his hopeful song

to icicles decorating

barren trees,

appreciating each

arctic moment

for its glittering beauty,

mindfully aware

of rewards revealed

to those who wait?

As the sun rises

in numbing cold,

so does it set


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