She soothes my heart
as it pines for the sun of summer,
already giving token golden leaves
as a promise of her autumn glory to come.

The earth
seems to come alive again,
not only to bloom with wild flowers,
but giving
of the bounty of her harvest,
abundant,
and over flowing,
lavishly sweeping
down the sides of her basket.

I walk with her.
I revel in her freshness.
She welcomes me with open arms.



Goddess Winter

I walk through the folds of winter's dress.
She wraps me in the magic she has woven all around.
Cold and relentless, strong and resilient,
she strengthens me as I walk
silently soaking her into my bones.

The cold it comes and creeps and curls
around my toes and fingers too.
The ice it shines and shimmers white,
and glimmers gold in the sinking sun.
The wind it flows soft and slow
and gently rustles the leaves
like timbrels toning her timeless tunes.

Goddess Winter covers me queenly
with her white velvet robe.
She brushes my cheek with her silken petals.
Incredible whiteness is all around,
the air, the ground, the trees, the sky.
She weaves her magical web of wonder round my heart.
I feel the darkness lifting and delight floods my soul.


River Flow

river flow into reality of life
in the half moon light and misty clouds
that hugged its banks.

I walked in silence t o the quite in my soul.
There I listened to her speak and sing
almost as if she was saying nothing at all.

And yet she spoke
volume s of vellum,
luminous leather,
whispering and whining,
singing and sighing
bending and binding
the trees washing their leaves in her glorious waves.

I imagined myself lying down beside her soft sides
dipping my hair in the coolness of her water
clearing my mind.

Settling,
quietly, more quiet.
Still,
even more still.
Breathe,
breathing deeply,
In and out,
in and out,
in and out.

Then I saw her leading the way,
gently guiding me,
holding my hand.
And when I was in doubt and fear,
my shoulder ached.
And when I trusted,
it did not.

For she was already beyond the curve
and what she saw I could not
but then I heard her whispering

"Turn around,
look at what you see.
For what you see behind you,
is what I saw before
and what I now see
is what you have in store"

oh river, river...
flow

Victory

Victory
standing ground.

Power
closing round.

Triumph
we have found

In our unity together.

As friends, siblings, children, parents,
to forever stamp out
oppression and domination.

To lay claim to the power of
love over hate,
good over evil,
light over darkness.

Claiming our worthiness and freedom
to become everything we were meant to be.

The Palace of Transformation

Think happy thoughts,
write beautiful words.
Dream, dreams of silver things,
Of silver linings beyond cloudy skies.
Where the mind lies,
or lies,
or plays for days,
or dazes in gazes
of watercolor mazes.

And see the frayed fabric,
awaiting the weaver's magic.
What web shall we weave,
And of what threads shall we conceive.
A web woven into and around the frayed material,
extending to forever.
Woven in strands of red mist
and sun rise of white fringe clouds,
and pale yellow seams
in the pale yellow moon beams
And deep blues and rich burgundies.

Woven all into one, brilliant,
exotic tapestry
containing the secret of the core of heaven.

And as she stood at the core of heaven
0A
she saw a woman rising up from the sea.

Her colors were black
and midnight blue
and velvet aubergine.

As she rose up her caps were cresting,
her fingers stretching,
the white foam forming,
and bright light shining.

When she turned,
she saw the woman rising up from the water,
into the sky.
And the woman rose up to the moon,
passing over and becoming the sun.
Becoming male and female,
but retaining a female form
for th ose who did not understand.

Then, as she came back down to earth,
she realized she felt fear.
Instead of running from the fear,
she picked it up like a precious gift.

With piercing clarity,
she knew each slab of fear
that weighed so heavily in her stomach,
was actually a beautiful slab
of marble steps of faith.

So she picked up a piece of fear
and laid it on the path before her.
Surprisingly,
she began to see a magical staircase
form right before her eyes.

And in front and above the staircase,
she saw an obelisk,
of the purest clear quartz,
rising up into the universe.

The obelisk had eight sides
that tapered into a peak
and was six sided on the top.

So, eagerly,
she began to venture out
into the fo rest of fear
and pick up the beautiful marble slabs of faith
she found waiting for her there
like precious gifts of spirit.

She would go back to the palace of transformation
and place the marble steps of faith
into the magical staircase.
And after a while,
in what seemed like many years,
or might have been only a few days,
for really it was both,
she began to realize
she was creating a spiral staircase
that wove in and out of her mind.

Like a double helix up and down,
and in and out.
Sometimes
it seemed as if it were the waves of the ocean,
crashing in and rushing hurriedly back out.

So she hurried back with glee
like a butterfly,
back out into the forest of fear.
This time knowing her reward
was to find another slab of marbleized faith
for her spiraling journey
to the palace of transformation



Gossamer Trails

When first I spied the moon tonight.
It glowed with golden yellow light.
The sun hung on the other side.
Waiting patiently, no more to hide.

T hen slowly as the sun passed on.
The moon shone brightly on it’s own.
Gracing me with it’s magic spell.
Spinning webs for dreams=2 0of faille.

I wait all month to see it’s glow.
It waits for me, for this I know.
The moon and I, are sisters sure.
We ride and sing and sail the azure.

We laugh and drink our hearts content.
For no one knows where we have went.
Upon her gossamer trails we’ve trod.
Far beyond the land of nod.

Far beyond the galaxy,
for ‘twas my imagination you see.
For in the nation I imagine,
There lies no common limitation.

0A
Only dreams of spirit and soul.
Filling my heart, making me whole.


The Lake

I drive along the road,
the leaves are brown,
the ground is brown,
the trees different shades of brown.
I see the lake.
Will I be able to get in?
The gate is open! Glory!

I walk closer to the shore.
The water quietly lapping, slapping,
tapping, tapping, tapping at my door.
The roots of the trees are exposed by erosion
like some kind of place I might have been before.

A secret place
where the gnomes live and breathe
and see me walking by.
They like me.
0A
They are glad I am here affirming their existence.

I stand upon this stony hill.
Shale and limestone standing still.
Broken crumbled once was dirt.
Now is rock, the lake it skirts.

I found a matching shell,
like angels wings still attached.
Angels you prayed to protect me through the night.
You sent the angels on to me.
I send the angels back to thee.

Now this is an interesting creature true.
I think it lies here just for you.
And here’s another glory piece.
Rose quartz, I do believe.

I sit beneath this craggy cliff.
When will this rock begin to shift.
When ere the dirt moves out its way.
That will be the shifting day.

So quite and peaceful
only once in a while
do boats go drifting, speeding, sailing by.
The sun is shining brilliant white
Shining on the waters light.

Some where along the way,
I know not where .
My key came off my shoe lace,
its over there.

I will sit and meditate,
call the powers of the lake.
Tell me where you are right now.
Guide my footsteps, you know how.

Not even fifteen steps away.
Amazed I find it shining there.
I pick it up.
I put it in.
I turn the lock.
It lets me in.

I drove along the road,
the leaves were brown,
the ground was brown,
the trees different shades of brown.
I saw the lake.
I got in.
The gate was open!
Glory!

Winter Waiting

I lay here on a new rock on my mountain,
where I’ve never been before.
Gazing at the winter sun,
the air cool and crisp,
the wind soft,
the sun slowly sliding
through the quiet layers of clouds
that covered me during the night.

Islands of clear blue sky begin to settle in between.
The sun still softly shimmering in the morning dawn.
His breath burnishing the horizon with subtle colors.

And is if he heard me calling,
He suddenly brightens my face with his light.
I squint my eyes in surprise.
I lay back on the rock,
and let him in,
into my soul.
I soak him up
for when he is gone.

I missed him last night
in the dark of the night
when the moon was gone.
It was a long night.
All alone,
I waited for him to return.
At first=2 0light his red and burgundy slowly crept in,
piercing the black and lonely blue.
Layers of purple and pink and red,
purple and red reflected in my mirror,
glowing on my bed, shining in my head.

And now here I sit,
in the winter sun,
surrounded by the winter trees,
dormant and=2 0resting.
The light of day shining all around me.
My summer will come.
I will wait
and rest
and continue to heal.

The Magnolia Tree

Walking into the forest of time
where the fairies live.
The pine trees
crumbled and broken from recent ice storms.
Some trunks and limbs cut away with saws
to clear the trail
like surgery clearing away wreckage.
Others left in the woods to rot with the clearing of time,
slowly and gently
transforming into fertile soil.

I see a magnolia tree
where I’ve never noticed one before.
It’s space enlarged
by the pain of others falling.
The sun is brighter here now too.
In time,
the magnolia tree will bloom
and the spicy fragrance of it’s flowers
will waft through the air.

And so again my mountain teaches me.


The Moon

The moon,
tonight, the night before her fullness,
lie in silky clouds.
Shrouding the beauty of her milky skin,
gently brushing her within.

She lay waiting,
resting,
biding her time.

Like lace,
the clouds flounced around her,
happy to see her return.

The wind singing trills,
and frills and thrills.
It’s melody ringing across the hills.

The trees harmonizing,
matching their rhythm
as they sway and bend
to the will of the wind.

The train slowly pounding out the bass,
the beat,
the clickity clack of the rail road track.

And as if she new
that all the world were creating a song just for her,
She shone magnificently,
brilliant white in the night,
her own star light
kissing,
stroking,
loving,
waiting,
being herself,
the moon.

Sunlight and Moonlight

Into sunlight
and moonlight combined,
I embrace my light and shadow two.
I imagine myself too s hadow filled
then remember
only in sunlight
my moonlight revealed
passions peeled
agony kneeled
prayers appealed
and pleaded with reason in my mind.

Forgiveness I sought
worthiness I fought
self love I bought
at Riches, Macy’s and Sears.

Washing in tears.
Cleansing the years.
Gratefulness giving me peace.

I look at myself.
The valley below, the cliffs,
climbing on hands and knees.

Why have I chosen my lessons this way?
Or did spirit in love ordain them just for me?
My wise crone knows.
My soul chose.
My gratitude grows night by day.

I glance at my path
and notice at last
each tear a diamond has formed.

Scattered with jewels,
treasures and tools,
blessings and gifts adorned.

Going through life.
Easing their strife.
Touching each one sent to me.

I kneel in my room,
and pray in their loom
their fabric will cover them with grace.

An open vessel.
A train trestle,
bridging their pain to their joy.

Each day a blessing.
Each client a lesson,
spirit has given to me.

My friends,
my enemies,
each and everyone,
an opportunity,
a choice,
to be free.


The Raging Storm

Have I alienated you spirit,
the flow.
Have I alienated myself,
my soul.

The icy blanket lies around my heart,
in the desert wasteland of hate and fear.
Coyishly flirting,
flattering words,
wafting smiles,
blinking eyes hiding the lies,
the tears, the fears,
the years of walking, talking, faking,
shaking in fear and hate,
walking in the wasteland of hate and fear.

I see the oasis of love and forgiveness
shimmering in the distance.
It seems an impossible distance.

I see a rope hanging between two trees.
Desperately, I grasp it.
Suddenly I realize it is a penis.

Wretchedly I weep,
ever reaching, searching, seeking,
male approval, desire, adoration.

Ripped bare I stand
naked before my wise crone.

Lovingly
she covers me with her cloak,
soft old gray wool,
worn wise with the passage of time.
She whispers words of comfort to my aching soul,
words of palest lavender,
soothing my wounds.

A storm brews in the distance.
Powerful black clouds raging and roiling,
their anger boiling,
stirring the dust,
the uncleared stuff.
Red seas rising,
dust clouds covering,
rainstorms coming,
thundering,
exploding,
drenching.
washing,
cleansing,
releasing.

I lie down,
relinquishing my control,
surrendering to my fear.

Finally the raindrops come
washing down my cheeks,
hot and warm at first,
slow trickles,
then flooding,
Cold washed waves of forgiveness
still thundering all around me.
I weep with the heavens,
I sob with the skies.
the teardrops,
raindrops,
constant,
steady,
vulnerable to the fear.

I want to run and hide,
fake!
I lie still facing the freedom the storm brings,
cleansing the air,
cleansing my soul.

Not brave,
afraid,
a small child,
a little girl,
so many questions,
so many fears.

Rage and revenge boils inside me
as the storm wails outside.
Finally,
exhausted,
I sleep.



Broken and Barren

I spoke with you just a day or two.
You stuck in my mind.

You said,
My pain is too great.
I said,
I completely understand.

I know the bareness of heartache.
I know the brokeness of pain.
I know the softness of a woman
won’t fix it.
Cause neither will the hardness of a man.

The hole,
it just gets deeper.
Your heart,
it just hurts more.
When you try to love again
you just wanna lay down on the floor.

And cry, and cry, and cry, and cry,
rivers of tears,
flowing from the sky.

Your wise man
takes you to a deep cave
One that’s deep within your soul.
Crystals shimmering all around you
Soothing you and making you whole.



My Summer Sun

The sun
it shines all around me.
Ra,
this is Diana.

Fire and passion burning,
the trees hot and dry
as I hike the mountain land.

Sweat rolls down my body
damp clothes clinging to my skin.
Panting, I keep on hiking
aided by the cooling wind.

Knowing,
I press on,
taking in the beautiful rocks.

Just one more crest and curve
and I’ll be over the top.
Its all down hill from here.

Skipping and flying I go
to the creek in the valley below.
I touch the coolness of the water.
There where the moss is warm,
it waits for me.

I take off my shoes
and lie down to drink in the earth.
Oh my summer sun.

The Basketball Player

Skin
black as night
flowing
like gazelle running through desert grasses.

Hands
on bronze bones
sculpting
soft sinew rippling from skilled touch.

Clouds
of gray soul
swirling
like waterfall waiting new beginning

Power
in misty mind
almost unleashed.



I am I

I am sitting here on my mountain.
I haven't been here in so long.
It is different here.
When I am here,
I know it is going to be OK.

Set apart from the rest of the world,
I feel the strength of the rock beneath my body.
I hear the trains, the planes, the cars.
Beyond that,
I hear wind on the leaves.
I hear the birds in the trees.
I feel the sun on my face.

I hear a hiker coming, they speed by.
I sit, and write, and breathe, and think.
And then nothing, for what seems like hours,
but is only minutes.
I become one with the earth.

I am the sun on a bright clear day.
I am the rock that guides the way.
I am the tree reaching for the sky.
I am myself,
I am I.

Could you

Could you
take the ocean
as it’s waves washed in to you?

Co uld you
take the water as it flowed back to the sea?

Could you take a butterfly
if it came to
sip
your juice,
without your fingers crushing
it’s frail fluttering wings?

And as the sun shone through your way,
could you
take the sunlight day?

Could you take the sunlight
from the other side?
You could not
keep the sun from it’s ride.

How could you take the mist?
You could not!
For all it’s gentleness,
it’s pale lavender softness
would just slip away.

That which you seek to have
you can not take.
For it was given freely
so long ago!

The Light of Day

Of portal eye sight,
I read what you write
brilliant and bright
in a court of blue symphony
on the sea terrace
of a moon angel

why do some fall in love and grow to hate?
where is their friendship
Why is there fighting and killing

country streets and summer time cities
where hungers the wolf
I think they have lost their way

blaming their loss upon the other
plague of contempt within each familiarity
one to the other.

out flight incoming night
the living death in life.

There might be hope
for this humankind
who have potential talent
and creative abilities
to help and restore their own lives
and discover each their own respective individualities
and learn friendship and peace,
understanding and compromise
out of their death in life
into the life of day.

Divorce

What does black feel like?
Does it feel empty?
Does it feel blue?
Does it feel dull?
Sort of like the flu?

What does death feel like?
Does it feel good?
Does one not hurt?
Does one pass on
into the dirt?

Does one slip by
unknown to others?
Can one start over
in another plane?

Can one take their lessons with them?
Does one begin again?

Yes one can!
Yes one does!
Yes I will!

Divorce feels like death.
Divorce feels like black.
Divorce feels like dull.
Sort of like lack.

My skin aches.
My soul leaks.
My face fakes.
My spirit leaves.

I can go to the fairies.
I can go to the stars.
I can go to the planets
where the magic is ours.

Ours to claim.
Ours to protect.
Ours to receive
and always reject.

Reject the fear.
Reject the shame.
Reject the loss.
Receive the gain.

Receive the life.
Receive the freedom.
Receive the power
this moment proclaim.




To Trish, Good bye

Trish, Trish, I love you so.
“and I too love you precious one.”

I miss you deeply.
“I will always be with you in the breath,
in the fire,
in the colors,
keep doing your passion.”

Why did you choose to go?
“I was ready to do my light work. The work I am now doing is greater than we ever perceived.
Keep lifting me up in your heart and sending me light.D

I needed you a little bit longer.
“Trust creator to supply all your needs.
Creator will send you exactly who you need
to lift you up and encourage you.”

I feel sad.
Sadness is good.
Weep, weep rivers of tears.
It honors my existence
and our deep connection,
even the very preciousness of our souls occupation of it’s physical body.”

Thank you, Trish,
for sharing your light with me and for being who you are.
“And you be who you are, dear one.
Pour out your radiance, abundant vibrancy,
gifts and talents with abandon.
Do not be afraid to share.
Give it all.
Give with passion
and you will constantly be refilled
like a waterfall and a lagoon.
Love and forgive those who have harmed you.
Fill your world with love and light
and share it with those around you. “ Trish Mashburn.



The Seeds

Walking on sandalwood.
One line at a time.
To hear,
be near,
the seeds. (Scriber)

Waiting and dancing
on spirals of moon beams.
The seeds
of time
will bear.