Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
On Gregory’s Pond
As snowy blossoms gently fall to ground,
A soothing, soaring, skylark song rings clear,
As if to pierce the silent, deafening sound,
Awakening an inner voice sincere.
Reflections, closer than they oft appear
when viewed head-on, no longer lie in wait,
Breaking through the long, dark months of drear,
This day, the ides of May, my fear abates.
I need no guide or map, my sense innate,
For I have often traveled on this way,
Our ‘Mommy’ walks, though memories abate,
Remain in psyche, as if yesterday.
Gregory’s Pond, a neighborhood retreat,
Still wends its wispy web through moments sweet.
Photo Friday: Reflections
Forces of Nature
Forces of Nature
Bleak days tumbled into months un-sunned,
The path lay dormant, absent footfall sound,
Neath cloak of white, in stealth, the damage done.
With man’s best friend, in tandem ’twas begun,
Before the chill they’d set out, forest bound,
Bleak days tumbled into months un-sunned.
But nature’s wont with blizzard force had won,
Encasing sleepy roads with ice-hard gown,
Neath cloak of white, in stealth, the damage done.
Though shrieking children clamored in their fun,
On slickened sled-runs cov’ring verdant ground,
Bleak days tumbled into months un-sunned.
But time stood still as Old Man Winter won,
Deep woods the only solace to be found,
Neath cloak of white, in stealth, the damage done.
She huddled by the fire, staring, stunned,
Aching for her soul-walks with her hound,
Bleak days tumbled into months un-sunned,
Neath cloak of white, in stealth, the damage done.
Written for the weekly photo challenge prompt: Force Of Nature (https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/forces-of-nature/)
After months of being kept away from my favorite walk in woods, by a treacherously icy, snow-covered path, I chose the first, more temperate day of Spring to return; only to find downed trees laying across my path, atop leaves that had fallen before the onrush of winter snow. Â Only then was I able too see the damage wrought by the forces of nature. More positively though, it is the same force of nature that enables aging trees to self-prune and hibernating creatures to emerge when the time is right. So, too, am I compelled by unseen forces to return to my woodsy solitude.
Summer Solstice
Chameleons under foot race in-between
umbrellas, raised to shield from blinding light,
Each detail planned ahead, a perfect scene,
Nothing left to chance, all viewpoints right.
My misty morns at ‘Poly’ fill my nights
with dreamy visions, moments set in time,
’til hazy, crazy summer sets things right,
Enwrapping wintry chill with tropic clime.
I saunter, barefoot, paced to inner rhyme,
And drawn to grains of sand mere steps away,
Lagoon in mirrored stillness; calm, sublime,
And wet decks glisten in the slanting rays.
Changes come, but we like homing doves,
Return together here, to laugh and love.
Lace
With threads of silken fibers wound around
hand-carved bobbins, spools that lay in place,
To rest, lest soon the complex plan confound,
As brightly colored pinheads mark their space.
Bolster pillows fast secure the stays,
And prickings guide her expert fingers, deft,
Art from generations’ yesterdays,
Remains uniquely spun, a family craft.
Forgetting precious ways would be bereft,
Ignoring all that was and came before,
Her culture, wrought from eons past, has left
a trove of ancient peoples’ fact and lore.
On bridal cape, or newborn babe adorned,
To bless and consecrate a special day,
Her flying fingers ply from dusk to dawn,
This family heirloom lace will never fray.
The threads of past and future take their place,
In brilliantly simplistic art of lace.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Intricate
Moving in Place
Incessant, intermeshing gears in play,
The fire burns within to stymie fate,
Pretense of moving on, yet ever stay.
Out-of-tune caliope betrays,
Implying that a free life lies in wait,
Incessant, intermeshing gears in play.
Though hues are bright, beneath there lurks the gray
of oil-clogged sprockets; grind, incriminate,
Pretense of moving on, yet ever stay.
The merriest-go-round will soon betray,
And blinded trust leads back to starting gate,
Incessant, intermeshing gears in play.
The carousel spins round, as breezes sway
my hair, ill wind illusions disinflate,
Pretense of moving on, yet ever stay.
I should have known, to clear foresee this day,
Painted stallions rise up, then abate,
Incessant, intermeshing gears in play,
Pretense of moving on, yet ever stay.
🎠🎠🎠🎠ðŸŽ
Photo Friday: Moving
Spring In Motion
I know it’s Spring because the brown hard soil
beneath my feet, begins to greenish be,
Before the morning light they’re chirping; all
a-flutter as they gather in the trees.
I know it’s Spring when safflower hulls and seeds
Are strewn beneath my backyard feeding stands,
And traffic jams ensue with swarming bees,
Swallows, finch and doves increase demand.
My buckets filled and emptied – more than planned,
It seems each year their numbers multiply,
The fault is mine, their appetites I’ve fanned.
And they depend, so to my feeders fly.
Cachaphony resumes each morn anew,
“I know it’s Spring,” sing warbles, chirps and coos.
Burnt Orange
Between the ink-black night and brand new day,
Before the bright white sun’s in blinding play,
Burnt orange sliver, then a band, seeps through,
The light year, far-off fire flames anew,
The solar star so distant, yet, the key,
to who and why and whence we came to be.
🌅
Photo Friday:  ORANGE
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 