Between the sheets of darkness
and the dawn’s glow
the eirie indigo light
suffuses the half seen
with other worldly qualities,
and I emerge, from the womb
of a long sleep into awareness
that all is not as I imagined.

The deep sound of the stirring world
reverberates through me
escaping in a long drawn “aum”
and my mind drops
into the well of wisdom
drawing up fresh water 
and inspiration.

Through the deep purple sky
the hawk of intuition flies
seeing far and wide,
unfettered by time or space,
and I am one with him,
his eyes are mine,
and truth is known.

A deep stillness washes over me,
and the illusions I fostered
fall away, crumbling into dust,
as I sit, seeing not seeing
through the lens of my third eye,
let Peace be with you.

28 February 2021

Stone Soup Quadrille #137

He crept in
to be met
by starving peasants
pitch forks
to defend
what little
they had.

He carried
but a stone.

”bring me your largest
filled with water”
into which
he dropped his stone.

Each added something –
they feasted.

6 October 2021

From ”Greetings, poeming friends! De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo here.
It’s that time again: Quadrille Monday, when we write and share poems of exactly 44 words, using one word we here at dVerse provide. Carve us a poem out of the word stone, and make it precisely 44 words long, not counting the title.” DVerse


Listen to the blackbird sing
really listen,
stop all your mental chatter,
let the notes fill you
so your heart sings
with a new vibration.

Listen to the water gurgle
tumbling over rocks,
listen alone,
in stillness and quiet,
while the air hums
with the joy of bees.

Listen to the rain fall
and hear the earth
open its pores to receive
even as thunder rolls
through your bones.

Listen, and let the cicadas hymn
soar through you,
lifting your soul
to the tree tops,
let go
and simply listen.

Listen to the ocean’s surge
underscore the whale’s song
and seagulls crescendo,
can you hear it?
Listen with all your being
for they are singing
your song.

Listen, for there is no silence,
everything is alive
and singing praise,
even the rocks
with their deep, slow notes,
the trees with many voices,
and the blood in your veins.

Listen, to the secrets they tell
as if your life depended on it,
for your life depends on it.

5 July 2021

(this moment and place, now)
is the statement
(rule, law, fact)
that will
(nothing can stop it)
one day
(your choice is when)
take all arrogance away
(surrender to grace)
from every mind.
(every one, each and every one)

(that which blinds us with illusions)
makes an image of yourself
(images… False gods!)
that is not real.

It is this image
(talking clay)
which quails
(begs and cowers)
and retreats in terror,
(hides behind social norms?)
as the Voice for God
(a still small voice)
assures you
(comfort and assurance)
that you have strength,
(you are as spider web)
the wisdom
(all knowing)
and the holiness
(at one with all)
to go beyond all images.
(remember who you are)

You are not weak,
as is the image of yourself.
You are not ignorant
and helpless.

(fantasies woven from myth)
can not tarnish the truth in you,
(pure gold)
and misery
(nothing is lost)
can come not near
(there is no separation)
the holy home of God.


6 July 2021


[Photo Credit: BiblePictureGallery.com]

Arriving late to Jerusalem
with all my goods and gifts
mounted on my camel and
laden with a sense of my importance
expecting a warm welcome
with open arms outstretched
I found the gates closed
for the night against intruders
and my way barred
with only a low and narrow door
through which to pass crouched
so as to enter alone
bowed and empty handed
leaving all behind.

I have travelled for forty ages
been tested and tried
to arrive at this place of purification
where my tears wash away
all past confusions 
and the dust of illusions
leaving me naked
to crossover
through the needle’s eye

Let every candle lit
shine an invitation
through a narrow chink –
a reminder to return home


Tanka Tuesday #244

Lithograph by Benton Spruance (1935)

Death sits dejected

on the steps as cold as tombs

all joy and colour

leached from the empty houses

for the living have all gone


Merril D. Smith selected the image this week. It’s a lithograph and you can read more about it HERE. Remember, we can see what’s in the image, so write your poem using the image as an inspiration. Don’t just describe what you see in the lithograph. Think about metaphor and allegory. Just remember to check what form you’re using. Some of the Japanese forms frown upon the use of metaphors. This challenge explores Ekphrasticwriting, inspired by visual art.

Tanka Challenge #244

3 slow breaths….

3 slow breaths
in the midst of chaos
when the emotions overwhelm
the way forward is obscure
3 slow breaths to clear
away the

the return
of deep connection
to the centre of being
vast and all encompassing
that stillness floods in
on waves of

other thing
matters more than this
yet, in the release of strife
possible answers appear
and the way forward
is made clear

slowly drawn
breaths are all it takes
to discover the other
so uniquely yours to take
that hid in full sight
beneath your

long, slow breaths
that roll away blocks
standing between you and life’s
waiting for you to be still
long enough for them
to catch you

slow breaths in
is all it will take
to return to that secret
of power and connection
where sadness, anger,
fear turn to

I am here
poised to respond in
a new way to my purpose
being present here on earth
secure in the wings
of purest


Summer’s end – Tanka

Fruit hangs on the bough
bowing down to touch the earth
nectar drips falling

all the sweetness of living
to be consumed by worms

Along with the mists, a sense of nostalgia creeps over me as my days shorten and my body withers. Memories linger still at my finger tips, and sighs escape dried lips. The cold presses closer and fires beckon a false promise.

Yet winter is not here, nor my grave.


#dVerse, http://colleenchesebro.com/2021/09/02/summers-end-tankaprose-tankatuesday

Tears – Quadrille #135

They were deeply etched
into the rock’s face,
where the earth cried
for her children
gouging deep channels
down which her tears
had flowed, brimming over
with the promise
of new life.

That was then.

Now the grooves
are dry
and filled with dust.


New to the Q? Here’s how to get in the groove: 

Just pen us a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word groove. Link it up by clicking Mr. Linky below. Then get groovin’ around the blogisphere! There are some brilliant poets here at the bar, and you should visit them. This groovy prompt will be open all week, so remember to come back and read (and write) some more. Now get out there and be groovers and shakers!

#dVerse, #Quadrille, https://dversepoets.com/2021/09/06/quadrille-135-shake-that-poem-groove-thang/

Dementia – Butterfly Oddquains

has caught me
unawares this day
as my body crumbles and
to pieces dragging my mind
into the abyss,

thought I would
be immune to this,
fit until I fell asleep
life has other intentions
and slowly erodes
who I am

thoughts are lost
to the passing time
and confusion breaks my heart
pieces I no longer know
as memories fade
away from

loved ones eyes
I see the horror
as once again I stammer
the wrong words while forgetting
what it is I meant
to do right

fear of the future
all wash over me in waves
I am helpless in the grip
as decomposing
mental forms,

is the worst
horror that I can
imagine for it erodes
in the day to day challenge
of being together
where sense has

think therefore
I am – no longer –
just the echo of myself
housed in this crumbling body,
emotions in turmoil,
heart stopping


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