Sepia is the colour of forgiveness;

Muted, its aged tint opens a window to the past,

Unfurls shaded memories still hiding in the dark

With open palms that promise acceptance.

Burnt with the soundless years, scenes unforgotten play back,

Moving across the relentless screen

–a slideshow in the mind.

Muted sienna stains the past and

Blurs all boundaries, blunts the sharpness of the frozen pose,

The smile or frown that would have, in some earlier day,

Cut into the heart, too bright,

Too filled with vivid pain.

But yellow washes across the paper frame,

With the gentleness of dun-drab memory,

Secured by time’s kindly passage.

Muted, shadow suggesting silhouettes, it whispers

That perhaps the harsh bright pose,

The sharp smile and frown in the tone of white light,

Might, beyond the cold moment, hide

Some shaded refuge for the soul’s reverie,

Provide relief in the dimming light of late afternoon

Some grace for years unlived …

Sepia colours the past with forgiveness,

Reminds us of the gentle graces of a falling rain

Beneath a shielding sky upon a dry earth,

Promising, with open palms,

Acceptance that hangs, like lingering droplets,

Upon the air.

19.8.2011

On my knees, I’m a frog, nestled between green leaves, wet with dew and raindrop.

It’s cool in the morning air, and eden’s breath is fresh on me;

I hear the rustling sound that tells me you are near.

Clasped hands and bowed head, I mutter words that only silence hears.

And you.

Sometimes, it seems eternity passes in-between my breathing in and out,

the rhythms of the ages are imitated in my art. On my knees,

the only place to be, I’m nestled in the wet green leaves in eden’s bowery mist.

No tell-tale time to stir me from my reverie, entranced;

And when the spirit-rush falls on my waiting soul, I raise webbed feet, like

a good frog should, two at a time; two at a time.

Ah, God! I feel the touch of smoky mist, light tendrils rising when your sun begins to warm,

and my green-leaved sanctuary sways a little in your wind,

to the left, to the right.

Quiet breaths, not mine, that swing my hammock to and fro,

the undulations of your wind a gentle lullaby

so fine that all of nature’s hushed to hear its pretty tune.

You bear me in the lightness of your song, like a mother with her child;

soft and quiet arms surround the weight of all I am,

securing me in a safe embrace. You rock me from the heights

of where I am, nestled in-between the wet green leaves,

telling me in many-coloured ways just how you hem me in,

and hold me in,

your love providing all the lines and places that my poor

webbed feet would ever fall upon, safe upon.

On my knees, I am ever the frog, small and green upon the green.

Hidden as I am within the wideness of your heart, I’m

nestled in eden’s bower, ever clasping hands, half-entranced, O God,

ever bowing to the lulling of your wind.

22.05.2011

View

My sun windows strain the sunshine,

Sifting rays that splash onto my walls, all cream and beige.

The yellow streaks that line the glass and walls are

egg yolks in a bowl,

they could be no yellower than that.

Every morning when I pray,

these restless lines of light

hover in the air, &

remind me of a domeless world above.

My sun windows sift the straining sunlight,

Hear the fizz of fire as they touch my cool cream walls.

Pinging strings of yellow light, like lasers

through the glassy panes,

there could be no sharper sound than that.

Every morning when I pray,

I hear those dancing strings,

like restless music,

reminders of the seamless world beyond.

21.05.2011