Coming Home to Roost.

Where light first shone,

To thine eyes when I made the first squeak.

The first whimper,

that sharp cry, piercing the silent dusk,

when birds flew home to nest,

And the goats and cows trudged back to their pens,

The distant sounds of the local mill,

The heartful moos of the calves calling for their mothers

Ooh, the sounds of a time long gone.

Little thine spirit, how life seeped into my new form,

To the beguiling chants of the womenfolk...

Bubbling with joy, the silent whispers of prayer,

And the welcoming of a new born into the world.

The day, thine tiny hands held onto new fold,

The start of a ticking time pouring in to a sum of old,

Those black tiny eyes, staring at a vast expanse,

New and fresh to every feel,

Then a squeak, a cough and a shrill cry marking a grand entry.

Our birth relieves sleep forgotten:

The Soul that rises with us, our Life's guide,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire heedlessness,

And not in utter bareness,

But trailing clouds of grandeur do we come

From God, who is our home...

Flowered Memoir #5 From the drafts

Comments

Learning the ropes.

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He Remembers.

He’d write you this letter, but he knows, the good ol’ days are gone. blame the vagaries of life. The bits that used to make your heart fluster; the butterflies in your stomach? This are words, poured into this piece, to remember a graceful person, to honor a time that made his world a place to relish. Truth be said, weathering this time is daunting and he got no idea how it is going to be. He’s held onto hope; he knows too well of it’s tingling taste in his mouth. He’s beheld countless nights of little to no sleep and unsettled sighs and heaves, oh the world that was! The song titled For You by John Denver bellows through the dark headphones tightly holding his sanity together, He can’t help but feel every second and minute pass by so slowly. That is a song he would be singing in the shower with an upbeat mood, relishing the gifts of life. It’s a heavy one this bit, He doesn’t know if his shoulders can hold onto the weight really. He is scared, not that the world’s turned colder...

The Psychology Of Color.

I came across this collection of colors and its psychological meaning and found great references that I can relate with. " Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways. - Oscar Wilde . " Picture Courtesy of inspirationalfeed.com Have a wonderful weekend up ahead! Gerry

Random Stirrings of The Mind.

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