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becoming, bliss, cherokee, fearless, grace, knowing, knowledge, life, love, passion, poetry, postmark, reason, restless, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering
speak to me
as poetry –
moonlight burns
to shadows
planks are warped
by years
of getting on
divining joy
from everything –
floating freedom
fearless
hands are held –
no need for maps
I own
to know me
as you know me –
what weight my words
to fall
as graces
stretched to catch
the gathered glow
split across the colors
back into
these arms –
verses worn
by every letting go
. . .
tornadoday 
the last to lines echo my life I think….
each verse I write I let go, they are so worn through
then the next will be another work in progress
of hope to let go on a clean canvas
always a spiral that has no end…but is filled with invisible lines in between each turn
Beautiful Bobbie…
love your way …
always
)0(
me
Maryrose, I know you understand the feeling that poured into these words. Poetry is nothing if it is not tainted by blood and tears. How could it know us if it never spoke our language? 🙂 Love to you, my beautiful friend! ~ Always, Bobbie
This is grand stuff, the pale winter sun of a poem – pervasive and warm where most you need it.
Sorry to just be getting around, Seb………. Always, you speak to the poet’s heart. How could I explain that other than to say, it is lovely. Thank you hardly seems enough. ~ Love to you always. ~ Bobbie
You don’t just write, darlin’ girl. You paint with words.
~~Himself~~
Thank you, sweet beautiful man. ~ Ever, Me
Very inspiring! Hugs and blessings!