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Often She Slips Into A Sea Of Sorrow - For Night Hope

She sighs in her sleep
swimming through dreams
that stroke her skin
in blue notes of a whale’s song

drifting through night-waves
his face drifts, dearly,
one wave ahead of her

as she surfs deep within surges
touching trembling tears of stars
strobing down the face of God

He knows her sadness;
knowing she dives, nightly,
into murky depths
where she is kissed
by her own dammed tears
hoping to forgive him

breath held is expelled
she stumbles
to dawn’s rocky shore
bared to the bone
by her silent slip into deep sorrow

I watch her and wait
for a lung-filled gasp
to signal her return

I tuck her moans
into a blanket
she wraps herself in it
one tired arm crossed over another

Forests of Your Heart ~ Collaboration, Night Hope & shewolfnative

I listened to a whisper
curling between chalky branches
of a winter worn tree,
and heard your voice

do not forget my gentle grasp
on soft strands of your hair

I leaned into the music of your memory,
swaying in the wind
and felt your skin brush against mine
with Creation’s caution

do not remember me with sorrow
drifting from your lips

nor allow wind or exhaustion
to bow you down

I have need of you here
where I can reach out and touch you

I will hold you firmly,
gently mending your roots
until you shall rise again,
your strength ascending

I have need of you here
inside this aching dream
where we murmur truth,
wild and surrendering under moonlight

I stood and stretched my arms
around wrinkled trunk of ancient tree
and kissed its first green leaf.

Spring holds these promises sacred,
keeping her word and mine.

Evolutionary – collaboration between Night Hope and shewolfnative

We are witness to the churning
Of holy imprints and amoeba
Churning in the newly breathed
Blacks and grays of creation.
Cells of the heart grow exponentially,
Aching to overflow with Love
From beginning arch
To final portal.
We crawl from surf with purpose,
Seeking Life on landscape,
Instincts guiding our Path.
Let us love and lie together
Until we are no longer divided
By ache or arch against a grinding shore.

Brother Sun ~ Sister Moon – Collaboration: Night Hope, Just Rob and shewolfnative

shewolfnative:
Such hand that pens such poignant treaty
’tis with aplomb she etches circle’s part
And we, orbs around her words’ and phrases’ beauty,
are pulled towards her tender heart.

Night Hope:

Your hand paints soul music
to swirl the Spirit in silk.
Your vision seeks the worthy in us all
& finds Beauty where your eyes discover
its Presence waiting.

Your gentle ways move rivers of Joy
down the mountain Path
into the plains where I sleep.

I wake, refreshed and strengthened
by the fire in my dreams, smoke tendrils
curling around your song.

shewolfnative:

Come silken shawl, your spirit to embrace
this woman whom I now call friend to me.
Within the Universe and under heaven
let Muse grant, always, her pen’s divinity.

Night Hope:

I wandered wild in the night ~
lost, yet unafraid of the darkness.
Shadows wavered, revealing
the golden glow of sustenance
& substance
under moonlight’s glistening;

it was your Spirit,
sent to protect me,
to help guide me Home.

shewolfnative:

but in that wandering, upon a moonshot spot
came you to this spirit who had been alone
for a comrade in the cause of words
and gave her heart a home

Just Rob:

When two doves fly by words entwined
the winds flow strong with iron and lace
As God’s breath sings through northern pine
music is formed by woman’s grace

When northern drums and western plains
syncronise in lifting mother’s song
a man will listen, attempt to gain
a path to join them; to belong

Night Hope:

Woman is sculpted by man’s desire,
clay caressed by gentle hands ~
created from the breath of fire,
their souls connect; he understands.

While northern winds persuade the night,
the moon blushes with silvery song ~
Darkness cannot hide the Light
of one who will e’er belong…
Just Rob:

But ‘neath the light of magic moon
a lonesome warrior must hold fast
to fantasy of distant arms, the boon
of tasting Sweet pea, at last.

And there to share the breath of hope
and sing the psalms of kindness, blessed
by silken bonds of softest rope
to put her to the feather’s test.

Night Hope:

Underneath the silent sky,
poems are exhaled, not made ~
Ours is not to question why
we echo freely this soft parade.

There is no need to be alone ~
Love flies swiftly on the wing.
Hearts are heavier than stone
Until fiery voices meld & sing.
shewolfnative:

And here upon the wild and wildered place,
if such love as this is found
then we have met and met again
as the circle dances round.

A man, a woman, a sister,hand in hand
these words to give unbeliever’s cause
to know, indeed there’s more to this
than bent sorrow in friendship’s pause.

Reach out my friends, allow to know
such rich and dearest spirits’ kind.
It must be said, wherein we’ve found
Tis this the greatest richest find.

Just Rob:
Across the miles the spirits meld
as poets join in rhythms shared
These friendships form as fortunes held
in circles formed by those who care

Sisters fly like eagle and dove ~
share four winds with strident bard
A perfect, innocent sort of love
softens a world grown stiff ~
grown hard

          ~ October 28, 2006
              9 a.m. - 3:20 p.m.

Alice Hasn’t Got A Clue – for Rob

there is something to a man
who can pound posts
then write such poems

that even, Alice,

over her meatless meal
on Fridays, of fish

glasses askew
at picture of a poet and a deer
she, can make no sense of

I, though, imagine him walking
through heavy-hooded woods,
noticing that lacy branches,
dappling snowy forest floor,
speak of home and hearth
miles from any four-square
and from some slushy pavement
Alice has to tread
 to tell her half-forgotten tale

pulling her fine lace kerchief
further over her pale brow
shaded by kid gloves
never imagining,
she might be missing something
in grumbling over every step
she takes to talk to God

I can imagine
what spirits speak to him
in white light,
so that, when he returns
to rack his gun,

he is struggling
for room to breathe

(images,
needing a place to be,
leave little room
until they are released on paper)

Alice, really doesn’t have a clue
how to be inspired,

she is too busy with the Ladies
League of Blue Doo

with little to keep them busy
but collect funds
for keeping clean air
and water
in the Charitable Church
baptismal font

but, I do,
because he has walked me
through cathedrals of his Back Forty

by deft descriptions
of a winter’s night
after a hunt, that halted
at a downed bluebird,
hanging onto a blister of ice
on barbed wire fence

Alice can’t even comprehend
dearness of heart
that can carve meat for dinner
and create poems
that carry God’s voice