The Dream

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Picture: Journey To Outer Space by Tithi LuadThong

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Bare branches against white skies.

The rain sizzles on the umbrellas,

Like frying butter on a pan. Good old fellas,

The sycamores toast at the skies:

“Quench our thirst!”

 

Nothing else,

Nothing else exists but this one

Breath you’re taking.

Inhale, exhale.

Nothing but the music all around you,

The songs you choose,

The ones you don’t.

 

Paper clouds, doused with smoky

Tinges of grey, hang unapologetically.

Are they really heavy? Isn’t it hokey

To stick our labels automatically?

“Not so fast! Let them fall away…”

 

Let what’s known surprise you over

And over again. Each millisecond,

New dimensions unfold, so fecund,

Shifting in and out, and hover

In outer space!

Yes, this is the place!

This is the time,

You’ve never been so on-time.

Clouds of paper,

Cuttlefish-ink canopies,

Bird-flutes, blown by the wind.

Wake up,

This is a dream.

 

Herons

Lonely Birch On Concrete

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Picture: Misty Morning by Melissa McKinnon

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Lonely birch, through concrete, wades,

Remembering the Way.

Lonely birch of the glades,

Gaining perspective, away

From the flock,

Forget about the clock.

Lonely birch, at the foot of the mountain,

The wind murmurs at dusk

A couple o’ steps away from the fountain,

Through all sorts of rocks and musk.

Lonely birch you live and amaze me,

Amidst honks and toxic gases,

The city sometimes confuses me,

You teach me every season passes.

You teach me, no matter the passage,

Light shines through,

In everything that you do,

So allow the encrypted message

To be as it is

By accepting what is.

 

Herons

Moment Of Grace

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Picture: Albert Square by Steven Scholes

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Fresh is a deep breath,

Encompassing it all.

Here’s the sky, above high towers:

Concrete, metal, and glass;

Old marbles of white,

Red bricks piled-up tight,

Above which, persistent is the grass.

The clouds

And the blue behind them sing to me,

As the solitary maple tree,

Somehow still green.

Afternoon, winter:

Meek python-trams moving softly;

Victorian windows, echoes of Venice;

Medieval memories overshadowing the streets.

Only now, I really see your grace,

Manchester,

The beauty of form beyond form,

Of the dream beyond the dream.

Only now…

 

Is there any other moment anyway?

 

Herons

 

Scotland

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Picture: As The Edinburgh Rain Fell by Jeff Rowland

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Tears of gratitude,

Flow like waves through your cliffs,

Like your fresh torrent streams.

From afar, your songs come to me

In codes and radio waves.

I observe and allow

And let go of my grief.

Homesick of Lothian,

I accept this present moment,

Not the form, labeled by the mind,

But the immortal essence

Where everything mortal takes place.

Wherever the Universe

Leads this vehicle-body,

And its software-mind,

Nothing is ever really lost.

For I am the awareness that lies behind.

This you taught me,

Scotland.

 

Herons

Like A Drop Of Rain

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Picture: Reflections In The Rain by Urbis Manchester

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Like a drop of rain on my lips,

Cold fingertips

Touch the wind, as solid as sand,

Pouring through my hand.

Knowing the unknown

Through unspoken words,

Through unthought ideas,

Impossible to translate.

Give a smile today,

Just because you can.

You’re rich,

You own immeasurable wealth.

Your energy, your love:

The Life flowing through you.

Follow your passion,

Free from the chains of expectation.

You’re rich in freedom,

In the eternal present moment.

 

Herons

Dragons And Flowers

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Picture: Galaxy Dragon by Katherine Nutt

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In the city of toiling bees,

Dragons and flowers:

Enriqueta’s deputies

Of all beauty and powers.

Ryland’s widow erected a temple for knowledge.

Beyond the words of all books,

Through the windows’ bright ledge,

Up and down the columns, in all of its nooks,

A frequency is aligned

To what’s on the other side.

In the city of joining bees,

Dragons and flowers,

Like a pair of keys,

Unlock a secret that empowers

All those who understand,

And therefore transcend.

 

Herons

The Sun Is Out

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Picture: The Last Sun Beam by Leonid Afremov

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The sun is out,

Water in my mouth.

Everything moves and slides,

As do women in furs and hides.

Soundwaves approach,

Dangling and hissing;

Voices poach

The dead and missing.

Where am I?

Is it true or just experienced?

Who am I?

Is it this body or just the experience?

Container versus content.

I am the awareness, not the content

Of what we call life.

Look how we delude ourselves in strife,

Swept away by the cosmic game.

Let they call you insane,

If that means realization.

Cause You are Them, beyond separation.

The sun is out,

We’re just playing about.

 

Herons