Photo credit: Louise Hastings
When I woke this morning,
not really awake,
paddling along the surface
of a dream like a swan,
I thought this must be
what a soul is like,
always there
but hidden on the other side of dark.
I could be the wind or trees
or a bird under starlight
or the ripples on the lake,
but I’m not me
until your currents lift me
and I rise into air.
©2013 Louise Hastings
Photo credit: Louise Hastings
Beyond these hills in a darkening sky
the wind blows in a gust of stars
and I dream of flying, stepping off
this plinth of stone, to stretch my wings
and fly like the birds do, in wind and sun,
over earth and trees. I searched for this
wild place, became its guardian, watched
it change as I changed, my legs, my arms,
my face; I looked upon them like they were new
to me, all the cracks and storm-blown bits.
And as I stand alone among these empty hours,
I wait for sunrise, the shaft of orange light
that brought me warmth and hope
before I heard the music and entered fire.
Copyright @Louise Hastings 2013
By Deviant Art
Strong morning sunlight
and a single spider’s thread
stands between me
and there, a world of dew-drops,
silent winter frost. I look up
to see a chaffinch land
in a flash of white wing feathers,
slate blue capped and rosy breasted
flitting along the hazel bush
and ice-coated grass. The sky
slightly deepens into corals, blues
and I tiptoe back inside the house
to write these words, to rest
inside this stillness, delay the day
that’s waiting for another chance.
Copyright Louise Hastings 2012
Photo credit: Louise Hastings ~ Dragon in Glastonbury
There is a dragon
perching on a rock,
holding out his wings
to the wind
that sweeps across the bay.
I can see his pale
translucent skin,
his eyes caught by the light
thrown from the sun
and while we speak
of legends, fire and stuff,
he bows his head to mine,
listens gravely as I talk.
Or so it seems -
a sensory perception
as real as you or I.
© 2012 Louise Hastings
A flower buds
and opens in the hand,
creates an inner sense of joy and peace
despite the faces
leering from the crowd,
the voice that whispers in the night.
Each petal and leaf
is pearled by rain and sunlight,
changes shape in the shifting sky
and sings a different song
just as poems do
within an image or a metaphor,
in the struggle to get it right.
Light grows and senses fill with petrichor,
vivid colour, scents
and somewhere in a dream
lies divinity
ethereal as the moonlight.
This poem first appeared on the Buddha Chick Life site which asked for submissions on mindfulness & creativity.
© 2012 Louise Hastings
