Waltzing the Wood

Mayflies, Dragon wings.
A raincoat resonates over spidery legs.

She, a dancer, prances down the evening path;
bushes swaying their springy branches.

Valerian and Sweet Dame hum.

There is the taste of Absinthe in-between sentences
of Sumac and Kukicha.

Her leg rises; the conductor's wand balances
on the edge of the willow.

Linden nutty notes and trumpet tongues bounce
amongst these melodic hearts.

Leaves quilling ink
filling each vein.

Tumbling staccato embraces.
Unstable perfection.

The woodcutter enters.

Each moment of performance initiating a
Waltzing of the wood.

© 26-Oct- 2004 Sonja J. Phinney

Being Walked

Today, my first love is a two year old child
pulling at my fingers,
begging... me, me, see, see.

He works at my chains
in which I have lost the key.
He says he can fix my heart
with his plastic tools.

All dreams have become heroic
and my ventures swim within.

Sometimes I light a match
and look for colored flames from my breath;
With so many sparks hatching from my brain,
surely there must be fire escaping somewhere.

The child puts on his fire hat and charges forward,
Me! Me! tugging at my fingers, allowing colors
of morning dew to run through my limbs.

His plastic tools become a ball being swept from my hands
Through imaginary hoops
in the clouds.

-Sonja J. Phinney 13-Aug-2004 (for Peyton)

Project of the Heart

Find that elemental spot that exposes the soul.

Where moments pass like a coaster ride,
Sparklers and the sound of hot air balloons.

It is in the turning of a hand
Glanced in an eye off just off stage.

Open the project of the heart.
Care not of what others may think of it.
Every moment will penetrate through to passers by.


© 11-Aug-2004 Sonja J. Phinney

Axios

I talk with you through blue eyes.
Throughout life, the cord remains.
We stand as reflections, amazed.
In a word, Axios.
Never a thought as to anything less than what is there.

Violet resin lingers on our finger tips and lips.
Pups romp and wag in circular motion.
Sap drips down,
Now stuck to a little boy’s hands
Who is Nosing needles from the pine.
A curled caterpillar protects itself.
Time in sequence, is shut off.

Candles burn
Shadows form
Winds howl a blind memory,
Dream-like.

In this adopted habitat there are noise carpenters,
Dame’s Rocket, and Kukicha.
The ignition of the brain is a powerful motor.
Outlasting all events that we know in time.

© 23-Feb-2004 Sonja J. Phinney

Waiting on the Rain to Shine

My money's been laid up.
Nobody's got a hold on me.
I'm just holding on myself.

Time's been wishing for a better place
to shed my inner grace.
Placed in wait.

The smoothness bends slightly and
I am pulled to see this way of living
I have never known.

Living in shadow.
Waiting for the rain to shine.

- 1992 Sonja J. Phinney

Windows Watch

One haunt reads along the shoreline.
Shadows into mist
Light into spark
in the eyes of two eternal lovers
A passage instilled within, lingers out to the depths of the universe.
Others look at us still, like fresh mint by the stream.
Daisies, Dames Angels…
Something delicately placed there for its beauty.

©-Oct 1988 Sonja Phinney

Waters

Swimming over
as my final day
remembers that it must
move on.
Winds skirt
the warmth of flowers beckon a memory.

© 1990 Sonja J. Phinney