Nestings

Sand birds nestle.
as I swim to them
and rest on the ship-wrecked trees;
parting the few yellow flowers
Climbing up the steep cliffs.

In this moment,
I am content to
nestle into this
flutter above the
river's edge.

© 11-Apr-2008 Sonja J. Phinney

The Medium Beneath

It flits like a morning song bird finding pieces of my memories to build it's nest.

Children giggle above the doorway 
leaving smells of rose and hints of cattail remains in my floorboards.

You sweep the house
like a new mother,
protecting and directing.

I am caught in this hologram;
an overworked canvas,
giving rise to the medium beneath.

© Feb 1986 Sonja J. Phinney

New Beginning

A flicker and a flash came to me
when you crossed the intersection to the other side
Leaving the room full of ghost bumps.

You're off to earn your angel PHD;
Unbound from the body, wearing a misty memory.

I've come to build a bridge
To where you are and have evidence
That walks with me now.

Gravity may pull,
But when the willows bend
And we are open to the winds,
There is a new beginning at hand
That frees all sorrows.

© 07-Jan-2008 Sonja J. Phinney (for my Dad)

Play the Otherside

A reflection off a window is recorded.
A painting becomes a fractal of this recording.
Our lives, reviewed.

We are thinking of our next moment.

With our husbands, our wives.

Our next moment with our children,
Our next moment, and our next moment.

We are looking for the flip-side of our record
in slow motion.


Unprocessed is this time between the pages,
drifting.

We tend upon aloofness,
a step away from being blindly ignorant.

Catching harbingers is an art,
giving them away is another.


© 15-May-2009 Sonja J. Johnston

Bought by Dafoe

I am that nude on the canvas.
My image resides in your house I shall never enter.
Somewhere in Hollywood  I suspect.
In that room, there is part of me that sparkles in the sunlight.
Just a thought that passes my mind from time to time that somehow, I too am famous.

©-Sonja J Phinney 30-Oct-2006 For Willem

Accujuncture

Dressed in this fine breath of a flicker of an outline

People, animals, and flowers grow toward me

bringing messages, messengers, and gifts of energy.



I wear my robe like a teardrop,

fluid and attracting.

Everything is magnified in the distance.



A pin point among other pin points

is being pulled magnetically with such force,

melding.



On the grounded side,

we are moving slow as the sun comes up

and the moon goes round.



I see masterpieces in the

blink of a flicker between the strict lines of this

chastising world.



© 10-Jul-2008 Sonja J. Johnston

The House is Going Dizzy

The house is going dizzy
My hair looks like fire
As the milk spills on the floor
And the ants go marching one
By one crumb by crumb, by crumb.

An ax ta dent is waiting
As we flee the combat zone
And the sink is getting busy
We don’t need a microphone.

The house is going dizzy.
Too many butterflies in the attic
lady bugs fill the air
While my twirling dervishes have at it.

Yes the house is going dizzy
With this childish delight.
You may think we’re going crazy,
But this is just how we spend our night.

© 02-Oct-2008 Sonja J. Johnston

Poisoned

I am poisoned by your unforeseen fear of
some dreaded horror that lives inside you;
that keep you on some mysterious ledge.

My colors vanish along with various
Abilities to maintain self,
Relaying with conviction all that is
Part of who I need to be.

What I do for you is what I do to me.

The outcome of me helping someone
is now your dreaded monster to overcome,
So needless.

Through this waning moon
I pull my shell and sullen my energies.

That hero inside me shines only
In a quiet place of which seems to be
Constantly falling off the radar.

An eraser mark swirled at
the bottom of a cup.
Loose words drop
off in the distance.
Moment after moment,
Lost.

My paints reduced to Mono-tonal palate.



©-Sonja J Johnston 06-Oct-2008

Be That Bold

As we awaken to our tomorrows
From yesterday's perpetual sleep,
Life slowly becomes an enormous truth.
Alive in the same spirit with the echoes of youth.

It's not easy wading through this noisy sea;
being swept away and brought forth.
We keep our eyes wide open like the ever shifting sky.

It is our job to comfort others
as we search aboard this earthly shipwreck;
As we try to produce a shine
amidst the mutters
to what REALLY exists.

Our friends may be trapped,
but we are singing to them
in our dreams.

What we have built
can not save us, yet
what we create in our minds out of compassion
to those we haven't met
is the key to all truths.

It's time to practice
'Cause it's time to see
Freedom for the soul,
for the universal we.

Pass this on, to young and old
and give it right in this life.
Be that bold.

© 30 Sept 2008 Sonja J. Johnston

Assessment

I feel like words inside a book looking out of the eyes of the reader.
As the story develops, images unfold under red dark room lights.
We speak of our own destinies unknowingly.

The after-fire leaves smoke in our hair.
Ink flows out and is captured in a moment.
A glance in another.

Where is this place I keep dreaming?
Whose shoes are on the door?
Why is it here I keep returning?

How did we ever give up our souls at dawn
For the sake of meeting again?

Answered and unanswered through this life determined.
A moment here and there...


© Sonja J Phinney 17-Oct-2006

Dad at his Funeral

There is a line defining flicker

An impression in space.
In this state of grace,
an enlightened embrace
enters stage center.

I waltz in this moment,
elevated.

© 11-2008 Sonja J. Johnston (Dad's funeral)

Sourcing

I found the end to the reoccurring
Scene in my head once I found you
And made a connection to the mountains.

The seeking is like a chimney and
Our feet are warming.
Cold, bright rivers on the mountain
Signaling the next stance.

If we really knew the way,
We wouldn’t be here at all.
Blessings in the night.

I’m charged
We are charged
And we have found
The cord across
Our waters.

-SJP 12-Sep-2007

Crow Feathers

Inner quarrels darken as darkest crow feathers.
On such a glittering day as this,
feeling wounded and shielding.

Staunch and ancestral are the overtones,
A shadow of a memory moves.
A black and white faded glass image
of someone standing in the distance.

I was strayed from home after entrance.
My comfort ran from the cold touch of my fingertips
and quiet lips.
The wooded dreams enchanted that of mountains,
not of lilies still.
My flowers remained in the scent, not the texture and vision.

Beside me stands that warrior as I flit like a fairy around and
around penetrating the atmosphere.

His strong hands brace as he focuses on
the space between these words with
cherished definition as a comrade
in this faith that is I.

© -Sonja J Phinney 11-Feb-2008

PTSD And The Soldier

You look so handsome with your sane suit on.
No one can see the rage from here
or imagine the kiss from your simple country lips.

The jury dismisses the broken branches.
A smile and a handshake later
finds you wound up and broken down
in your work room.

Looking for a handle, a clasp,
something to hold onto
without association.

© Sonja J. Johnston 4-27-2008

Stretching Up

Stretching Up

Mender of hearts hear my spurrling arms flutter.
Fill my cup just a little.
Fur warmed

Uncork the bottle genii pearled.
Laugh nose to nose with me.
Find me long handed and shoulder winged.

A few drops light my cup.

-SJP 1986

Bedroom Spirits

Are you still entrapped as things turn from black to white?
The scent of flowers that seem to move from inactive to active in the white flakes of winter;
Set apart in the offset?

Descending in and out of their reality;
several years knowing neither birth nor ending...

Frosted windows provide a tranquil empty space
where we fixate our fingers.

Lights flicker to the past.
Jagged white tromping spirits
run up to the foot of the bed
in hopes of hearing
another bedtime story.

© 23-Jan-2008 Sonja J. Phinney

Wee See Inside

A galloping prance as suspicious as a
Court jester teasing at incoming visitors.
This child looks into the eyes of another and listens
For the colors.
Smells are finely registered.
Sifting away particulates.
Gems, succulent in taste,
Light penetrates through the vapors.

Eyes are as bright as lures in the snow
Find a box to hide their innermost
Inside.

-Sonja J Phinney © 27-Sep-2007

Sour Mittens

It is wintertime and we walk into the candy store with our snow encrusted mittens in search of sour candies, wax lips and mustaches.

I play behind the mounds of snow remains,
at the top with icicle stuck to my palm.
Another snowplow passes and I’m and hit by the spray.

At that very moment, Randy slid down a hill and under the wheels of a passing car.
I was too young to know about real tears.
I still don't know about them actually.

That night, I  drifted off to sleep and took flight over the electrical wires, streetlights beneath my feet.
The tree tops narrowed by my waist as I glided over the geography of my little town.

White winds swept round our houses and the smell of sour mittens permeated the air as theywere  removed from the silvery,  radiator.

© -Sonja J Phinney (10-Dec-2006)

Spent

Hollow clouds hang,

plaster and paint

These people have coins on their eyes.


Deerskined scouts with bandanas, scourging.


It was found round the center cut,

Dark and flaring.

The tide winds round the naked ankle of a summer’s day.

Roots are harvested by a man with big hands.

How heavy is the sky?

Intermit, stand still

and still the meadow’s whisper.


The hum is in the beginning.

A Midget and tall man standing

A symbol of torture hung round his

neck..

speaking of witnesses.

-SJP 9-9-03

Sun's Up

Sun’s up

The orchestra of morning sounded from one
Cow to another
And in response, the commuter traffic.
The countryside dressed in yellow and orange
And through its openings, birds swiftly glide.

“Sun’s up” whispers Peyton into my ear
Like a carnival had just turned up it’s lights
And was taking customers.

I know these days are being erased moment
By moment, but as we move into tomorrow,
These words will remain written for these
Days of sun and autumn.

-SJP 30-Oct-2006

In The House of the River Witch

She sleeps at night,
With the covers ready to sail.
The haunted meadows
Tail around in play
Till dawn’s burning ray.

A pinch and sprig
She brings in
To make a tonic
That bitters the tongue.

She knows the path that is hidden
And can touch your soul with passing glance
The river witch holds fast
To the secrets and blessings untold.

She is the river witch that stories are told
She is the river witch that moves in gowns of gold
Wise is the river witch
Who lives shoreline

Wise is the river witch
At ley line’s edge
Where she empowers her spells

Arcana voices of ancient times design
And the seven blessings shine down
crowning this field with erratic sound
A girl finds some sticks and makes music
With the elements
Singing upon found ruins and
Waltzing the wood
Ash in her hair

While a child awakes
With the scent of smoke on her tongue
A dream-spell translated on her face
And given to her mother
Picked up from the crib

She is the river witch that stories are told
She is the river witch that moves in gowns of gold
Wise is the river witch
Who lives by the river’s edge

Wise is the river witch
At ley line’s edge
Where she empowers her spells


© 19-Oct-2005 Sonja J. Phinney

Souler Winds

The goddess wind now whispers your soul eternally.
She took the wings and
Turning them in her
Hands, called you there.

Forever playing the airways
Wild as you wished to live
Your life.

-Sonja J. Phinney 10-10-07

Antennas

On a rocky moraine we correspond.
Echoing and reflecting out to each other
like rebel mountain goats pushing upward.

The night strikes obsidian.

St. Elmo’s Fire in a moment lighting up our lives.

© -Sonja J Phinney 06-Sep-2007