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Simple Stone | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/04/29/simple-stone
April 29, 2009 at 12:58 am ( Poetry. A ruby of medium red. Where some long ago dragon bled. The dragon slung his head. Each precious drop from him,. Became jewelry; a blood red gem. Or an oval of medium blue:. A sapphire, from a witch’s brew. She stole a piece of the sky. Leaving a hole that we decry. Like water solidified into stone, a diamond. A crystal boldly imagined itself beyond ice:. A wonder, a pebble, a promise,. A simple symbol,. A woman’s bright future on a young girl’s hand. April 30, 2009 at...
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Tumbling into Oblivion (for Gayle) | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/04/18/tumbling-into-oblivion-for-gayle
Tumbling into Oblivion (for Gayle). April 18, 2009 at 1:04 am ( Poetry. In the thickness of fog she had no beginning or end,. Only a humbled bubble, she twirled,. At the edges of her vision,. A ghost; dismal and dull. Then came the jingling of a bell:. An angel, she thought, warning of hell. Curiosity overcame her fear. As she stood up to peer into solid grayness toward the sound. Where suddenly in front of her a hound bent on some cause,. Self-sent or spirit-led,. Stopped for one moment to raise his head.
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My Blood Reaches | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/04/08/my-blood-reaches
April 8, 2009 at 7:44 pm ( Poetry. For the warmth of Spring. The smell of green onions. Beneath a willow dancing in the breeze. The coolness of freshly turned earth. The sensual party of turning soil over seeds. Sowing, to reap. My skin, a million zillion happy cells. Soaking up the warmth. That feels like life. Directly from some Universal center. I will ride the black horse into the edge of the sea. Letting my feet dangle, relaxed. And beneath the roar of wind and salt water. Myth and Mare and Me.
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Claude Monet | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/05/17/claude-monet
May 17, 2009 at 3:51 am ( Poetry. Three boats were dragged onto an ecru shore,. Sitting side by side,. Half lit in sunset, half black in shadow,. With a streak of yellow along each keel. Spring had come to Giverny,. The gardens were extravagantly simple:. The lilies alive in shades of purple pastels , the trees in lustrous evening oils. Camille in heaven cried. Long before Monet died. Knowing his sight,his gift of light,. Before the last breath,before his last day.). Made of colors innocent but bold.
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Self Inventory | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/03/28/self-inventory
March 28, 2009 at 6:38 am ( Poetry. My mirror tells the truth. I have to face the me I’d pushed aside,. Recreating a new self built on the ashes of the old. I remember not being broken,. Being fearless enough to be always gentle and kind,. When smiles and music blended and ruled,. Dating someone for four years thinking it was forever,. Thinking I knew the ways of the world. Now humbled and beaten down,. I fail. I fall. I get up and try it again. But there’s no one there to meet me. I’ve never reached out.
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Blue Haze | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/09/17/blue-haze
September 17, 2009 at 6:15 am ( Poetry. Do not contaminate the blue haze. Of mountains that stretch across the miles. With thoughts of morality. Or protests of who should own what part. It seems a sin to carve such grandeur into squares. To satisfy whims and greeds of men. Rather to imagine, like Lennon,. There would be no need for greed or hunger here,. No breath of air not pure and free. Ever question the harmony. Of life lived with clouds. Not dedicated to God but given without thought,. Tiny Nothing ...
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Hokusai’s Great Wave | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2011/04/01/hokusais-great-wave
Hokusai’s Great Wave. April 1, 2011 at 2:12 am ( Uncategorized. The great wave hangs endlessly near Tokyo. At seventy-five, Hokusai had learned the patterns of nature,. So he painted the marvelous wave that does not touch the shore. But shows its white cap as it threatens to roll onward. Dwarfing Mount Fuji, centered in the vastness of water,. Reminding us it, too, will one day do much more. His wave does not leave ugly sludge filled with bodies. Of people vital and smiling,. Alive the moment before.
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Not Even Jesus | Mimiamos's Weblog
https://charteramos.wordpress.com/2009/08/01/not-even-jesus
August 1, 2009 at 4:35 am ( Poetry. Broken rosettes with tarnished gilded angels. Are set above gloomy doorways. The priest’s wordless oaths of eternal days. Lengthen into infinite years beneath gothic arches. The priest sits pale. He walks ever so slowly,. But long ago forgot the way. He would run if he could remember how. His voice echoes against the inside of his skull. As he screams in silence. Not even Jesus visits here. 2009 C. Harter Amos. August 2, 2009 at 4:28 am. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.
