Sweet William Flowers,
Tis beauty beyond nature,
Colors so perfect.
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Pandemonium
Adds to my delirium
Wild delphinium
By Robb A. Kopp
Thin sound of clarity when rain starts to fall.
Porcelain droplets clutch at fields and treetops.
Violet solar fingers trace the lines of each reflection.
Dawn awakens us
Almost as if each sound will be formed once more.
It gathers itself as wind strokes through treetops shaking the branches.
Shaking the light from the branches enticing the trees with an aura of cloud.
This curtain of rain travels skies and spheres where broken starlight offers
us knowledge .
It carries the tears of the universe,
the sighs of the sun
There is a blueprint of lifelines to follow
Sacred scars anointed with ancient wounds dried in this light
These hemispheres have no name.
They are of rotating formation.
Each breath begins again in the stillness of reflection.
All is of sight and of sound
After this stillness, we will learn to speak again
It's never, never too late for a love that is true
soft peony clouds
ensconced with wet petals
drops of liquid sun
pools in earthly hollows
reflect sky and earth as one
(June 19, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin USA)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
