Ann Mckeeman

i chase myself…
restless amber thoughts dancing through the corridors of my mind…
the tattered memories, threadbare, worn …are able still
to exert a vise-like grip on my heart…
...

leaves scattered across the soft waking earth...

moon shine..sun beams weaving blankets..weightless formless glittering with their own
illumination...
...

today the trees are in full leafy glory
their varigated greens a blanket nature-knit, stretching before my devouring gaze…
flowers bursting, a slow and sensuous rainbow…
bushes erupting, gleefully adding their hues to the unfolding symphonic balance…
...

..better a solitary stroll,
with a gentle breeze
beside the forest stream
than lingering doubt
...

…walking down the paths of my heart…
i find no pause, in the stony garden there….
nor roses scenting the air…
but…
...

as the day releases her grip on the weighty verdant nature of things..
and as night slowly comes to take her hand there, at dusk- calm cool and waiting -
he so fully expansive dressed in moon light and perfumed with the decadent odor
of the crushed flowers of summer's days...
...

WHO ARE YOU?

(i am me, i am who i am, i am she)
(i am a name which shall not be named)
...

mid morning clarity
amidst warming day
brings subtle peace
...

they who have seen me
disheveled, waking hastily to attend to something pressing
raw, roots showing, nails removed because I am preparing for surgery
made up, perfumed, bejeweled and dressed in stylish clothes
...

with stunning precision
life's knife wielded
upon tender flesh...
...

leathery, thick skinned
moving deliberately
across the verdant face of Gaia
...

It's two in the morning...of course I am awake
Pulled the universal night shift again
It's not bad...in fact it gets better
with every life cycle...the tension
...

it was a silly strange twist of circumstance
Fetal lung maturity
A trip, a needle -
Oh we do this all the time, everything will be
...

..(a strange and solitary whirring begins)

and the staccato beat of my own heart becomes a blanket
...

There is a candle lit within my heart

it is not proud, nor wide, nor tall
...

..as the warmth and water swirl and climb
i ponder my shadow in the flickering candle light
..embracing myself and all within..
...

i stand before the ancient way
arms outstretched to greet the day

upon the road i set my feet
...

it does not strut upon the road

tarries not in gestures cold-
...

from my nose to the length of my arm
the old ways are often best...
(i sit in the dim light of evening and measure the lengthening of days...)
within the fabric of my existence, i am confined, ragged edges dipping low on the ground...
dragging in the damp full earth of fall...
...

...so like bubbles, the surface tension of my soul...
fragile, existing to be seen- reflecting the shifting colors of what is packed, edge to edge inside...
the beauty of the sphere, what is my own, escapes and transfixes me..
like a bird in the air, near the shore, where the bubbles from the surf form foamy piles on the growing warmth of the sand
...