Bev Flynn's Blog, page 23

Soulproof are the angels

'Crossing, through a snowfalla sacred part of lightsoulproof are the angels... in transition.Her smile... called back todayreturning home, to walk the starsbeyond... the other side.She's now, where spring begins againher life... is not at end.' Goodbye, Mom. I love you.I'm celebrating the precious life of my incredible mother today, who passed away early yesterday morning. She was 98, and full of love and life. This is the last picture I have of her, taken earlier this month. She crossed over...

Winter crimes

Spring... stalls in exchangethreatened, at the freezing point.Puzzling... the poets held hostageby these winter crimes.Prone to greenness wordsmade up, of blossom sleet... and rime.We sign our phrases older now...through tendencies of time.#firstdayofspring

To hang my verse, in whisper... virtual

Three things that inspire me to write here.1) A lack of learned experience, I write of what is dared to be imagined.2) To tack up words, like stars in winter's ether. Taking mortal chances, with those resembling me.3) To hang my verse, in whisper... virtual.Out of earshot.From a restless heart

cancer. small c.

And on, goes this cancer journey.Here, on this venue... my virtualchapterbook of internal dialog,of fears collected.Impulse words, flexible. Raw. Real.My evolution, free... of sequence.My morning hours, unfocusedas I, a watcher... catch accents of silver snowclouds, breaching through backwood buds.Like pale, haute smoke rolling fast,casting silhouettes of winter's dead, iron branches.Dormant.Waitingto burst through time.Waiting to feel.Waiting... to live again.Each and every dawn, I write a...

Feel

The tide... around your questionsbrings comfort, through this night.Define the will, to feel again.There's placement... in the light

seasoned Riders

Text... and invocationare poet-ways, of wording lifeseasoned Riders, grasping verse... that flies.We legacy our soulsin slanted rhyme... or prose.We manifest, as poems ... melting time

the long view back

Snowblind sightyou're pulse... of lightwithin your eyes, regret across her memory.You take the long view,back to cloudsthey tell ... what could have been

metaphor

Woken,to an indrawn phaseshe speaks, to find... a quickeninglike whispers, stroking timeshe aches to find the meaning ... of it's shimmer.She doesn't voice it, literalit's just another metaphor... for winter

Winter tomes... of foam, and phlash. Metrical Nor'easters... back to back

Plash

Puddle-graves,a word surrender...calls to me, in melancholic plash.Nights I fall, in deep seclusionclumsy,in the flare... of the illusion