Dragonflies and butterflies

Wing beat blurs

Is it chaotic silence until they stop?

 Iridescent lies.

And if they stop,

Can we then count on that steady beat?

A kind of clock.

Is the world on hold?

Then you can really hear them?

Disappearing Oblivion…

FRANTIC flies away

We do not have to keep moving

   to see and hear.

If we calm our hearts, the stillness takes a shape.

Then a song 

Not theirs

But one that swells in vibratory Sheen.

The Sunday Songbirds praise

Perfection?

No, thank God

The asymmetry is the beauty

A twisted tangled thing af…

After all…

Ocean breezes are not neat

They have the tang of salt 

The ache of what’s been lost

On a high hard current

Not some myth

But real wind

With real dirt in its teeth.

Come and relax 

Find your current

A mighty wind 

Or relaxing breeze 

The wind carries

Our loving songs of the heart 

An alphabet of feeling 

Reach across time

Close your eyes 

They find their way,  these echoes,

Not to some grand hall but to the Unurban Cafe 

Where the coffee steams, where the chairs are mismatched

Where a single word, spoken or unsaid, can touch you 

It is a ghost of a sound, 

A fine, almost invisible thread. 

That catches on the bone, 

A touch of past on present, 

And you hear it-

The sigh of what has been, 

And what is now.

In movement or in silence, 

Join us for Magical Sounds from The Souls.