Sample Poems.
Being
Blown spume and spindrift
on jagged ironshore
and on the boardwalk of my life
shadows follow me.
Thoughts awakening, visions captured –
a hand, a pen, words feathering a page:
dreaming,
this vast universe, this planet, this life,
all connected –
the blood that flows within our veins,
the singer and his song.
An innocent child stands enraptured
at some new-found delight,
a door through which we pass
into the endless circle,
no beginning,
and no end.
By: Brenda Quin.
Caught
A smile sneaks out to scurry across the small face
of a child, disappearing in the instant of discovery;
a darting ghost crab in the beach sand.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Dragonfly
She rests on a palm
Gossamer wings of deep jade
Flecked with gold, she sleeps.
By Brenda Quin
The voice of God
Today, I thought I heard the voice of God
speaking softly to me from inside
the intricate and beautiful belly
of a flower.
I bent my ear close to listen
to hear the golden chords of reason,
almost trapping a bee as it emerged
from the funnel of the flower;
vibrating wings and sharp buzzing
tickling a shudder down my backbone.
Later, I felt another chill as the breeze
played gentle tugging games with my shirt,
the cool fingers lifting up my shirttail,
tickling the growth of hairs
on my belly
and perhaps a faint sigh of satisfaction
wafting on the wind?
If I could only see, using eyes
of someone grown with wisdom
sewn into their retinas,
imprinted in their heart
like a longing.
I felt the touch of God’s smile
in the warmth of soft sunlight
resting on my forearm.
I heard the sound of God’s voice
crackling inside an ear of corn,
the juicy kernels exploding with
sweet juices,
the pleasant resonance enfolding
from the busy chatter and laughter
of a family conversing
at the dinner table,
sharing stories and moments
of life, and bringing comfort and warmth
to a later summer’s evening.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Melody
Birdsong awakens me;
I lie listening to my wife’s
nearby gentle breathing.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Pruning
Every pruning creates
new growth, in our gardens
and in ourselves.
By: Brenda Quin
Hope
The dew on the morning grass:
the creator’s joyful tears
shed across a field of possibilities.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Being
Blown spume and spindrift
on jagged ironshore
and on the boardwalk of my life
shadows follow me.
Thoughts awakening, visions captured –
a hand, a pen, words feathering a page:
dreaming,
this vast universe, this planet, this life,
all connected –
the blood that flows within our veins,
the singer and his song.
An innocent child stands enraptured
at some new-found delight,
a door through which we pass
into the endless circle,
no beginning,
and no end.
By: Brenda Quin.
Caught
A smile sneaks out to scurry across the small face
of a child, disappearing in the instant of discovery;
a darting ghost crab in the beach sand.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Dragonfly
She rests on a palm
Gossamer wings of deep jade
Flecked with gold, she sleeps.
By Brenda Quin
The voice of God
Today, I thought I heard the voice of God
speaking softly to me from inside
the intricate and beautiful belly
of a flower.
I bent my ear close to listen
to hear the golden chords of reason,
almost trapping a bee as it emerged
from the funnel of the flower;
vibrating wings and sharp buzzing
tickling a shudder down my backbone.
Later, I felt another chill as the breeze
played gentle tugging games with my shirt,
the cool fingers lifting up my shirttail,
tickling the growth of hairs
on my belly
and perhaps a faint sigh of satisfaction
wafting on the wind?
If I could only see, using eyes
of someone grown with wisdom
sewn into their retinas,
imprinted in their heart
like a longing.
I felt the touch of God’s smile
in the warmth of soft sunlight
resting on my forearm.
I heard the sound of God’s voice
crackling inside an ear of corn,
the juicy kernels exploding with
sweet juices,
the pleasant resonance enfolding
from the busy chatter and laughter
of a family conversing
at the dinner table,
sharing stories and moments
of life, and bringing comfort and warmth
to a later summer’s evening.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Melody
Birdsong awakens me;
I lie listening to my wife’s
nearby gentle breathing.
By: H.M. Peter Westin
Pruning
Every pruning creates
new growth, in our gardens
and in ourselves.
By: Brenda Quin
Hope
The dew on the morning grass:
the creator’s joyful tears
shed across a field of possibilities.
By: H.M. Peter Westin