The Beauty of Broken Things

 

Broken lines, 

couched in jagged curves;

a jetstream of white light,

a splash of grey shadow ~ 

all reflections of 

my monotonous heart.

She thirsts for you, 

feels parched in your absence.

Missing the fluid velvet

of your touch,

of your taste ~

reflecting, 

upon the beauty of broken things.

Photo Credit: DeviantArt

Poetry: Roxanne Galpin

Winged Night Hope

**FYI ~ I moved all of the 50-word story posts to their own blog.**

Winged night flight,

breath-taking and bold.

I shiver, in the darkness,

witness 

to a preternatural sight,

shimmering, 

in the light of 

a gilded harvest moon. 

A golden gossamer dream

sweeps swiftly

across an indigo sky;

Gripping hope

in her tightly curled talons.

Requiem for a Sunflower

Withered, weary

leaves begin melting

into autumn's embrace;

shoulders drooped,

heavy head now stooped,

she releases her petals,

they descend ~ floating 

 above an icy morning mist.

Her seeds extricate themselves

from their cloister.

Her crumpled and golden chalice,

now fully emptied.

Oh, poverty, what bliss!

photo: Christine Valter Paintner

poetry: Roxanne Galpin

Rumpled Sheets

On the wings of veiled dreams 

I glide into a new day.

Sunlight, streams through

pregnant apple blossoms,

dancing.

Golden shafts of light
flutter upon

these rumpled sheets

that held us, 

together

through a stormy and ebony night ~

our amniotic sac,

the colour of golden wheat,

and scented with the sweet, earthiness

of life forged in eksatis.

Photo Credit: Christine Valters Paintner

Poetry Credit: Roxanne Galpin

Sacred Life Sunday ~ Gilded Freedom (a poem)

 

A crimson heart ~

sweet as nectar,

and a scarlet, burning ember

 too deep to fathom ~

love, pure, fresh love 

cleaves him to her.

He opens the gilded cage,

watching, awestruck

and with baited breath.

Apprehensive, her wings unfurl,

She flutters, then sails away

on the gentlest stream of 

a breeze.

Shimmering,

she returns 

to the gilded cage

and sees Him there,

waiting.

Her wings,

beating

in time with her heart.

Her heart,

beating

in time with His.

image credit: google, public domain

poetry: copyright Roxanne Galpin

Inspired by and dedicated to Martin, who showed me that I do have wings, that they can carry me, and that I can fly on my own. He showed me this through the anguish of his love, which gave him the strength to hold the cage open for me to fly out. Of course, I flew back into the cage to my husband, a man who understands that loving me requires giving me alot of space.

Empty Chair

Golden thoughts of you

sail

on a hush

of the languid tide

in my restless, sepia heart.

The stark solitude of

your empty chair

screams ~

your absence, lamented.

Yet, I feel you ~

tendrils of your spirit

flutter,

like the casings of dandelion seeds.

The grain of your existence,

has melted into mine,

has melted

into the very grain of

your empty chair.

image credit: DeviantART

poetry: copyright Roxanne Galpin