Moonlight lovers, dreaming dancers dedicated with gratitude to Edward Safran

A log in a fireplace.

Moonlight lovers, dreaming dancers…

could they ever be day time lovers, real time  romancers?

He had never come to be

with her in ways that

 others could see.

He was always

with her  in her dreams

on that we will  agree.

His name whispered

 on the Wind

was her song.

She never told him

she loved him

all her  life long.

She never held his hand.

She slept in his arms.

She never shared a meal.

She feasted on his love.

His words were sweet as the rose.

His thoughts were loving and kind.

His love for her grows and grows.

He never knew she was blind.

She was blind to distance between them.

She was blind to pain in her heart.

She smiled as she whispers

His name each moment

From him she never will part.

The ages pass…

They finally meet.

He is so surprised to find

All of his favorite things  by a chair

Who says  Soul is not aware.

His name on the Wind was her song.

She never told him she

 loved him all her  life long.

His name on her lips formed a smile.

An elderly Indian woman in rocking chair - NAR...
An elderly Indian woman in rocking chair – NARA – 285814 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The strands in his hands…..

English: Pouring molten gold into ingot mold a...
English: Pouring molten gold into ingot mold at La Luz Mine (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
forge, smith's hearth, fire, sparks Français :...
forge, smith’s hearth, fire, sparks Français : Une forge en action. Feu, étincelles. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He kissed my cheek.

The aroma of  cedar, pine,  

and juniper hung thick in his hair.

He touched my hair,

slowing loosening

the  braiding 

as it fell into his hands.

His hands, large and gentle

leathered with age

trailed through the hair

in his fingers  as if were gold.

To him it always was this way.

Quiet, strong gentle love…

almost worship

of the strands in his hands. 

He smiles and knows.

I am watching

his eyes and his fingers. 

The fire behind me

is dancing in his eyes.

  I am dancing

in his arms.

The fire within us

grows as we dance. 

He lifts me in a twirl.

Kisses me.


as he puts his arm

around my shoulder

for the night. 

Could my name be caressed by the breeze? (Visitors from the storm)

English: Photo of a stone fireplace.

After detail of painted stone fireplace and ne...
After detail of painted stone fireplace and new flat black stone hearth, simple modest zen style, Seattle Washington USA (Photo credit: Wonderlane)


The contented  crone sat quiet and quite alone….until the breeze began to blow.


On the breeze, floods of memories began to play.


In the breeze, she saw his smile.


She loved him so, but, it had been awhile.


Her memories were Soul’s delight.


Just to hear his voice once more.


Take the memories off her heart’s shelf…


Turning each one over in her mind.


She smiled and laughed as she heard the wind roar.


Knowing his time was now spent on a far distant shore.


The light was fading.


The room grew dim.


Still her thoughts danced with him.


Once more, just once more…


could I hear his voice speak my name?


The answer came in the pouring rain.


The thunder crashed about her head.


The lightning flashed brightening the gloom.


It was then, she saw him standing in her room.


“I have come to sing your name…


To remind you of our love.


You might want to be ready


for company on the midnight train.


Our children are coming  


to see you from across the sea.


I wanted you to hear the news first from me.


I have always loved you my darling wife.


We managed love and laughter throughout the strife.


I will stay the evening till the children arrive.


I wanted these moments alone with you….


While our memories are so alive.


I have always loved you….and so much more.”


The wind shifted, it with the wind pelted the door. 


In a flicker of time, they visited and sang…


It was then the door-bell rang.


“Grannie Mahara, it is me.


I have brought all your great grand children for you to see.


Mom and Dad are unloading the car.


I see Grandpa is visiting. I knew he would not be far.


We shall sing your name upon the wind…


I will set the kettle for our tea to begin.”








There is a fire…dedicated to Darcie Zackowski on the occasion of her birthdate

Fireplace (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There is a fire

that burns within.



relentlessly demanding.

It grows dim at times.

 Then it flares up again.

Burning everything

that stands in the way. 

It has burned all

who spurned me.

Left me broken and alone.

(Or so I thought)


that I warm my hands

at its creative spire.

Its desire  I  have  


It is driving me onward, 

ever onward…

this holy fire. 

It is the fire of the love

of  the Creator of All

For Itself, in Its beloveds.

The ones who hear the Voice.

Those who heed its Call.

Those who share the spark

Of the holy fire with others.

The listeners.

The artists.

The coworkers

of love.  

There is a fire

that burns within.

Let us not extinguish

it by giving it a name.

Let us not bicker about it

because our worship is not the same.

Let us instead…

Keep the fire of love.

Glowing red. 

Let us stand together…

As keepers of the Flame. 

Our love from the Creator 

It is all the same. 

There is a fire within.

Gentle snow, gentle voices, gentle love

Martel and van Over have friends for dinner an...
Image via Wikipedia
English: Blowing snow, Creag Mhigeachaidh Even...
Image via Wikipedia

The forecasted blizzard

is a gentle snow

when viewed from the inside

of a loving home

safe, warm, protected, secure

out harms way of the storm.

Gentle voices,

sharing the day,

the struggles,

the joys,

the victories

comfort an aging heart.

Gentle love,  of a young child

upon a knee

(telling stories to her real imaginary friend

sharing countless hours with a visiting relative)

 healing a heart

that has been closed for too many centuries.

For the moment,

the snow, the gentle voices and the laughter of a child

fill the old crone’s heart.

Treasures to wrap carefully away for

the rainy days on the trail ahead. 

Come warm your hands by the fire

Two "blocks" of wood crossed over on...
Image via Wikipedia

Time to come home

to sit by the fire.

Step out of the wind

out of  the storm.

Come warm your hands 

Drink in the serenity.

Haven’t you had enough harm?

Step out of the wind

 into the light

Of a blazing warming fire.

Time to come home to safety

to sit by the fire

Are you not tired of living by charm?

There is always someone caring

That you are struggling in your fight.

When you are ready to surrender to win…

come home to the fireside

That is burning within.

Beloved seeker

buffeted  in the wind…

Come warm your hands by the fire.

Fulfilling Soul’s true desire. 

Within the flame

Image by tkw954 via Flickr
A log in a fireplace.
Image via Wikipedia
A Fire in a Fireplace.

The fireplace that within us burns

Cleansing, clearing, clarifying the mission….

Burning away the dross.

The beauty of the purple orange flames soothes and beckons…

Deeper….until they dance behind your eyes.

Leading you home.

Awh, now that is so refreshing.

The calm and peace of home.

Within this quiet peaceful place

There are no colors.

There is no race.

Only love.

Love only.

Come and sit by the fire….

Until the fire sits within you. 

Until you are one with the fire.

Until the fire ignites the mission once more.