Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

How many ways can you describe the wheat colored patch of grass outside your window? And the mulch of dead, dried leaves, empty tree limbs overhead? How many times you know winter will not last, flower buds will see the light of day any day, spring will show her colors, blue will break the clouds, the sweet scent of honeysuckle is soon to blow by. The skies are turning, newly painted pictures burst out in joy, yellow pops of dandelions dot the reacquainted seasons, sounds and songs of nature in love with itself. You suffered through your barren months; trust that warmth, next, is what will happen. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Like a river after a month of rain, deluge, your life rushes by, locations and plot lines washing downstream, as you strain to catch up to their teasing temptations. The banks of the river cannot contain; water seeping threatens your foundation. Your shoes will get wet, or you could abstain from wandering; it's your consolation that your river overflows with good things at least, knee-deep in opportunity. You can stop, and see, what tomorrow brings; or ride these rapids, with impunity. Feel the warming air, the sun on your skin; it's okay to savor, where you have been. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Flash of cardinal red amid the wet dreary winter, bird songs drowned out by rain. Drops drip in streaks upon the windowpane, pocks of puddles in the storm-soaked lawn. Yet, a hint of blue peeks out, as if it met the blackened clouds en route to earth and came to save us. Birds chase the air, their rain-stained feathers flying to the treetops, buoyant avigation. Early signs of spring's sight. You ponder rhymes to speak on paper, ink blots blooming flowers, sunshine, painting pink pictures on the page, portal to heart's light. You know those words that terrify you? Be brave. Secrets spoke aloud will set you free. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Last night's thunderstorm, incarnation of angry power, storms of life stop you in your tracks. Sleepwalk until crash awakens you, fear overtakes you, and you can't move. Eventually, your thinking improves. But the sudden flash, in my opinion, of lightening, hurts less than the forsaken drip, drip, drip, drip of the daily deluge of rain, bad news and disappointments, dead ends and terminal delays, like stepping in a deep puddle while a car, spraying you with water, speeds by. Fills me with dread to read the weather report and study my to do list. My spirit feels muddy. © Christine S. Davis, 2019

Fog clears and opens up, blue sky shines through, sunlight beams on naked, barren branches. Full moon, inky clouds, playing peek-a-boo. Day and night of light, super moon flashes, spark the passionate, manifest in you clear horizons, visions, second chances, space to forgive, create, begin anew, light the dim path, dance upon the ashes of headlines, stories, senseless tragedies, willful collusions in the dark of night. Bad news, corruption, needless honesty, they pain a tender heart, put up a fight. Deep breath and moonlight, dreaming to the sky. Love into being, let the night drift by. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Ice beads on tree branches, lacy limbs, white fog sky. Silent cold of solstice, frozen buds and waiting, wanting more. Trust the fight for spring will win; life is always chosen by the curtain drop. Germinating, tight encased in fallow ground; warmth will blow in when it's day. Hazy sky will turn to bright. Seasons shift from snow to green and flow in new anticipated patterns, cycles. Young to old and seed to flower, winter's sleep to summer's fruit, living, miracle of death, deeper love from friendship's center. Good needs time to grow and patience, plot lines' tensions, resolutions. Creation's signs. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

The sky's the tint of mourning dove and stone walls. It's a dreamy haze, head in the clouds, gray, neutral canvas backdrop paints my own world the way I want. I can live aloud or silent; find my light in things I've known. Walls are made for climbing. Transcend avowed limits in the now, no need to postpone pleasure. Passions, wonderment, joy's allowed. The peeling bark on blood-twig tree, lacy lichen climbing to the tips of fing'ry branches budding, reaching, future tracing. Dogwood's old, but readies for the ling'ring spring blooms, dreams of flowers, still life, water- color skies, immortal imprimatur. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Let your desire for what is not, yield to desire for what is. You can see the light's shadows reflecting on the field, faintly, and those dark patterns make lovely pictures. Wishing on waxing moon appeals to your slight perfectionist tendencies; whining and complaining tend to conceal invitations and opportunity. In the steel gray sky, fog paints artistry, cosmic masterpieces; the daffodils peering in the rain. Life's complexity, light in darkness, sun through haze, good revealed. Blue-tinged mountains, puffy white clouds appear above the storm. Perspective, the air clears. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Have you noticed, all the gregarious people have disappeared? No more laughter, joy, now everyone is so serious. It seems to have happened sometime after the reds and blues became oblivious to the Other. We're in a new chapter this year, our world is so precarious. Fear's overtaken. Who has the answer? What are the questions? Who's profiting from it? Who's suffering in it? Whose priv'lege allows them their blindness to pain; income escapes them from Others, privatized bridge. Perhaps we need a cosmic comedy, or, better yet, some naked honesty. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Valentine Sonnet She’s the shy girl in her scuffed Mary Janes watching for lacy pink “Be Mine” hearts drop into the gold painted glitter-filled box, nervously holding her breath, but in vain. Her valentine box is ready to gain blood-red Sweethearts, frilled hearts, on her desktop. She’s waiting for Prince Charming’s step to stop in front of her freckle-faced grin, again. Now she’s the very same girl who’s so learned, no matter how much gold is spray painted or how long for Prince Charming she’s waited. that love is not found in boxes and verse, but in moments of heart filled connection, and in moments of tingling affection. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Rainy day, cold. Bird caws reverberate through the treetops. Rustling leaves, ravens cry, blackbird-filled air. Travel incorporates baggage; yours is much too burdened to fly. Your navigation's broken and the weight of dreams and dread confuse, drag down the skies. Drumbeats of reasons not to, confiscate your optimistic Pollyanna joy. You can't release the cloak of doom, make light your load, without the will of dark-filled night to shine the stars, to part the thunderclouds, to dance the moon dance, live the light allowed for you, to find your candle, make it yours; your blaze will less your weight and let you soar. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Woven together of heaven and earth, holy-human flow of embodied self. Foundation and floating, you are a drop in the vastness of love. Feelings, fears stop you, hold you back. The journey itself's worth the wait. Restless desire, love, it's birth of more, starts in the heart, flows from the top of time to the end, this unceasing loop, push-pull, pause, guilt purge, and holding the still voice in your body, the force of your will. Stalemate ahead; accept the self you are, the calm in the chaos, you see how far you have come, left to go. Quiet and breathe. Respite of thought, striving. Let go and be. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Midnight blue and crescent moon and black tree tops in silhouette below. Velvet sky falls. I am the bird banging against the windowpane, dimly lit. Away I fly. The breeze blows leaves across the lawn of wheat. They dance and dash in frenzied battle cry. I too am trapped by winds of fortune; freed in dreams and storied visions passing by. The cherry tree's in bloom in winter's chill, and robin's wings emerge in feath'ry gust. Inside, the fire warms my heart and stills disquiet of my soul; return I must to pictures painted on a page in black ink wand'rings; riding letters forth and back. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

In the light of the sliver of the moon, comfort from its hazy glow, eerie trace of vapor sky bound, vastness, stars full bloom and silence, breathless silence, in this place. Joyful, rapt attention, the sky consumes me; stillness, stillness, air in time and space. I grasp the darkness, wraps me like a womb; The blackening night surrounds me in embrace. Blood red and wounded, pain, collective pain, the weeping wails cry out into the night. In the silence, agony of heartstain pierce the peace, unsettled, 'til morning light. They'd fill an ocean, tears we all have shed. No one has peace in shadows of the dead. © Christine S Davis, 2019

The winds blow in, hard, a longing to be, ambition to do. I draw in that which belongs here and savor the mystery, life, death, what is, what will be, they bewitch me, hypnotize, light and darkness moments float in the air, like sun after rain, rain after sun. Death stands ahead, I lament, but 'tween here and there drift pleasure and pain. Ribbons of mauve and blue, late evening sky and grayness settles over me, in me, departing light and fleeting, robins fly to rest their wings, to nest, in quiet, trees. While life is bright, it only stands to joy. Save sorrow for the grave which can destroy. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Cool winds caress my arms; the sun lowers toward the horizon and a hazy mauve rises from the winter brush. Bird sowers scatter seed, for squirrels, a feeding trove. Flutt'ring wings and running deer and dark'ning sky, the eve' is close, calm, flying bug lands as I write and thanks for sun, spring coming, slowly now, I know, yet, I understand. I sense there's more a chill to be before the thaw, the sun a hint to cheer my heart, remind me of the good, courageous, sure to come, after winter has done her part. The orange ball's beneath the trees now, songs of birds are heading home. The night belongs. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Sunsets and dreams and secrets of the night, hazy mauve and gray watercolor sky. Painting pictures in your head, full moon light, squinting, reading messages from on high. Ponder, wonder, which is wrong, which is right, dimly rememb'ring , dreaming, as you try to see the love, lost, shining in the bright body of the moon, nightly lullaby. Thoughts and feelings wax and wane, in darkness, ephem'ral luster hides behind the clouds. Oh, lucent moon, fire up this harshness, this world, this life, both evil, good, endowed. She's silent, moon, for such a brightly shine, yet, her specter illuminates my mind. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Originally posted 3/22/2018 The flame, a spot of light, a spark, my fingertips, cold, icy nose, wind blowing, leaves, flying, the frigid air brings a chance to claim a new pattern. There is a ripening within, sun's warmth, satisfying heat of the first sip of coffee, warm in my hands and on my tongue, I wonder at the wind, she blows cold or warm, can change the world with a gust, invisible and powerful, hiding, seemingly still but a quivering leaf gives her away; can fan a flame or extinguish a candle, caress an arm or chill deep inside, blow away debris and dead leaves, clearing. I savor the spark, the light, the warmth, the leaf flying past, and the wind rearranging the leaf patterns on the fallow ground. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally Published 7/27/2018: I am the rain, relentlessly falling, unbound and unable to resist the downward momentum. I am the leaf, blown adrift by winds of change. I am alone and far from home. I am the raindrops and I will cover you, caress you, and keep you company. I am the thicket, I offer protection, a new home for you to lie until the drops evaporate and you join the carpet of leaves under me. Nature protects the fallen, shelters the beaten down. Sunlight is there if you look around. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018

Originally posted on 11/14/2017 Look!: A Sonnet for a Country in Need (sonnet) The need! The need! Engulfs your perfect view; Burning flash of death abounds the air. See the thund'ring crashing rain, the flooding l'ee. The next storm spots a glimpse ahead of you. The need is great; I spot the helpers few. The muck is rising, clinging to your knees, the devastating sight is staggering -- it's really hard to glimpse just what to do. Focus your vision on the hazy hue, your world, surrounded by humanity; the helpless, homeless, hungry, are your cue; like rushing thunder rain the human pleas. The price for your long life has now come due. Stranded among our shared identity. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017

Originally posted 4/8/2018 Revised 1/30/2019 Communion of the Body (Sonnet) Embodied speech, community of saints, touch of bread in hand, taste of wine on tongue, re-membering, re-entering, restraint, holding on, healing, with the power of one. Welcome cosmic wholeness, my holiness, sunlight shining, cold and warmth, warming heart, Rest into the mystery, haziness, dark and light, sparkling leaves, magical, art. Begin the walk; the guidance will appear, pinprick answers, the edge of consciousness, of your wildness, wilderness, now, here, body's truth, move through the experience. Reflection, voice, laughter, circle closing, cleansing, embracing, wintry green's knowing. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018