thespiandrummer
Confluence of Life
Fine Art-Poetry-Writing | Reblogs: thespians-drumming.tumblr.com | © 2016-2024
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Text
Gesture
I speak in real time
As head motions hand
to write
I’ve uncovered layers
of Self
the fog of years
roll revealing
slowly the nature of Now –
Wrought appears at
The edge of
these grasslands
Stops to eat
with my hunger
Along the walkways of a
Furrowed homestead
meditates with the
whippoorwills in the
Summer fauna
all green against green
The infinite gesture
of life unfolds
I hold myself in this
cradle of thought
As the wise
abutilon sings to me.
© K. James Ribble
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Tree in the mist
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She talks to me in a sweet mountain
breeze in the looming nocturne of a
tinctured sky, the leafspeak and whispers
that sound like the color of your eyes
in the soft swell of your clavicle
the clavichord plunge of your lips –
I am lost in the language of your
curves found in frequency and forum
All of you emanating in the hymn and
harmony of your form, an azurestill of wonder
where sound lays seamless across time
time that cannot speak nor ply my heart
against these fulminations, the incantations
of your song, the native tongue of your
figure in fuchsia pressing softly, ever so
softly on my soul as evening serves us life
nectarean and unremitting
____________________________
© Thespian Drummer / Nocturne
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Photo
.lilypad path.
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Moon water catches
Breath of Life, the
Unending songs of
This lonely planet
Grabs grief like a
Lost child finding
Solace and grace
In starlight of heaven
Here, I float within
This still and quiet vision
As if hovering above lost
Tales of a Cambrian sea
Like visionaries and their
Ways of water, their prophets
Exceed the common good
For all of us and I
Become captivated reflection
The tide acknowledging my heart
Along the shores of every step
I’ve taken towards revelation
© K. James Ribble
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I sing now in a key
of awe and lament
this moment singing
Songs of memory released,
unencumbered by time
parsing through me as I
love in the face of loss,
in twilight never known
piqued from the fount of a
simple look you dreamt my way
dreams of past lives
they come in absolutions
and the reckoning of wonder
where I speak now in a language
I cannot articulate
where we exist in an absence of time
of quiet, peace and an overwhelming
sense of gratitude edged in
the twilight of miracle
Like seeing reflections of timelessness
seep through the sky’s canvas of blue
– a lake’s alpine mirror –
revealing I am flayed among
the stars and their kin
_________________
© K.James Ribble
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Calling Mojo5050
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Radiance
I walk with her
In the acreage
of neglected dreams
she escorts me to
A realm that sees
the angels sing of time
Gathered in a featherless
touch of Agony
where even Michael weeps
archangel tears of anguish
Such is the nature
of her beauty
Like a satin quill
of starless nights in
A Giverny of lessons I try
to scribe, the whole of
My hope and sacrifice
enstates all,
all to her other-wise –
and even then,
just past the ethos
Of this forest song I sing
I am drawn to
Her eyes of Awe
a frightful and lovely truth
That I am within the pleas
Of her only cost,
the cost of being human
Vulnerable enough
To love as the angels sing.
© K. James Ribble
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hearts magic..
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There is song in the remaining sunlight
the fire-pink in Sierra browns, reflecting
delicate the strands and traces of your hair,
the catered glow of your presence forming
like an audition to the edge of Autumn
This is Summer that presents herself
in terms of color, in stark melody and
intemperate decisions, like premonitions
giving way to your cosmic Light -
I linger here in this immeasurable twilight,
linger in the realm of your eyes
like a lost star formed in the birth
of a Chaos in tatters, your stare boring
into me and I forget where I am …
Were it not for this lucid frame of reference,
the light noted languorously in degrees
of ascent, you and I would comprise
the captions of antiquity, our time here
lost forever in the memory of our hearts
© K. James Ribble / Immeasurable Twilight
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On the shore of my neighbor's pond
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From the selvages of innocence,
knowledge needing, she draws
to the edge of the sun
incised & contoured
on the periphery of time
bleached by the songs of
his longing, corbelled on
a pretense of dusk, the light
looming as she appears now in a forming
like frost patterns in glass
a geometry of fire
fractals of diamond, their stria
aligned & enflamed the way a shore
washes its stones,
a lullaby of calm [emerges]
sounding wave upon wave
from the Sipapus of life -
as he reveals love’s origins
in a plein of topiary forms
glistening in crowns of shadow
where the gloss of his understanding
yearns for her evening heart
______________________________
© K. James Ribble / Pretense of Dusk
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The Last Of Autumn
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is memory like
light?
the stars we see might have
burned out consumed black into void
thousands of years ago
the light that reaches
us, Anne, is memory, you’re
right - something that once was
and might be and are all of us like that?
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While Night Abates
You find it hard to believe
Your spirit is beautiful
Of Hibiscus and spearmint
The headwinds of an
effortless ply of time, a lovely
soul who washes over me
Like rain in August like the
Horizon in Silhouette of
a Romanesque dawn
Like the fingers of spring
in an ambush of nightfall
Calloused in the soft arc
Of its touch, on an awakening
Both Immediate and clear in
mornings canvassed by the
iris mauve of this desert,
Like a shoreline Motioning me
to a whit of flight
A carrier of sunlight in
the soft loss of time —
© K. James Ribble
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sunset visions
©️-Aubrie-2023
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