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The Marriage of Word and Music

I have long been a fan of poetry with music, there is a beautiful blend of nuance that intermingles with the notes of a song quite differently than if they were sung. My collaborative friends, Simon Reich and HamBa have come together to create this beautiful piece called, Sweetest Love.

Artist Lords Prayer

Artist Lords Prayer

 

Our Father who created Heaven and Earth

Haloed be thy name

Thy kingdoms come as were imagined in Heaven

Deliver us into the arms of God’s goodness

Whose plan is sculpted from His Arts desire

Give us our daily illustrations

Forgive us of our wasted talents

As we forgive that which keeps us apart

Lead us not into self-deprecation

Deliver us from complacency

For Thine Art the endowment, the inspiration

And everlasting splendiferous expression

Of each unique essence

Forever and ever

Aahhhh men

cherry hakui_pe

Song to Garden

Song

romantic woman_pe

 Song to a Garden

I walked along a wicker road to somewhere clean. Sometimes when I think it’s time to go, a little bird comes along – whispering from a tree … “It is indeed a good time to be free, but the story of your life must still be told,”

How the fragile grass can survive the step is a miracle. As morning brings a feather of dew softly upon its green mat and the rain comes to renew it from the crush.

Once again, its spring is back; upright green, and so languidly lush.

it is startled in discovered ground to find it’s grown oh so much

My front porch is filled with geraniums,

My back door is steeped in the scent of honeysuckles.

I worry not, for flora and fauna are my friends.

They caress ma femme’ and circle her back again,

Abundant and rested

Abloom once again

And though the years have craved the younger bloom

I am not certain that I would want the tomb.

Lovely summer, and knowing autumn befalls me still

For each season is my reason to stay alive,

That is my will

I have given the glittered roads many a travel

Where in trials my heart unraveled the soul of a woman whose name is neither man nor woman

But my one authentic light bedazzled.

My one song

My garden universe unfrazzled

My resplendent repose

My garden leads me to its fair retreat

Where friends in their silent beauty, I am sure to greet.

With song voluminous -heartfelt – we speak- of none less than the flowers that lay about our feet.

 

 

laurabotsfordmusic.com

Days Like These

Days Like These

The rain and storm curves around my kites of bliss and challenges them to compete in the air for life

I have feared, I have lost at the hands of tribulation

I lean and bend as far as the rushes will take

Until they are ripped from the banks, tormented by waters ceaseless falling, flowing dripped and steed in wrenching floods

I am not alone, but it sure feels like it

The lights went out for hours and all I could do was sleep and then sleep some more. Deeply surrendered to a vacuum dreams sucked out of my head

If I were alone in a void

I would know of thee even though we seem to be far apart a passing breeze tells me you are there and I have brushed your cheek.

The editor’s note my alignment of words and thought tend to opt for elaboration, it is a tedious task that is arduous but seeks to transform something complex into a feeling. Oh crap, I think I will go feed the compost with shredded poetry and hope the earth can make something better of it than I can.

I am not a sad writer, just one that is a bit lazy today

The weather bluster of darkness looms in the air with gray, and I fear my new mood swing will take on more damage, once again; I am given this vacant space of pondering to write in.

If only there was someone to listen and say,

“Yeah I get that, and its all right.”

A Portal Portrait

Portrait of a Changing Woman

 

Sand Poem

Ancient Bells

 

To believe that you echo me is to hear the bell chimes from long ago.

There is star dust in my flesh.

There are deserts in my eyes, and my feet are lit with a fresh wind where my soul and heart shall mesh

I see you now… it is you that I feel

Still I ask, “Will you stay? Are you real?”

Somewhere a leaf has fallen

It lands on sapphire water

I hear you calling.

I see your footprints in the sand.

The flame is burning the wood

There is no time to be false

For the camel nears the eye

And my days are beautiful in the heart of God

This wave of salvation carries me

From out of the foundation of collective memory, I deepen

In wide expansive spirals, I coast across the sea

These winks from the stars guide my way, as God wants me to know Her endless light.

And in the rocking lull, I wistfully sail above the troubled  fright

Faithfully pray for her angel’s embrace

Here along the sand,  in poems  that lovers write

 

Woman to Woman

    Woman to Woman    by Laura Botsford

I ate of the vine, I ran in the wind, I cried out for wisdom until I had no tears left.

   I looked for love in those that had never kissed the sun to find their own warming peace. Who stayed in shadows because they didn’t know they deserved all that was good.

   They counted money, they bought fancy things and rode in long cars until there were no roads left. They were unaware that wisdom was theirs all along. They left childhood dreams behind in the tall grass; when indeed it was how they saw themselves from the beginning and yet chose to abandon the innocent wonder of it all.

   And why? Because they were told they should, no my dear; it is childlike wonder that always renews, keeps one keen and gladly surrenders a compassionate heart to one in need.

   The pouch of wishes, the rainbows one sees in a sky full of hope, and the ever contemplation of lush avenues of forgotten worlds that tender joyous memories more so than that which was not. This is you, the one with a sparkle of soft indigo in her eyes, the loving one who has hands, and arms always readied  for embrace. There are caverns and causeways that can capture your will, steal your soul. They were carved in times of un-evolved knives of low self esteem, self hatred by wounded knaves of misfortune and to many hardships; the human plight is pithed with these plunderers of joy. You are wise, you are rich with your own experiences, and you have me to talk to.