Words land
On the page
Like wildflower seeds
Sown in a garden of possibility.
A blank sheet
And an unfarmed field
Look no different.
But we keep at it.
Farmers and writers
Learn to sit back and
Let the harvest
Come when it comes
Like a closed heart
That bursts
And feasts on itself.
Famine easily forgotten
And forgiven
For this taste
Of paradise.
{poem/photo: Jill Volat}
This morning
I woke up
And I felt beautiful
And radiant
And happy
And healthy
And peaceful
And alive
For no particular reason.
And it felt like
The most important accomplishment
Of my life.
{poem/photo: Jill Volat}
from Ginger Roots: Plantings of a Future Dreamer
You are the tree
Reaching for the sun
Who offered its body
To form the page
Where everything is possible.
You are the fruit
Dripping with sweetness
Who offered its flesh
To make the ink
That writes your freedom.
You are the eagle
Soaring in a crystal canyon
Who offered its wing
So I could pen the story
Of this kind of love.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie}
Worn palms.
How to read them?
Imprints of the earth.
Tattoos of the land.
Mother Nature’s riches
At home
In these hands.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/28/12}
Man of the land
Sweet soul
On top
Of the hill.
Thistles
Eagles
And cool mountain air.
Echoes
Of dreams
Already planted
On your doorstep.
Your quiet heart hums this rattle song.
Lavender and jasmine
Roses and crystal -
The ways
They come alive
In your worn, warm hands.
White light
Mingling
With cream colored blossoms
That are already there
Though not yet planted.
Neroli
Wafting
From the canyon.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/27/12}
Panning for gold -
The foolish forget
To let
The dust settle.
Infinite riches
Await
Your patient bowl.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/22/12}
Heavy heart.
Sadness or fullness?
Peeling back the layers
Sometimes
It’s hard to tell.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/22/12}
Most people
Can’t decipher
Our dialect.
I become
A wand
Rattle
Talisman
In your hand
Painting city streets
With beauty
Blooms
And crystals
From the canyon.
{Jill Lurie 2/22/12}
Lady of the lake
White gypsy
In a pool of smoky midnight.
Wings as oars
Stars as compass
Safe travel…
Secret trail.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/6/12}
Come back
When you’ve learned
A new language
And we can sit
In an open field
Eye to eye
And sing
The same song.
{Jill Lurie 2/4/12}
