adrift

what a beautiful image you have created here. "I am raining ashes", so evocative. Do you consider this poem "finished"? I feel that I would like to read more... Yours, ~Nina

you never fail to fascinate our imagination, take it on a walk, no, send it flying through all history's skies of understanding, and land on such beautiful parts of that universe of magic places that we dream, and we dream with you, we fly with you, we feel with you, as your float your little ash-pages onto the screen to move us so. I can't help remembering the phoenix fire flakes that this little story illustrates it seems to fit your mood here, No? Saturday 13th December 2008.( Nature Kindergarten) We had a lovely magic-moment yesterday at the Kindergarten in the woods round the bonfire, when one child threw his paper beaker into the red embers of the burnt logs, we all watched as it turned from white to a beautiful matt black with glowing orange edges, then the whole became orange, still holding its shape so to become grey, the colour of ash, a delicate blue-grey and torn-edged, silk-papery in its looks, then to our surprise it became the explanation for what we had seen earlier, those floating grey fairy-like shapes so slowly, slowly, spiralling down to land like forest leaves on the surface of the crystals on very white snow.  The staff present were ever patient as they let child after child do the same thing, even with unused beakers, all the while these cones were watched intensely, their every change commented on, many of them described the shape of the Norwegian o with the line through it, was it the handles? It was one of these that made me say "perhaps they are floating," as some went upwards now, 'to decorate the trees, they look like Christmas stars for the tops of all the firs," and that one went, first left then right then up some more to the dark of the tops and disappeared between the branches just below the very top.  What simple moments of wonder but how the experience stays with one as adult and child both watch and learn of the magic of weight and change in the objects of this world. ***************************** This poem is like a long Haïku thought that stays like the stain of colour in the sky before disintegrating. You are a magic person Anna, your web of wishes, would that it could catch you a fish of pure gold! Love from your Neo-sister Ann

How beautiful all these images are , I was just on my way to bed and noticed this and read had to comment ... dear Ann has said it so eloquently ... I need not say anything ....I am raining ashes ... just beautiful Love and higgest bugs Jayne x x x

this is perfect now, I enjoyed reading this longer version, thank you for these wonderful words that come full circle again in your last stanza with the mentioning of ashes. Yours, ~Nina

Oh Anna, you wonderful word weaving woman... mmmmmm is all I really want to say, you write with such delicious ease & even your sober sentiments hold the joy of graceful eloquence... mmmm. I am sated now! Cheers Anni~ "The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself". Anais Nin:

this day. This is a wonderful and personally introspective glimpse at rebirth. I simply adore the gentle honesty of: "Do you remember what faith feels like my weary heart?" Quality Poetry! ken

This poem is like a beautiful song, the likes sung by ancient and skillful trovadours. Great, imaginative and well written poem! the ocean gathers every tear in inseparable oneness Simply delightful! Sincerely, Hugo

Very well done, the best so far, if Apocalyptic. To my my mind all it needs is a dove of peace to take flight. But then I'm no doubt somewhat more of an optimist (I apologise for that). But seriously I loved this poem, I can find no fault with it that I can mention. Respects Dalton.