Month: November 2010
When You Look in a Mirror–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley
When you look in a mirror
What do you see
What will you do then
Don’t you blame meeeeeee
What will you do
When the mirror goes black
And all roads to safety
Disappear off the track
That you travel so slowly
Tomorrow
–by elisabeth connelley
Morning Trip (42)
“The Spiritual Seekers thirst after the quenching Waters of Knowledge. Blindly do some place their wandering feet upon many Pathways and, with their penchant for shortcuts, do fragment their many paths in an eager search of still others. Ever caught in the Maze of Confusion do they aimlessly toil with panic. While others, weary of expending effort, merely halt to sit–waiting for their “chosen” Teacher to miraculously materialize before them. Yet, in their lazy arrogant waiting, they stagnate. All their casting efforts are in vain, for the Knowledge they seek is found not in the Without, but has been with them all along–Within.
The Without Path cannot be
traveled until the Within Trail
has been traversed.”
–Mary Summer Rain, Volume One of Pinecones and Woodsmoke
Fleurs-de-lis –Purple Shoe Photography
Water Wisp Walking–Purple Shoe Photography
In Search of a May Pole–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley
one hand
tulips
belly in the grass
listening
for May
across stone walls
boots
trod upon
musky
newly turned earth
well worn hands
search and grasp
the wood
with heft enough
to stand
in the center
unified to raise
the May Pole
–by elisabeth connelley
Determinant–Purple Shoe Photography
Winter–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley
Winter
that season
stark
cold hard
stripped bare
happy, hope
springs
remembered fondly
woven
created
great vines and twists of leaves
glory
sun soaked, and seduced until
the mind floats off into the sound
the wind making love with leaves
fruits hanging heavy
falling
the golden lushness
the red flames
consume the view
the lust
harvest of summer dreams
greedily
stripped bare
now, harsh wind
a leaf hangs
here or there
steadfast
stubborn clinging
to believe
winter is not bare
winter is not naked
winter is not what is
–elisabeth connelley