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Morning Trip (89)–Words for The Blind

“The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.”
–Thomas Hardy

Morning Trip (75)

“There it is; the light across the water. Your story. Mine. His. It has to be seen to be believed. And it has to be heard. In the endless babble of narrative, in spite of the daily noise, the story waits to be heard.
Some people say that the best stories have no words. It is true that words drop away, and that the important things are often left unsaid. The important things are learned in faces, in gestures, not in our locked tongues. The true things are too big or too small, or in any case always the wrong size to fit in the template called language.”
– Jeanette Winterson

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

On Femininity–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

Yours
an opinion
made a pickle of
fickle women dressing for the ball
furs and jaded
the twinkling of faux gems
Auburns and sables
much sought after tresses
coveted
twisting bodies, ensnared
clothed
encircled
by wafting
her sensuous perfumes
to be hidden in
going to the play
Dramas
drawn out
melancholies, sweet agonies, what shames
are hidden in blind eyes
in yours
irrevocable decisions
once, and only remaining to be
opinions

–elisabeth connelley

When I am here–Purple Profundity: Poetry by Elisabeth Connelley

When I am here
what part of me do you love
do you fantasize about
without knowing
me
understanding you
smiling at
who
you can paint
yourself
when you feel
near
me
myself
who are you
do you ask
do you dream
illusions and puffy things
you wake up
you think me gone
eye
was never here
missing the view
of the image
in the mirror
smoke
wisps of air
curling away

–by elisabeth connelley