Sounds on a Stormy Day

Photo by Valentin Müller on Unsplash

Rain rattles the metal chimney

as trains sound their horns

in the distance.

Birds chatter quietly

to one another in trees

water dripping from leaves.

Thunder rolls in dark clouds

as planes fly over and

helicopters circle.

The wind rustles leaves

wakes the trees

from their silence.

©2019 Joanne Young Elliott

Home

Photo by vinsky2002 on pixabay

Home is a place where you can breathe,

where you can hear yourself best.

Home is an opening in space and time

where you belong, where you relax.

Home is now. Home is a heartbeat,

a rhythm attuned to you.

Deep in the recesses of life

home is the place that finds you

after a long journey. You can’t make

someplace a home, it’s a feeling

of the heart and a wish

upon a light in a window.

©2019 Joanne Young Elliott

I Am

Photo by averie woodard on Unsplash

I am made of prayers and secrets,

memories and stories told and retold.

I am made of rain and sun,

earth and phases of moonlight.

I am made of light and distant darkness,

galaxies and far off stars.

I am made of dust and chemistry,

particles and waves.

I am made of silence and no thing,

emptiness and yet…

I am

©2019 Joanne Young Elliott

Do Not Bury the Year too Soon

Photo by wenzlerdesign on pixabay

Do not bury the year too soon,

cover it with drifts of forgetting

never to see the light of day again.

It is not dead just yet. It breathes

life into me still with its sunrises

and sunsets attached to a year, a number

we have construed. Still it is and still I am

even though the sun now rises

lower and lower in the sky, and we rush

closer and closer to holy days and feasts.

Time becomes swift as the bird taking

the corner of the house so fast it

grazes the window, keeps flying undeterred

to its destination. It did not die,

will not be laid to rest this day.

©2019 Joanne Young Elliott

Intention Rising

Like the moon, full on the horizon,

my intentions rise, loom large,

light up the night full of uncertainty.

I adjust the lens, focus on my vision

and let all distractions fall away.

There is only this moment.

I mean to make it mine.

As the moon rises higher,

it seems to grow smaller.

But perspective is everything.

When all seems too far away,

I close my eyes and rise.

The night no longer seems dark.

It is the womb of dreams, of secrets

waiting to be whispered.

Possibility rises from within.

All is birthed by intention.

It’s time. I cast my spell to the wind.

©2019 Joanne Young Elliott