Meditations/Psychology
Poems, Prose and Meditations
L. F. Peterson
© 2021
Distance
Distance, the resistance of an eternal fire of desire causing hearts to recite prose with harmony of parts, this rose by any other name whose aim is pure, a lea to be secure in the arms and charms of another, the quoted and devoted mother of all muse without defense, designed in kind to confuse the sense, a star shining and aligning from afar, burning bright in the night, robbing sleep with notions of affection without objection, deep devotion and steadfast emotion this transaction of attraction, with single goal in mind and Soul, to address and confess in kind, undying love thereof, beckoning a reckoning the time of separation and hesitation confine no longer, now bowing and allowing embrace of the face we adore, therefore.
Rainy Day
Rain keeps falling like a gray veil on a pale, ghostly day. Cascading streams form randy rindles routed to overflowing meres with wet tears from spears of weeping willows. Billabong ponds and chastened basins are brimming. Foraging fish plash and splash in the refuge and subterfuge of emergent lilies. Boisterous birds skim across wet reflections of placid ponds with expectations of absconding treats to eat. A young filly stands stoic like a stone sculpture in a paucit paddock, finding relief from the bane of chilly rain under a metal gable for her sable coat. Cows dote beneath huge oaks to escape the soak and daunting deluge percolating from canals and channels to flood the brows of sandy sloughs. Squirrels descend from nests to fend for acorns soon swept away or buried in the clay.
A spume of mushrooms emerge and converge like bubbles of white surf from a soapy sea. All is wet with branches bending in genuflection to the pelting patter and chatter of raindrops dripping and skipping with incessant cadence. A black dog scurries along to get back home where he belongs. The soft glowing halo of neighboring lights adds a flavor of allurement and enchantment to the blight. So grateful for my fate, to be inside where I can wait with time for the sun to shine.
Winter Rain
Winter comes, rain falls, and the sky is awash in gray. Overall, a cold, dismal day painted on an old tattered canvas long abandoned and sullied from neglect. Falling leaves obscure the wet morass where once was lovely grass. Bald trees now barren of verdure confront the horizon with bald bark to endure and stand stoic and steadfast in the northern gusting blast.
Absent are the lovely chirps and songs from birds at play. The only sound this discrepit morning is falling rain and the abject howl from a lonely hound not far away. A nostalgic whistle from a passing locomotive provides some relief. Its familiar cadence from its metallic wheels traversing track ties brings long sighs to mind as it recedes into the quiet of the nether nigh. Thunder now cracks with fury through the wet slurry. How grateful am I to reside inside with shelter from the sputtering skelter of the storm.
Acorns adorn the ground, but no squirrels are seen around this frigid December day. Only the nip from the sharp piecing tip of a storm as Jack Frost blows his winter horn. The local pond swells to the contempt of an angry beaver, turned aggressor to fend for its flooded den, feeling cursed as as clouds burst, continuing to fall pell mell without relent. The deluge will soon pass but forecast snow will reveal and feel the fangs and frost bite of the winter panther scratching and clawing, prepared to pounce and trounce without thought to those being caught in harms way. Seasons come and seasons go away. My day thus spent like a churchman on a pew, sitting inside and writing this missile to you.
Velvet Declarations
Among secret legends extolling the virtues of distant mystical horizons, I beseech thee to set thy calm countenance upon a joint journey to the great luminous jewel ushering each morrow’s dawn. Tarry not my dearest for the rising light is keen to reflect atop thy splendorous wings and guide thee with me to firmaments of fantasy’s fancy. Witness painted colors of heavenly bliss comprising aeries of promised passion perpetually aloft in honor of thy gentle grace.
Listen to my sincere, velvet declarations and follow my inviting voice to explore mystical doors where spirits soar and angels dance. Let my extended wings clutch and caress thy delicate enchanted soul convincing thee to cavort with me atop wistful winds of joyful renewal.
Beneath the firmament open I my fiery orange cloak to surround thee with golden light. Behold my blue sapphire eyes transforming skies to iridescent wonder for thy merriment. Glimpse prismatic clouds emanating rosy pinks, lilac purples and lemon yellows to honor thy countenance. Hear whispers and magical murmurings of my devotion to bear witness to thy splendor and pulchritude.
Fear not my rising passion pressing blissfully upon my frenzied breath. Thou hath not wandered astray. Let thy sweet, pure and fledgling emotion grow in fervid desire to ascend to the sanctuary of celestial promise. Rise with me above festive clouds where whispers of love and inspiration provide sustenance to conspiring hearts seeking dreams of eternal bliss. Share with me the sublime muse residing beyond time and reason, releasing all impediments, thus allowing the truest of souls to align and entwine.
I readily confess the sweet dew of budding affection eagerly awaiting to succor and seduce thy senses. Join me in rejoicing the fanciful freedom fatefully residing above the fray so we might parlay passion with each emerging day as raptors in rapture.
New Year
May the traumatic tears of a troubled past not pass or last into the new year and become swiftly recast and reformed with happy sunrises and perpetual surprises of promise celebrated on the fanciful fabric of cashmere frontiers reflecting peace and ceaseless prosperity.
Soon flowers return to bloom and swoon to sweet melodies like honey flowing from clover fields where fairies dance and entrance with intoxicating redolence from passion’s propitious perfume. The thrilling trilling of chanting insects supplant the silent solace of sleeping winter. Birds return from their migrating meandering sojourn rejoicing and reveling with hopeful songs reminding caterpillars to feed so as to fly in lace filled skies filled with glittering and fluttering wings of every size. Symphonies play recurrent rhapsodies atop pubescent leaves with jubilation and affection. Exultation animates nature’s hand to bring magic again to the sleeping land.
Do not fear the new year, for it is filled with appetite and cheer and hopeful hearts seeking opportunity to pang with pining and burn with the yearning fire of desire.
Morning Light
Morning light, glowing daybreak resembling a surreal lake flowing with sunbeams gleaming and streaming in trembling zeal, giving way and infusing the day with playful, gayful brightness and lightness methodically and rhapsodically conceived and weaved into the lace and grace of the morning dew, accepting and reflecting nature’s hue and maternal devotion to the motion of the divine, and thus sufficing and enticing the eager heart to part ways and be free from days of modesty and toast the host of forbidden wine to revel this time with the decanting, enchanting enthusiasm and phantasm of an ascending, transcending celestial kite whose agrestal rise to intoxicating, consummating height lavishes and ravishes the Soul with the goal of inexhaustible zeal, to capture and seal the euphoric rapture found and bound in streams of dreams yet to be fulfilled.
Changing Seasons
Blinding light through my window wrought by rising sun, informs me a timely change in seasons hath begun. Leaves seem bent on falling, squirrels now storing seed, birds no longer calling, they’ve flown where they can feed. No butterflies adorn the skies, a nip now fills the air, frost adorns the morning grass, fruit trees standing bare. Long shadows now subdue the hill, a brazen draft conveys a chill, no longer do I leap to rise, in morning darkness realize, my mood hath turned forlorn, for love of sunshine was I born. The brown, gray and steely black conspires to keep me in the sack. Perhaps a fire and warm attire, and gratitude to thus admire the solitude throughout, for there is little doubt rapture awaits through nature’s gates and Spring’s promise never to disown, shines as a jewel for renewal, yearning and returning each year to its rightful throne. And what of friends remembered not. Did you think I forgot?
The Changeling
My animal cousins hear my footsteps. They know my sound. They follow me to the edge of the forest and impatiently wait. A solemn mood has come at last. No more carefree romps through grassy meadows. No more songs beneath the midnight moon. No more gatherings within the enchanted circle of stones. For like all changelings, the time has come to convert my form and enter into the outer world.
I turn slowly and methodically to take full measure of their pensive gaze. One by one, eye by eye, where once was infinite joy, boundless dread now dwells. There is no deceit. I know their thoughts; subdued concern I will forget their ways. Graver still, fear I might come to loathe them for their simple manner. They know full well the power of the outer world to dull the senses and cause instincts to sleep. They know full well the depth of despair beyond the woods to sully the innocent Soul.
My reassuring brow is forced and unconvincing. A sharp empty pang stabs deep within my heart. Already the splendorous colors of the woods are fading behind me. Censure is inevitable. Would it be that I could turn from this legacy and dwell forever within the enchanted forest. My ambivalence betrays my resolve. I take an awkward step backwards towards the trees, but my comrades sense my retreat and quickly withdraw to the shadows. Already I am changed, having crossed the invisible line separating both worlds. For the changeling, there can be no turning back.
Now but a stone’s throw from the forest, my form is fully recast so I might adapt to the ways of humanity and quickly find the mannerisms strained and unnatural. There is little joy in man’s world. Where once I hunted only for food, I now hunt for gratification; yet, I am never filled. Where once I took refreshment from a guileless stream, I now find my thirst is never quenched. Where once I was content to run within the safety of the pack, I am now alone and aloof, for the rules of engagement demand it. All the while, the hole in my heart expands without circumference, leaving my Soul hollow with despair.
Time slogs, and I find I am continually stalked by a disquieting presence. Even in my dreams I flee an invisible predatory phantom. I pace within an invisible cage both night and day. There is no escaping my futility. Countless seasons have come and gone in vain. I find I can no longer live in the outer world of man. My heart aches with craving for the simple unabashed elegance of the forest. As desperation mounts beyond endurance, I climb the nearest mountain and look to the heavens for intercession. I beg to be free once again of my human form.
My pitious prayers are soon answered. Surrendering my Spirit to the Light, I am instantly transformed into a celestial falcon. High into the firmament I soar, descending at last to the enchanted circle of stones. There, surrounded by my animal cousins, I once again take on the shape of the wolf. Joy fills their eyes. I am home again. I am free, at last.
END OF SAMPLE