Ponder awhile during test:  what will cause love, unity, true paradise, and glorious success?
Again, where is the spring's success?
When it causeth the spring's waters to manifest.
Yes, the spring's true paradise and glorious success.
How the spring's waters ever come from the spring's true paradise and glorious success.
But who knoweth the spring's success save the spring's waters?
Colors of the spring's true paradise: unity, love.
What true paradise.
Who can speak such love.
Sincerely true bliss.
Love animates, waters emerge.
It's sun give hope waters and success in matters.
Here true love abounds in matters.
Hope upon hope, true bliss.
Here sun gives test.

The world is constantly changing
In so many ways

I think about the future
And what it will bring
Consumed by computers?
No, that’s a far off thing

Is it my fate to see the end?
Or die before the world does,
I ask a friend,
You know, just because.

There is no answer
This world can give
Ugh, what a disaster
It is to live…

Yesterday I saw an old woman sitting by a pond. She was alone, looking at the water in deep thought. I thought to myself, “Once she was me.” Once she loved someone; once she was happy about something I once was happy of and once she was saddened about something that once saddened me. I wondered, what she was pondering. Was she thinking about the concluding chapters in her life, or the decisions she made in her life. Was she thinking about Ben, whom she met at fifteen, or Thomas who would later marry her at twenty-five? If she were to give me advice, what would it be? Would she have said, “Follow you dreams”, or perhaps “Live life to its fullest”? She barely made any gestures as she was pondering that which my being craved to perceive. Without turning to me, she said, “Maybe a greater thing will happen, maybe you’ll pull through.” This is a story of a woman I met on a certain day, at a certain spot. All I know is that whatever she was pondering was rich and not mediocre. Whatever lost her, whatever made her gaze at the gently moving water was of worth. By merely looking at her looking away, I too became lost, lost to realms that exist above our own in distant lands. I saw the beauty of age, for the first time, through this woman. I will always remember her and may she always remember me. I will name her, The White Haired Princess of Distant Lands, lands that exist within the soul and beyond the visible stars.

Your neck is bruised and red and raw,
dear dream.
Your pulse is feeble, last that I saw,
dear dream.
Your eyes, they have lost that light,
dear dream.
Your soul has given up this fight,
dear dream.

This you know in your heart,
dear dream.
That you were never meant to be a part
of the soaring hope and flourishing start
expected of you by them,
dear dream.

The noose,
It tightens around your neck,
dear dream.
They’re telling you you’re a wreck,
dear dream.
You are given marching orders, ‘
dear dream.
You are given reckless borders,
dear dream.

The noose,
It tells you how to feel,
dear dream.
It tells you when to heel,
dear dream.
And when I tell you to run,
dear dream.
Catching you will not pass for fun,
dear dream.

The noose,
Waits for you in light and dark,
dear dream.
Waits to douse that spark,
dear dream.
Flee, my dear,
dear dream.
Hide, my dear,
dear dream.

The noose,
It waits patiently for its due,
dear dream.

Oh beautiful rosy shade tree
Do you touch the spirit of me?
Which way will you fall?
I will wait and cogitate for you,
My love, just for me too
A family of giants
That we are;

A body hunched over
With precious shards;
To know so simply the touch
As I sleep alone
In my broken world;
The molasses air
Slowly shroud in mists
Across the straits
To hear our echoes cry,
As I sit beneath the tree branch and ponder
About you, just you;

Sitting there waiting and looking for
Hopefully the spirit heals with time
And tide
Oh gentle waters
Bring my heart home to you.
And sitting beneath a branch
As I sit and pounder
And wonder
About the shores with my favored eye,
And your kiss of past times;

As my mysteries past stir
And arise to thee my love.
Oh sweet spirit
Spirit of mine
Keep me safe for thee
As I sit beneath the branch and ponder
And wonder
About my love for you and me;
So my darling hold me close
Let me feel your love to me
Touch my hair so gently
Tell me of your lasting love
So wrap your limbs around my form
Tell me sweet things
Before I hear the news
Of the goodbye of long ago;

As I sit and ponder
As I sit and wonder
As I sit and dream of the love of you.

Debbie Brooks 2014

I’ve got five minutes
Then I must leave my verdant patch
On the skirt of a wind-rustled lake
hidden behind Logan's Roadhouse

Five minutes
to mentally finger with the fetal position
In which I awoke this morning,
there as the sun drew long shadows,

I, a diminutive daub of nautilus,
On a California King,
rippled plane of sand,
Sporadic shivers, beneath a chenille blanket

I, the town crier of dawn as
My own dreams ran screaming through the silence
Pointing a finger at
my sanctuary… “Here is your pearl thief!”

Men in hats, briefcases, heel-toe black clicky and shiny shoes
on leashes lugged,
Yanked by noisy hounds passing by
stop, sniff, snarl-toothed *******…

then one caught my scent,
“Five minutes more sleep,” I implored
"Find another dreaming fleshy mess of bones!"
And leave me to my pearl.

But it’s a universe that simply will not wait
And suffer fools for sleepers,
not a moment more
Yet for my many sleepless minutes after,

Dusk till dawn, and still beyond,
it’s always,
                  five
         minutes
more

Today I feel sad,
Not convinced about this life.
Such a strange, strange world.