three

She waits no longer,

her cups pour upwards

into each other,

underneath a vengeful sun,

rays spiking into her wings,

and bare feet,

like hooves.

She rides her chariot,

blasting into your wind,

with her frenzied horses,

wild, and finally set free.

She surveys her kingdom,

verily thunder-stricken,

and worm-fed,

shielding herself

from a ruthless garden.

She stands on her head,

and counts the seconds

until the last blossom

falls.

18 Comments

  1. Thank you for visiting my blog today and liking a post in the 2013 Tulip series. I do hope you’ll stop by and visit again soon.
    You write wonderful poetry. Thank you for sharing your gift with the world. Blessings, Robyn

  2. this woman would make me uncomfortable i think i cannot stand on my head let alone bend over for long when i lost my voice i lost the muscles and ability to stop what went down fro flowing back up

    and if i close my mouth it flows out my nose HAH

  3. Great imagery of course, almost timeless, wisdom-filled LOL almost inspires a deeper look … I really liked what you did with this poem!

  4. One cup Talent
    Two tbs wordpress
    Sautee the words in deep
    Motivational thoughts

    Pour hands full of words as needed
    Add a dash of focus
    And sniff the pure saffaronic words of Rumi
    But wait two centuries
    Then one day wake up and start a blog
    Only to find TRUTHFULLNESS in todays world
    Purity, spirituality,
    Who needs shrinks,
    When “shrinksarentcheap”
    Is here
    And to all who Prescribe her daily doses
    “She rides her chariot,
    blasting into your wind,”

    Doesn’t she?
    🙂

Love you, too

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