Welcome to the February 2015 issue of brass bell, featuring poems by Sandi Pray.
twilight sounds
how quietly fall leaps
from tree to tree
a lifetime
of grass in my hair
prairie wind
raindrops
on my head i carry
the last few
morning blossom
how you always find
the sunny side
i hear your voice
but forget your name
faraway river
quiet afternoon
on the smoothest rock
my shadow rests
backcountry
i add a feather
to someone's cairn
one coyote
the entire mountain
howls moonlight
december mist
walking into
the laughter of ducks
origami
the crane doesn't mind
all my thumbs
bed of stars
i cool my face
with moonwater
the part of me
that keeps on walking
cliff's edge
after you
the song i can't lose
little grey bird
blackberry eve
a prairie accepts
all the sparrows
gentle waves
the rise and fall of dusk
on a gull's wing
looking through me
the toad never blinks
morning light
last ray of sun
the trail one snail
left behind
moon shadow
a spiders's thread
from here to there
wild mint
the taste of night
where stars fall
almost tomorrow
my empty page
filled with moonlight
mending fences
i learn the language
of crows
the river bends
about my ankles
first spring day
listening to dawn
until sunlight fills
my empty cup
first raindrop
the thrill of thunder
on my tongue
traveling north
the cold sees
right through me
Sandi Pray, a retired librarian, lives a quiet life divided between the forests of north Florida and the mountains of North Carolina. Living a vegan lifestyle she is a lover of all critters and the solitude of nature.
You can find her on Facebook
Twitter @bigmax722
http://ravencliffs.blogspot.com
