Sunday, February 1, 2015

brass bell: Sandi Pray

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

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

i add a feather
to someone's cairn

one coyote
the entire mountain 
howls moonlight

december mist
walking into
the laughter of ducks

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