That Night

That night
Together
In quietude
We saw the moon
Rise slowly above the lake
Paving stones on path
Worn smooth
With secret walking
Waterlilies edging water

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

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Mourning Figure

A mourning figure walks alone
his heart wont let him rest,
it seems he held just yesterday
the one his heart loved best.

He walked the wide world searching
time drew on he was worn numb.
Tried everything to draw her back
his love, she would not come.

She was not here, nor was she there
But lingered somewhere in between;
Lost in a tangled web of memories
haunted by the things she’d been.

It’s the way love binds a broken soul,
our dreams so slow to bleed.
It’s the way his scars will never heal
and no one but her could fill the need.

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

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Rain Falls

Whenever rain falls
On a wind swept desert
It is like the coolness
Of dreaming in
A blue green shade
Rivers of sacred mud
Bring the dead
To life once more
Like a sudden downpour
You startle me
From distractions
Of grazing sheep
Lingering like
Lovely ladies
In flowing shawls
On their lips are stars
With tongues like rainbows
In the rumble of thunder
I remember the way
You moved inside me
Your fingerprints here
Footprints there
Before the wetness
Washed it all away

© 2013 Melissa Fry Beasley, All Rights Reserved

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Started the job …

rock-wall-texture

Finally started into new job as literary editor for the magazine. Let me tell tell you, my boss rocks. He is THE NICEST guy. So attentive, appreciative, and respectful. APPRECIATIVE about EVERYTHING. How unusual is that? But, there is this ….. this poor guys has 101,000 something messages that need going through. (not exaggerating) Mind you this is not meant to be my full time job. This is nothing in comparison to what my job description with the publication actually entails. In a couple days time, there are still around 95,000 some odd messages to go! Have also started going through my section, contacting my lit, art, and music friends to include them in this as well. Have things in the works there. I am just saying this is really going to be an adventure. I think i’m already addicted and will probably love every minute of this, but i’m seeing already how not easy this will be. I have learned the most beautiful things in this world are true LABORS of love. This is something i’m ready to give birth to and watch grow! So much potential. I love those moments in life (so few and far between) when something can be exactly what you make it. As big or small, as good or bad, as grassroots or global. What is more expressive than the arts, literature, music, painting, dance, fashion? Who would not appreciate and enjoy the job of “discovering and introducing of beauty and talent to the world”? How cool is that?

Oh! None of this even makes mention that i’m suddenly feeling all Neal Boulton-ish. hahaha I wish, right? If I possed a quark of HIS genius i’d be dangerous. (picture devil horns here lol)

Also this means all you art, music, literature, and fashion forward type friends of mine, including photographers, please come forward if you’d like to be featured online and possibly in print too! But do it mostly please because you love me and wanna help me out by supporting my latest venture! 🙂

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I heard a song/soul today that both broke and healed my heart at the same time. The breaking was not the bad kind. It was not a breaking of body or spirit. It was a freeing and it was like when you are breaking a horse. When it is scared and you are a bit uneasy as well, because this is just before you figure that horse out. This is just before the two of you lock eyes, share breath, and really see each other for the first time.
(understanding this is after a few approaches, must dust, and many tears lol) This is the moment when your heart tells you what that horse needs to be whole and to be settled. To know just the way to proceed to prepare that glorious beast to be bridled, saddled and eventually the reward in riding. It was a breaking like that, if the horse were a man and the whisperer a heart. Like that also if you could understand a heart that desired to be ridden every bit as much as a man or horse. We could call our heart woman. The more I think of it, it was like a brook that has become so full and flowing that the water, which is joy, just spilled over the edges. Not enough to cause damage, only enough to let you know there was room for no more. It had found what was just the right amount for the ripples to tickle the bank lightly, before retreating.

Sometimes we see magic in life, sometimes we learn the divine can be found in the simple and ordinary. Sometimes something just feels like it has always been a part of you or you of it. Before and after lifetimes it had found you, the way you find it now, and will continue to …….. because this thing was meant to be.

* an exerpt

Secret Altar

a prayer candles

Lips swollen with hungry longing
You knelt humbly before me
Moistness leaving a glimmering trail of slippery
Trickling at my thigh
You have eagerly
Come to drink me in
Memorize the quenching wetness
Of my song
Fingers fumble at borders of fabric
Seeking out hidden places
Crevices meant for finding
You have slept in all my caverns
Each surrounding you close and warm
My body has willingly been your playground
Sanctuary
Often you have come
Into this temple
Always
I have loved your ways of worship
You
Who have climbed and crept carefully
Through my lush gardens
You have bathed in the waters
Of my rapture
Watched needfully
The always growing moon
You have run your thick fingers
Through these luminous Stars and
Touched each planet
Dangling in my capacious heaven
Yet
You gaze ever more intently
As you spread open
This sweet fruit
Of creation
And begin
To pray in earnest
At your secret altar

© Melissa Fry Beasley 2012