The beautiful women of green Norway, Away from sad struggles of other north, Close to the right broom of sisters' witches, In various books on holy water; Frightened cats and small snakes were all blood red, Grasses swayed in the wind on a long road. Many stones paved in colours a long road, Close to the blue ocean of green Norway, Puzzle pieces fell from the sky blood red, In the lovely hillside of other north, Where the big chair burns this holy water, Beautiful women are sisters' witches. Where the big chair burns these sisters' witches; Stirring stars in the sky spoke the long road, Away from struggles of holy water, Where the big red chair sits in green Norway, Close to the blue ocean of other north, Her wild hair was tangled up and blood red. Tall ornamental vases were blood red; In various books on sisters' witches, Where the big red chair sits in other north, Moon fell down to my bag on the long road, Away the sad struggles of green Norway, Close to the right broom of holy water. Happiness may run with holy water; Around the stone circle was all blood red, In the lovely hillside of green Norway, Happiness may run the sisters' witches, From my crown, a star flew on the long road, Away from sad struggles of other north. Happy people live well in other north; Beautiful women are holy water, Trees grew tall and fresh along this long road, These flying angry birds were all blood red, Away struggles! of the sisters' witches, Happy people live well in green Norway. The long road to other north, Green Norway gave holy water, Blood red are the sisters' witches.
Talent to be a poet,
If I begin writing of syllables,
An icon within an icon for words,
Takes up time in my mind a sestina,
An amassed heritage a gift of age,
Shifting attention to geometry,
A space of geometry.
Occupied is a mind of a poet,
Humanity’s development pass age,
I might want to use the ‘gin’ syllable,
Meaningful something of a sestina,
Like in the days of old about these words.
Like a salad mixing words.
Numbers move in circles, geometry.
French, Tuscan, Spanish love a sestina;
Writing briefly like a refined poet,
I have two hands for these ten syllables,
Watching measurements of a passing age.
Valuable are things of age;
Collecting valuable favourite words,
These many sounds of meaning, syllable;
Words, symbols distinguish geometry,
Like fine art words depict for a poet,
Demanding strict follow to sestina.
For a bleat a sestina.
Death and life, an experience of age,
Prioritizing words by a poet,
A writer counting and sharing her words,
Mathematics of pie, geometry,
Any more, I will need your syllables.
A sound of a syllable.
Six lines any order a sestina.
An oldest branch of math, geometry,
Weaving our relations in an age.
Let’s forget articles in these few words,
Imagery understood by a poet.
Here geometry, for a measure or laugh, a syllable.
Merci poet, for these long sestinas,
An age lasts as do words.
In the woodland valley live concerned women;
Forthright in relating a valued native.
Through this, I only see a motley window,
Growing a freestanding delicate flower.
People gathering in a green Kanata;
Woven baskets of harvested medicine.
Carried a windfall of select medicine,
Many originated from chief women.
In the distance a familial Kanata;
Guarding our children a watchful native;
Private soil gives an aromatic flower;
Rising sun’s rays in our breezy window.
I do not see change in a garden window;
Storing supply of seasonal medicine.
Wild leafy forests bearing creeping flower.
At the river bank are sagacious women.
After a counsel an ensuing native,
Consensus crafted for a trade Kanata.
Ours is a captivating Kanata.
Extended families are in the window,
Thoughts of a bloodline an important native,
Keeping at hand accessible medicine.
Working together many tribal women;
Near a lake blossoms a colourful flower.
On a river bank is a weedy flower.
Blossoms invite a delightful Kanata.
Surrounded by our sensitive women;
I set up ideas in a framed window.
Looking to draw on some soothing medicine.
Learning the ways of a respectful native.
Moons, and waters seen by cognizant native.
In the mighty land a wild prairie flower,
Moist soil nourishing a herbal medicine.
Constructing a home in a mild Kanata;
Noticing the setting sun in a window,
Get along good-hearted ingenue women.
Prepared medicine by an artful native;
Attentive women, sad a poppy flower;
A clear window in a secure Kanata.
Image of bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) on Pixabay by NatashaG
Like the irreplaceable smile of a daughter.
She in a warm hug is precious love.
A device we all learn about is time.
It builds our relationship, a good conversation,
we find we became everyday friends,
in a homeland of old where we are a community.
Talks are soft and creative in our community.
A karmic choice of benefit, a daughter.
Discussion shifts to root deeper our friends.
Interests and understanding are why we share love.
Layers of emotions and feelings in our conversation.
In creative flow no one notices time.
So much of it passed and we do not want to waste time.
United in vision and practice is our community.
Tea steeping, coffee brewing during conversation.
Like space and distance apart do not matter, my daughter
Weaving in glances, words and thoughts, love.
Loyal companions and honest friends.
Sharing and caring about each other, my friends
Ours lasts forever, I do not know about everyone’s time.
This is something to know and understand, love.
Intense and red-hot feelings can emerge in our community.
Together we abide by all circumstance my daughter,
No silent pauses in our conversation.
Like we never have enough of conversation,
Toils and troubles we share as friends,
We are holding together ancestral karma my daughter
In passing of it I sense the endlessness of time.
How we know what to say and do in community,
To have people who we resonate with, people we know live love.
Deeper than blood connection of love.
Thoughts are like a silent conversation.
Relying on the interconnectedness in community,
Gathered in work, play and words to share with friends.
Awaiting an end makes us feel the passing of time.
It brings me joy and happiness to be with you my daughter.
As humanity we could not live without community. Standing together in wisdom and love.
You became my special, observant daughter. We rarely misunderstand our conversation.
We unite under common aim knowing our value as friends. Patience wins over time.
This is a complex French verse called Sestina.
Photo of Strasbourg France where I lived for almost 2 years. Unsplash