I
in a bowl of light
at the center of magic meadow
mountain laurel and i
exchange vows
alive in the Awesome Stillness
rushing water, birdsong and insect hum
are the enchanted voices of Spirit in the dawn
on sunday morning, too early for traffic
magic pathways are diamond-strewn
as infant green grasses raise beads of dew
glinting chips of shattered sunlight
in the early morning air
i think i must have been a pre-raphaelite
in another life
Nature stabs me to the heart
i cannot be numb
a dangerous thing
this Beauty
II
i share my poems
in the empty amphitheater
blossoming trees the only witnesses
and they applaud with silken susurration
of the breeze within the boughs
the stream laughs and sighs
in all the right places
and the songbirds tease me shrilly
with their competing liquid verses
poetry slam in the meadow
Beltane morning 5.1.11
© 2011 pamela twining
