Great Egret

On one of my many walks at a dike, I happened upon a Great Egret who was wading in the shallow water and stabbing the water for food.  I watched it for a long time, its neck elongating, it's hunger, its hunting prowess.

                                    suesbirdphotos.co.uk

 

 

Great Egret



I will stab my prey

My white plumes will deceive you

Then I will swallow

 

Copyright 2013 Rozanna Landavazo

 

 



Drift

Ba.Atoll Goidhoo 2010 Maldives

 

Memories shimmer like heat waves

from the perspective

the angle

the position

of the witness

 

A heart view

a mind view

a spirit view

a view of unmanifested desires

 

It was this way

No that way

That never happened

You made that up

 

Let it go

let it drift

into the waste of the desert

let it blow like sand

undulating and curving

 

But remember

the wind, the heat

Save the inward smile

and kiss the air....

 

 

Copyright 2013 Rozanna Landavazo

 

 

 

 

 





It Comes Down

 

Like rain drops

from the sky

we sometimes hit

the pavement....hard

and disappear

 

Sometimes

a witness observes

but soon forgets

or is mesmerized

and drops

a poem...

 

 

 

Rozanna Landavazo copyright January 2013

Water Horse

Glass tipped sea foam waves

Centuries of galloping

Snorting, spraying me

Rozanna Landavazo copyright May 2012







Quit

dustandwanderlust.wordpress.com

Sometimes friends leave

while still here

their shadows flicker

A distinct undoing

of the seam

things fall out

or they don't

The intimacy

once focused and

zoomed in

blurs

Covers are pulled

over memories

that vanish to

another time

A page turns

the book given away

thrown away

or placed on a shelf

We dissipate

 Faceless prayer flags

lost in space

Finally
recognizing

You never did like
my poetry...

Rozanna Landavazo copyright April 2012

Windfall

photo by Jeremy Trumble

There is a certain kind of rejuvenation that takes place in the soul when all you can hear is the wind blowing hard.  It blusters itself in and out making low gravely buzzing sounds that groan and moan and penetrate your senses, your boundaries.  It can touch places inside of you where no one goes, not even yourself  but you know it's in when you feel something.


The corn stalk sentries stand in rows collecting leaves and debris in their tassels until the wind shakes out their long tangled hair.


This wind, this power leaves me bending, bowing, and yielding.  Residue is wiped off and I am left clean with the aftermath of rearranged thinking and transformation.


I obey the power of natural phenomena.  I have no choice but to love it.  The winds knock me down, the ocean sucks me under, hard rain blinds me, extreme cold freezes me, and lightening threatens me.  I can't argue, negotiate, or manipulate this kind of power.   I could crawl in a cave and avoid it all but then I would be dead.


I hope to live this life waiting for the wind to take me down as I stand in its way.  


We all transform whether we are willing participants or not, with or without love.  We will change as we experience.  Living, like the wind, shifts and move us and then spits us out for inspection. 


I love the wind; I love what I am not in the wind.  I am not a profession, a title, a wife, a daughter, a mother, a friend etc.  I am the bare bone of me, getting stripped down and forgetting what I think I know.  I feel the exhilaration of peace and quiet as my world blows away.


Shadorma Poem version:
Corn tassels
Silken reminders
Tangled now
Wind language
Stripping body trunk smoothly
Rejuvenated



Haiku Poem version:
Corn tassels whip hard
In response to the wind blow
A new day




Copyright 2012 Rozanna Landavazo

Return

When we return to our poetry

we can feel again

music filters into us

rhythms forgotten

vibrate in our hearts

mist drizzles out of our eyes

our skin; we become damp

we can smell our scent again

we touch others

we allow others to touch us

we listen

Is that you God, Goddess, Buddha, Great Spirit

that whispers

that guides

that breathes in and through us

that leads me to you

you to me

for a moment

before we change

into a mystery

at the end of our poem.....?

Rozanna Landavazo copyright November 2011