Jonathan Livingston Seagull

“They are saying in the Flock that if you are not the Son of the Great Gull Himself”, Fletcher told Jonathan one morning after Advanced Speed Practice, “then you are a thousand years ahead of your time.”
Jonathan sighed. The price of being misunderstood he thought. They call you devil or they call you god. “What do you think, Fletch? Are we ahead of our time?”
A long silence, “Well, this kind of flying has always been here to be learned by anyone who wanted to discover it; that’s got nothing to do with time. We’re ahead of the fashion, maybe. Ahead of the way that most gulls fly.”“That’s something,” Jonathan said, rolling to glide inverted for a while. “That’s not half as bad as being ahead of our time”.
Richard Bach
Jonathan Livingston Seagull

The Seagull Speaks Creative Commons Copyright


Creative Commons License
Original work on The Seagull Speaks by Michael A Wride is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Better




Snow Sheets




Bed sheets, snow pleats,
Pristine white serene snowscapes,
Flowing, flowering, enfolding, unfolding drifts on your skin,

Draped across pillows piled high,
With memories and plans,
Dreaming within your succulent white bed flesh.

Your hair stranded, ski tracks stretched on the iceways,
Pulling on threads connecting life in lives fully lived,
Pushing the boundaries of past and future,
Finding meaning, meandering, illuminating,
Immanent with potent branching possibilities,

Whiling away hours now snow shoe walking,
Sweet, soft, sweating frosty breath,
Sweet, soft, dancing frosty breath,
Mesmerised in the music of moon light bright.
Excited, spiralling, crystal flakes,
Choreography of love into form

Your flurrying, scurrying mind thawing now,
Metamorphosis of ice into clear water,
A stream of stretching foaming wonder,
Cascading down mountain sides,
Caressing rocks, calling, creating a choir.

That sings to me...

And I hear your call...
I am pecking, pecking, pecking breaking out,
A heart-shaped egg cracking open,
Slowly, slowly,
Patiently I waited,
When I asked for you to call me.

And now I hatch and fly,
Crossing lakes and hanging in the icy blue sky,
Carried on clouds,
I enter your room on a warm wind blowing in,
A chinook melting snow
Together we warm our inner organs of perception.

And now I kneel before you on your growing bed,
Indents in your sheets,
The heat now emerging within our murmuring hearts,
I gaze along with the moon upon your skin.

Fractal patterns of feeling, firming up and expanding,
You reach out to me......
You are opening me up now, expanding welcoming
Pulsating, perfect passion now in the pen in your palm,
Stroking, strolling weaving wisdom threads along your leaves,
you are bringing forth a fountain,
An explosion of ice firework,
Spreading shards of showers,
Patterns glistening across your skin,
Melting now,

You reach down to your soaking self,
Stroking, stoking the heat between us
Dampness at your hands,
Moving to your lips,
You taste All This as you lick your finger tips
And embody my salty kiss within.



written January 2014