Lois and Lemuria

LEMURIA

Where I belong is my Lemuria,
Where ancestors, have placed
their feet, toiled and shaped that
which is my heritage
On the soil they left for me
is where my strength is gained
I do not travel far
I seek no distant visions
It is all at my doorstep
It is where the lemon tree stands
Lusty, unbending in all its strength
My muse and I see Lemuria as
Our North, our South, our East, our West...

Lois Daley ( Port Melbourne Muse)

copyright Lois Daley 2005.

Hermitage Publications - Create, Create...

Create, Create....the journey is all...

copyright word and image Monika Roleff 2005.

Ancient Pond

Reflections from another place and time....

copyright word and image Monika Roleff 2005.

Hermitage Publications Seeking Submissions

Invitations soon to be sent out, or email if you would like guidelines....golden opportunity to have your original ideas recognised.....Imogen Crest, Hermitage Publications, Hermitage Regions.

Colours Returned to the Hermitage

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Flowers from White Owl Island - Postcards

copyright images Monika Roleff 2005.

An Antique Dream Restored

This piece holds a history of

its own -

formed in porcelain

flowers....

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Spring or Fall??

The Fall of Spring

See there a carpet of golden snow,
gifted by trees instead of clouds,
but tears of joy for all of that.

It makes no diff'rence in perception
when revealed in pre-dawn whispers,
for barren earth is masked the same.

The Mother calls to these simple gifts
to cycle anew both Spring and spring,
though we may never see this child.

Yet both hide not just the simple dirt,
but the sun as well as is their right,
though we're trained to see only pain.

We curse the snow for want of warmth,
and swear at leaves for work defined,
while denying our own mortality.

Soon you too will fall from life's tree
to enrich the dark loam in turn,
and release the bit of sea in thee.

But there is a diff'rence, as you know,
that some spark within proceeds the sun,
and will return home and birth again.

So why wait on grim finality
to embrace the bright gift within,
when you can dance in the leaves today
or roll angels in the snow,
or sing up the sun,not bound by form at all.

papa faucon

Spring Love

AGAIN (another Filk)

There's still frost on the branches of morning,
And petals but dream of Springs rebirth,
Your smile can bloom upon the darkest night;
And I know that I love you again.

I never could know you in childhood play,
Nor see you in pigtails and curls,
But on life's tree you can swing back to me;
And I know that I love you again.

Though we might be separated by twilight,
And your song but a fine memory,
I can hear your soft heart call from lonely,
And I know that I love you again.

Then I wake to your breath on my shoulder
And know you are still safe at my side.
My soul now is at peace with my spirit;
And I know that I love you again,

my darling,
I know that I love you again.


faucon

Lemons Gathered for the Hermitage Kitchen

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Spring Thought

I love the first falling leaves here,
but am gladdened with your Spring ..

written a couple of years ago ... (a Fitzgerald too)

faucon

.................................................

EARLY

What calls upon my morning thoughts,
more early bright?
a cardinal on the sill?
a primordial urging to till and plant?

Or is this hint of Spring a return
to an innocence of youth,
with skipping steps,
and early flowers,

and frost still a reminder
that life and death are one,
and living a choice!

Message From The Road to Duwamish Bay

I took a detour this morning to a mossy wood I had only dreamed about as a girl. I had lived in it, yet not known its significance, until it was gone. Deep thoughts about what was gone, and whether I deserved to have it back worried my mind. The green moss of the wood was like velvet and and yet it troubled me; I felt like I was trespassing....



Thinking back to the lake at the Hermitage I let the pictures form in my mind. Surely this place was as beautiful, but in a different way. Possibly I was more familiar with the Hermitage, not feeling like an interloper there. Was the world of nature different according to places and location? Did I have a right to the wild beauty of nature and its mysteries? To stop the fear and ignorance of the modern world creeping in, I thought of the Hermitage regions. I ride on to see if I am right about a few things....

copyright image and word Monika Roleff 2005

Spring Blooming In

copyright Monika Roleff 2005

Seasonal Musing

I realize it is just now Spring, down-under,
but the sentiment may still apply

faucon
......................................................

Slow Summer

The Spring breezes touched us like lovers
and gave promise of a glorious birth.
Yet there is always the touch of fear
that claims on our grasp of Mother Earth.

The Summer glare squinted at time's rush;
pansies giggling and dragons snapping.
The sleepy task full cart stood horseless.
There is no fear in snuggled napping.

Now Fall gives hint in colored display
of eager ripe dreams to quick fulfill.
My fear is that the sands fall too soon,
but oh my dear, my regrets are nil.

Heading for Duwamish Bay

Making slow progress, many travellers, wondering

what lies ahead.....

The Donkeys leave the Hermitage

The Donkeys leave the Hermitage
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The Donkeys and their secretary leave the Hermitage to continue on the road. The Union wishes me to advertise that if anyone is in need of an experienced donkey with wings on the next journey please contact the Secretary. Payment as usual.

This busy morning: The Donkeys' Secretary

Today we have so much to do
Today we must say goodbye
to this haven where we've found such comfort
an airy stable
an old friend or two
a place to drink beside a flowing stream
and memories of people we have met

We thank you, Mistress of the Manor
for all of this and for your help today in gathering harness
finding misplaced wings
and that fine smith who made our secretary's cart

We are uncertain
no one has given us a map
so we must find the path
or get directions from the tower where the administrator
sits in splendid isolation
(Or is she too busy handing out new instructions to notice that we are about to
sing our farewell song?)

We have our side bags packed
and stand in line
ready for the word.

The Secretary tunes her magic pad
"Leave" says the message
so we move outside the gate
behind the cart.
Eleven small donkeys, one old lady,
and a very large boat that seems to float
above us. (The boat is for the dolphins for whom
we could not wait. We keep hoping that
they will wait for us when we reach the ocean's edge. You will remember
we left our Gillian with them.)

The Secretary finds the message fading so must press the button quickly.
Please leave any further signals at the Tower. We will try to tune in as we
reach the next stable. Signed: The Donkeys Union Members.

Dolphins with boat

Dolphins with boat
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The dolphins carry Gillian into the sunset

Early Morning - Hermitage Greenhouse

These images were taken in the early morning,

just as the sun was coming out, in the shady, misty

light of the Hermitage Greenhouse....these images

lend themselves to quiet meditation,

to provide space from the world outside,

which sometimes disappoints us.

Lemuria calling......

copyright images Monika Roleff 2005.

In Contemplation

Perhaps I miss the idle chatter near the Abbey gate,
or wonder where old freinds have wandered;
so I sit in the shade and muse a bit
about sad news from places near
and far and ever close to heart ...

papa
......................................................................

And with these words of St. Paul:

"to be quiet, serene, and tranquil
... cast ... suffering ... into the sea
…immersed totally in pure love
…penetrated within and without."

there tumbles down such memories,
and pulse of soul and spirit …

"suffer your children unto me!"



"Where are all the tears of yesterday;
Those that flowed from beneath the cross
To start that flood of silent passion
That washed away our ancient fears?"

"by the sea, by the sea -- you and me"

"What if the entire purpose of our existence here is only to be washed in the sea of our birth again and again until our souls are smooth and flawless? What if the grinding sand and crashing waves of our struggles produce a music we are not meant to hear?"

and then …

I think of all those who only relate to suffering in a physical way, and somehow would deify pain -- even deeply contemplative persons who feel that humility can only be found through deliberate physical suffering. Sigh!


Such suffering may be our natural heritage, but being miserable is a matter of choice. In like manner, is not the result of our spiritual suffering also a matter of choice? Cannot we choose joy? Can we not choose to 'be washed clean' in the sea of rebirth and sought innocence? Can we not seek to float upon the caressing waves of divine and human love -- or must we simply tread water, thrash about and cry out endlessly for help?