In The Light Of A Rose By Stephen Craig Rowe

In the light of a rose there seems to me to be a fair and poetic land.  Where color is true soft and bright.  A place of peace and yearning.
In the adventure
of
Spring.

As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe

Out and About A Way Of Words In Spring by Stephen Craig Rowe

When one captures a bit of grace, it is held holy for a moment and given to the world.  The world then turns to the Universe as the unique beauty becomes of the All.  The Jonquil is as sure a sign of spring as is the Robin, warm days and rain on the ridge.  The flower is but fleeting, one day here and one day gone.  Rather like a twist of fate and more for each season brings new life, a curious change of light and joy for those who behold the symphony in awe.  As ever be well

Painting Studio All Saints Day Thank You For The Rose by Stephen Craig Rowe

Are you sure that all of the Saints were in your dreams?

No, I only pray for them.  She looked at her hands, shook her head and said.

Thank you for the rose.

As she spoke I took a drink and my thoughts were of the garden for a moment and of all the Saints.  The half moon rising above the Painting Studio this first day of November.  Then my thoughts turned into the folds of the rose and time spent in the garden this afternoon.

Are you still with me?

Yes, was just thinking about the last roses, fall, stuff like that and all of the Saints.

Are they with you?  Or what?  She said and,

I don’t know

So much of it is like poetry, grace and a song half sung

Walking is healing.  Walking with you and the roses is sweet.

Thank you for the rose.

Thank you. 

I took to the garden and the ridge free and alone for a talk with all of the Saints and a prayer on the first day of November.  As ever be well

 

 

 

Rose On The Run, A PAINTING STUDIO Poem by Stephen Craig Rowe

     Wait all the winter long for spring soft winds, rains and green in the warm for the roses.

      The colors and scents seem to close a door to the world, yet open a window.  Time in the garden, small though it is tends to take one away from the trial and strife of the day to day.

     Or so it seems to me as I get into the roses and day to day see the roses run in life from cold winter roots, tiny shoots that become buds and blossom in late spring and summer.

    There free and alone all the chit chat bird song and sound is absorbed  by the images of summer as the roses are on the run.

     Roses on the run, ever a joy.  Here today and ever in memory.

     Wonder not how sweet the blessing, but take and behold the wonder of the poetry in the fold of a rose.

     Rose on the run no one can hold you forever.  For we are also poetry held in the fold of the rose.  There but for a moments grace we hold each other in the reality of a sacred image never frozen in time, for time is all time. 

     Rose on the run, petals in the sun rain on your brow smile as sweet as summer sounds spoken in silence against a screen door slapped shut in the wind.  Spring held taught then wrap the buzz of night around you.  None of the ghosts speak but rather sneak in your sheets and surround dreams tossing and turning as real as real is.  In dreams as a rose on the  run and reflections in the  wine. 

     As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe     

Painting Studio First Rose Bloom In The Small Garden 2011, by Stephen Craig Rowe

     The first rose of this year recently bloomed in my small garden and I had to take camera to the yard in order to share some of these images and words.  Am sure some are thinking, “ old Stephen is a bit nuts about his roses and into his cup of gin again”.  Fine, for this is true and would not have it any other way because of the joy found and seen in the first rose of spring as she flowers, then graces my eyes with a silent poetry, a visual affirmation that the artist is alive, well, and in tune with nature as much as one may be in the miracle of life in the all.  Or something like that as one re creates images that capture moments the painter/poet desires to share. 

     There one may begin to understand my personal feeling for the first rose of spring, for there seems to be a light within the flower that displays an energy as if the rose gives light as well as takes light.

     Though only a simple painter and sometimes bad poet there is a  profound beauty in the fold of petals of the first rose of spring.  As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe

RAIN ON THE MOUNTAIN A Song Poem by Stephen Craig Rowe

" In the space between the words poetry is

best spoken aloud, quiet and near the fire. "

Stephen Craig Rowe

The eyes spark alit in the embers of words quietly spoken, ever remembered in texture, tone, shape, form, rythem and grasp. There she came nearly frozen from winter's crewl grip in silence with a heart full of life, yet nearly stone cold, alone and removed from the fire sweet warm and light.

In the shadows she sang quiet in the meadow, real as the dream within. Walls strong enough to sustain and repel the Ice Princess and the Snow Queens clear blue kiss. Rain, rain, rain, spring rain mist the mountain. Hear her caw and calling. Late in the night, past the midnight hour. Dare to watch the stars and drink the silence.

Ever clear as a kiss of rain upon a rose or tossed about on a leaf reflecting the

light of stars splashed on all of the oceans

of the worlds.

Is it one thing? Or another? Here there and ever, never everywhere.

Knee deep in rose petals she danced in the Spring laughing in the creeks, rivers and streams. Dancing on the seas. As bright as Moon light, and as free as the salt sad burning tears of joy and rapture

that scar

then heal.

Fingers trace

blind signs.

As the Spirit sings that ever special note. The word from within that has ever been and ever shall be best spoken, quiet near the fire, and the light in your eyes. For there one becomes the space between the words and God willing experience

Poetry.

As ever be well. Stephen Craig Rowe

No espaço entre as palavras é poesia melhor falado em voz alta, calma e perto do fogo. " Stephen Craig Rowe Os olhos faísca alit brasas no silêncio das palavras faladas, sempre lembrado na textura, tom, forma, forma, ritmo e alcance. Aí ela veio quase congelado de inverno da crewl grip em silêncio com um coração cheio de vida, ainda cerca de pedra fria, sozinha e retirado do fogo doce quente e luz. Nas sombras ela cantou calma no pasto, como o verdadeiro sonho dentro. Muralhas forte o suficiente para sustentar e repelir os Ice Princess e da Neve Queens azul claro beijo. Chuva, chuva, chuva, chuva Primavera névoa da montanha. Crocitar e ouvi-la chamando. Atrasos na noite, passada a meia-hora. Ouse ver as estrelas e beber o silêncio. Ever clara como um beijo de chuva sobre uma rosa ou atirados sobre uma folha refletindo sobre o luz de estrelas splashed sobre todos os oceanos dos mundos. Trata-se de uma coisa? Ou outro? Aqui, e nunca, nunca em toda a parte. Joelho profundas no rose petals ela dançou na Primavera rindo nas enseadas, rios e córregos. Dançando sobre o mar. Lua tão brilhante como luz, e tão livre como o sal queima tristes lágrimas de alegria e arrebatamento a cicatriz então curar. Dedos traço Sinais cego. Como o Espírito que canta sempre especial nota. A palavra de dentro do que já foi e sempre será melhor dito, calma perto do fogo, e à luz dos seus olhos. Para existir um torna-se o espaço entre as palavras e se Deus quiser experiência Poesia. Como sempre estar bem. Rowe stephen Craig

ROSE ON THE MOUNTAINS. Please Help End Mountain Top Removal Mining by Stephen Craig Rowe

Though I have lived most of my adult life in cities, towns, and the farm. I was blessed as a child with a deep abiding love and respect for nature. Have never lived in the mountains but have visited them east and west in the USA, plus while living in Europe I became in awe of the lure and beauty of the mountains. As a city slicker I have read about strip mining for coal and did not think much about it until I only recently learned of mountain top removal mines. I was in shock, my mind turned white as a ghost as my Irish began turning red at the thought of anyone blowing the top of a mountain off for monitary gain. How and why would anyone do such a thing?

Have the bloody bastards no conscience? I fear not.

Did a bit of research and found some good people that are about the cause of ending and preventing Mountaintop removal mining. The rose is a symbol of love, respect and care for the mountains and the betterment of all. Please take a moment of your time to explore the following links and to see what part you can be to end this crime against nature and humanity.

http://ilovemountains.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_top_removal

http://www.mountainjusticesummer.org/facts/steps.php

Thank you, and as ever be well,

Stephen Craig Rowe

Post Script: Special thanks to Kathryn Magendie

http://www.tendergraces.blogspot.com/

http://www.kathrynmagendie.com/