Padre Island canals meeting the Gulf of Mexico. My home for three years and absolutely beautiful!
Photo by: Kathleen Stevens
island
All posts tagged island
Haiku 4/22/14
Published April 22, 2014 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtThe Beach
Published November 6, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtSunlight’s Glow
Published August 24, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtSpirits in the Night
Published July 20, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtThere’s a story on the island
of spirits in the night,
a special place where they go to dance
on the sand in the midnight moonlight.
You can hear them singing
and laughing
as they hide in the fog,
they play hide-n-seek and
ride the surf’s roll.
You won’t see their faces—
but they see your soul,
they watch you and hear you
as the island winds blow.
Their seaweed hair wet,
limbs swaying in the mist,
the moonlight gone,
as the sand turns cold,
they return each night,
it’s their favorite place,
well—that’s what I’m told.
Love’s Attire
Published June 27, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtClothe me in your body’s gown,
Raise my spirit to heaven’s crown,
Through the years of solitude,
I watched the seasons change their moods.
High in the leaves of the old oak tree,
A blue bird sings a cheerful reveille.
My restless spirit fills the air,
The mountain’s presence everywhere,
I lift my hands wearing nature’s somber dress,
Dancing in the moonlight’s painted loveliness.
There is no pain or tears tonight,
As I lay in peaceful sleep once more,
Beneath the sky’s restful spell foretold,
And wait the sun’s waking rise,
And by her side is morning’s fire,
I will clothe you in my love’s attire.
Rendezvous
Published June 13, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & ArtSpirits in the Night
Published June 12, 2013 by Kathleen's Writings & Artof spirits in the night,
a special place where they go to dance
on the sand in the midnight moonlight.
You can hear them singing
and laughing
as they hide in the fog,
they play hide-n-seek and
ride the surf’s roll.
You won’t see their faces—
but they see your soul,
they watch you and hear you
as the island winds blow.
Their seaweed hair wet,
limbs swaying in the mist,
the moonlight gone,
as the sand turns cold,
they return each night,
it’s their favorite place,
well—that’s what I’m told.