Monthly Archives: September 2016

Tender Little Doe


Tender Little Doe

There beneath the apple tree
Spread amongst buttercups and bumble bees
Tender little Doe
Looking to and fro
In the sun’s glow
Little legs awaken.

How does life come to be
When all has been carefully set free?

Opening radiance unto the morning Light
Tender little Doe rising to life
Offer to a Countryside’s embellishment.

Mystical Journey awaits the Noble One
Countless travellers marvel at His side
He will journey far and wide
To bring us all to the Core as He
Summon the Blessed gathering inside.

There within the circle, lying prostrate
Eternally recognizant
We enter into the Glory of His State
Where abundance and treasures
Collect in a mysterious adjournment.

When all is to be
Settling into Atonement
Where all people can be free.

Effortlessly standing at the threshold of Freedom
A naysay forever unheard
Neither a whisper
Nor a thought form.

People assembled in Consecration
Become the Essence of their True Form
Flowing on the ripples of the Great Sea
One is never asked to conform.

Discovering the Sacred flow of Perfect Form,
Blue Pearls adhere
On a firmament so dear
Blue silvery  hues
Shimmering on the Spirit so True.

Hélène Vaillant ©Poetry

3LineTales: White Coat


White Coat

As you can see  all members of my family sport dark colored coats and since mine has always been white  it makes me wonder if I was adopted.

They  care for me with incredible respect as if I was a goddess from another world.

The only part about being in this family that annoys me is to be chosen to stand guard simply because I do not blend in so well  with Mother Nature’s colors.

Written for: 3LineTales   ….photo prompt above.

Old Tree



Old Tree

Still standing in the old meadow by the stream
Seems like most of me has lost the breath
Though I still feel it coursing through my core
My arms are dropping, cracking
At the slightest breeze
Buds are drying up before blooming
The few that had made it to leaves
They are now shredding downward to earth.

The good old farmer that always revered me
Today is advancing with a sharp instrument
Which looks to be something aiming at me
Oh,the noise it makes stops my breath at the roots
On and on goes the sounds that painfully cut at my form.
I am becoming a stump of what I used to be
I cannot show a pretense, or facade
Since I am no more than a mere neat pile
All cut up and carried into the back of a vehicle.

Here I stand,
Alone, abandoned
My old self is now but a raw stump
My breath tries to resume its course
I must show strength and endurance
But too soon I cannot hold on anymore
Surrendering myself into the care of Mother Earth.

Hélène Vaillant ©Poetry

Seed is my Source


The seed is my Source
bringing life to my core
it will grow into my being
filling the gap of my yearning.

The seed is small, it is majestic
It will allow; it is mystic.

When I discover another part of the seed
Awe and wonder occupy my deed.

All in splendour,from one little seed,
magnifying manifold to satisfy our feat.

Hélène Vaillant ©Poetry

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