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Laural of Luna's
Letters to the



Laural inspired others to be creative, especially in writing. This poetry section of Summerlands is dedicated to her everlasting inspiration. 



by Colbycat, MoonDancer

There is an old, old saying, we've all heard it many times.
"Everything happens for a reason," and for a long time,
I could not figure out why.

If everything happened for a reason, then how could you possibly explain,
all the many, atrocities in life, that cause us so much pain.

Like prejudice, war and hunger, domestic violence, and child abuse.
I didn't care to explain it, there was really no excuse!  

Then one day, something happened, that forever changed my life.
A single event, I thought for sure, would fill me with anger and strife.

My mother was taken from us suddenly, in a car accident she died.
At first I said, "This makes no sense............A reason?......Goddess, tell me why?"

Suddenly, on my shoulder I felt a loving hand, and my mom said, very clearly,
"Don't panic...I am in the SummerLand."

"Sit down and relax my dear, for me, there's nothing you can do,
but our family, and friends will need you...and to them you must be true."

Before this wretched day happened, my mother's health was ill.
Illness of the lung was taking her life, ...slowly... she tried to make the best of it, but she suffered from it still.

"You know mom, you might try some oxygen to help you catch your breath."
To that she said, "If I had to drag a tank around, I'd much rather be dead!

That conversation came right back to me when my Mother "sat me down."
That in fact, it just might be a blessing...and there were other things I found.

There were some things between us that made it very hard
for me to take charge and make my play, when the Dealer dealt the cards.

The things she tried to do for me weren't helping me at all.
She always kept the secrets, instead of letting me stand tall.

I came to believe that even though my pain seemed so terribly hard to bare,
I was better to think she left this world quickly rather than not able to breathe and be scared.

You know, there just might be some Heavenly truth to that saying we were talking about,
because suddenly I saw the reason why she didn't live her whole life out.

She could not hive me what I needed to make it in this life, and that would never change,
and, she was much too good a person to die in so much pain. 

So the One who is in charge of things, decided the schedule to re-arrange...

Five fleeting years have quickly gone since my wonderful mother has passed.
My life has changed...I'm accomplishing things that I never would have guessed

And not one single day goes by that she herself does say...
"Everything happens for a reason my child, and  I know, it was much better this way."

["Written for you, mom, on the 5th anniversary  (Aug. 5, 1999)
Of the day you taught me the most important lesson of my life.          

I love you, 



"Folk Music" is not a poem in the normal sense of the word. Nonetheless, it expresses my feeling and my expectation.

Folk Music

by David B. Urquidi

They lift their heads and their souls ascend into the sky on the wings of a wailing howl. The chorus sings a funeral dirge to the new moon, hovering in the darkness above. Swift journey, Sister. Swift return. For, as the dark moon will wax again to full so shall your face, once again, be seen running with us and your voice, fresh and newborn, be heard at the grand opera of the full moon.

What time has taken from us, time will bring again. Swift journey, Sister. Swift return. Now and then, in your memory, we will burst into song.


A Flower in the Desert

by Scott Wilson

[Dedicated to Merrill A. Miller, humanitarian and desertologist]

Once in a hundred years,
Once in a lifetime,
A flower blooms in the desert.
It is no small wonder
That you found one
And preserved its glory
In pictures
For future generations
Of bright young faces
Dazzled by the splendor
Caught in your photographs.

Their names are not recorded
In the heavy tome
You called your bible
Filled with the friends
You grew throughout the world.
But their hearts will feel
The flowering of your spirit
And the stories you told
Will rise to greet them
As those who knew you
Repeat them
To eager listeners
Both young and old.

The flower you captured
Now lies dormant
As does the heart
That recorded the moment
The centennial cactus bloomed.

But once again in a hundred years,
Once again in a lifetime,
Your flower will bloom in the desert.
Until then, we shall water it
With our joy and with our tears.



 by Don David Scott

It is you, Isabel
And not the sunrise
I await upon this stone
For my heart takes flight
In a moment, one breath
When we almost touch
In the twilight
Of our lives
When the cry of the hawk
And the howl of the wolf
Melt into one
An conspire
To sing together
For all time.
Your talons pierce
My beating heart.

It is you, Isabel
And not the sunrise
I await upon this stone.


Before the Dawn

by Sal Amander

Something arouses me in the darkest night
Something which presages the coming light

When I'm curled up in the cradle of nature
Wrapped in silence like a shroud
Snuggling alone with deepest cold
It slips its fingers in my mind

Something touches me in the darkest night
Something whispers of the coming light


Something stirs me in the darkest night
Something calls with a rare second sight

Dark eyes snap open, face a curtain of black
My heart pounds out an ancient beat
As the forest fragrance fills my lungs
I rise to greet the stars

I crawl on hands and knees
Past the sleeping bodies of mankind
To the circle, the dead fire-ring
To face the sky, to watch it sing

Uncountable millions of dancing lights
Cast a spell upon my eyes
While the sleeping giant, nature
Brings me down to size

Something chills me in the darkest night
Something whose fingers hold me tight

Once I saw the new moon rise
A silhouette against the eastern sky
Followed closely by the sun's yellow rays
It left me speechless, in a daze

Who are we to think we rule
Rule all the grows, breathes and feels
As we walk upright on the earth
Shadows under a canopy of sky

That morning, under the sun's glowing reign
The moon disappeared in the heavens again
The shrill cries of jays soared in the air
Campfires stirred, voices murmured everywhere

That dawn lies behind me now
While a new day looms ahead
Yet the vision of timeless, starlit skies
Slips comforting fingers around my heart

My spirit cries, my spirit calls
To these sterile surrounding walls
Something waken me tonight
Slip your arms around me...

Dance with me in the moonlight


Child and Butterfly

By N. Scott Wilson

As a child I walked restlessly
Along the shore of expectation
When--all at once--you caught my eye
I watched you flutter by, O butterfly

Your wings brushed my lips
And you came to rest on my heart
Then the rain began to fall
And I saw you dance

Never have I seen one
So entranced by the rain
So free and open
And graceful in flight

For a time I knew only you
And we shared those moments
As if we were one
Then I gazed at the sand

As if pushed by some unseen hand
I began to build sand castles
While you flew round and round me
(But I was lost deep in thought)

Each time you came into view
It seemed I saw something new
And when you vanished behind me
You were gone from my mind

Each castle I would construct
Was more elaborate than the last
I heard the soft flutter of wings
Which seemed like

Then you hit me head on
With the full force of your body
Yet you could not move me
Though you tried and tried

The sky began to darken
And the clouds rolled in
As the ocean came toward me
You quietly flew away

The tide came in quickly
The castles vanished in the sea
A cold wind whipped the water
And a chill came over me

Something was gone forever
But I could not remember what
That day I turned my back on beaches
That day I began to shun the rain

Now I am much older
I recall who I lost that day
I know why I feared beaches
I know why I hated the rain

For once I held your fragile life
In the palm of my cold hand
But one cannot both hold butterflies
And build castles in the sand

I can't believe I let you go
That day on the shore
And I wonder, butterfly O butterfly
Do you still celebrate the rain?


Fairies and Moonbeams

by Marc Flavius


Fairies and Moonbeams
Bring little girls dreams
Of romance
Dressed in hopes
Their fragile hearts dwell
High in golden castles
Where the magic, Love
Lifts them on clouds
Of desire 

But time is no friend
Of Fairies and Moonbeams
So Knights come and go
Taking frail hopes in tow
And shining armor
Turns to empty promises
In their aging hands 

Little by little
The castles descend
Until clouds gather over the heads
Of those once little girls
Those once dancing hearts
Who now stand alone
Backs to the doors
Where no Knights pass
And the only armor that remains
Is the steel in the eyes
Once so full
Of fairies and moonbeams.


 The Sketch

by D. Bruce Urquidi

My hand longs to draw you near

But all I have is a photograph

So my fingers quietly pen

The feeling I have for you


I sketch your lips with the smile

That held me captive so many times

And paint your eyes with the sparkle

That said "I love you" again and again


I wish I could erase the pain

That put shadows on your lips

And blot out all the teardrops

That have clouded up your eyes


Yet a picture, once painted, is done

And, my love, I can't remove the ink

If only I could have new parchment and pen

I would start all over again.


The Weavers

by D. Tiermann


Back to back
The weaver's weave
Webs of destiny
Like bolts of cloth
They snatch glances
Over hunched shoulders
Spying the other's work
There's no time
For idle chatter
Where silkworm words
Lace their dreams
And the spinning wheel turns
By the pounding heart

Until squinting eyes
Open owl-size
And heads snap 'round
Fingers flying to the races
To change the designs
The other weaver traces
It is crewel work indeed
For the tailor whipstitches
The seamstress chain stitches
And their aching hearts twist
Impaled on needle point.


Tin Man

by Luna N. Geminae

To you, this home may seem deserted
To you, this man may seem alone
Yet a gathering of ghosts line these walls
Buried securely within sharp panes of glass 

A hearth fire always burns there
At the altar of his heart
Where the faces of hope keep turning
In a everlasting kaleidoscope 

The past, colored by tears and laughter
Fills every corner of each room
The present sets fire to his feelings
Like a torch in a just discovered tomb

He once sang siren songs of high ideals
But he never carried a tune for long
And those who set sail through his life
He left abandoned on the shore 

One after the other, like shadow targets
In a shooting gallery
They passed by
Those impassioned spirits... 

But his dark eyes chose to wander
And narrowed on the next target
Focusing on a higher score
Leaving the one, looking for more 

And--snap--one by one
The precious hearts in his life went down
Into the background shallows
Where they faced eyes as dead as glass 

No. Life is not a circus.
And the human heart is no target
Yet, in his heart stands a gallery
Once brimming with life and dreams 

Bright eyes, now dazed and distant
Warm feelings, chilled to ice
Hot passion, burned to charcoal
Lost love he keeps under glass.



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