Full Moon Poem #fullmoon #moonpoetry

Image by Bessi from Pixabay

To expound upon beauty

Uniquely yours to release

Dive out of the covers

And breathe fresh

Life yours to define

Mold ripe potential

Defining the turn of lines

Washing the edges with color

Until you forget work

In favor of creation

There is no need to rise

Above or below

But inward

The extraordinary is spiral

You, reaching to dsicover

The ecstatic dance of joy

In your own rhythm

The steps lighten

Opening the beauty of you

Again

Lest You Doubt Who You Are…#poetry #yogapoetry #esotericpoetry

I have been missing Sue, I’m sure I always will. Some days the pull to feel her presence is stronger than others. The other day, a friend of mine asked if I had reached out to her across the veil. Deliberately parting the veil is not something I do often these days. I have grown weary of the numinous and perhaps a bit distrustful. So many conspiracies and lunacies are now attached to the spiritual communities, yet there are aspects of home that cannot be denied when one steps into the space of silence. I’d like to think I heard her voice, again, in these words who are not just for me, but for anyone who doubts who they are. I share them here with visuals from the wonderful photographers on Pexels, open to individual interpretation…

You are evergreen boughs seeking water

You are a child gliding on a silver kite into the wind, breathless in wonder

Photo by Ammar Ahmed from Pexels

You are hope letting go of despair

Photo by Lukas from Pexels

The wild window of wonder beckoning us back to life

Photo by Mohan Reddy from Pexels

You are beautiful in the essence of self

Photo by Mohan Reddy from Pexels

You are one thousand moments waiting to occur

Photo by Mikhail Nilov from Pexels

The slipstream in the current pulling into infinite possibilities

Photo by Emiliano Arano from Pexels

You are life. Precious and uniquely yours to define.

Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels

On My Birthday #poetry #birthdays

The 12th card I drew

I’m going to imagine something different:

The beauty of the goddess unfolding

Light softening the edges of life

Years, a mold of becoming

The inner child emerging

and merging into the dance

of a perfection that is truth

This messy cohesion of unity

Something radiant called a Life

So many journeys to get to this place

Defining and refining

Breaking down to build

Whole

Like a chalice spilling over

to fill again, and again

Tireless infinity splitting open

the moment not like a wound

but like a lover seeking joy

This seed waiting to germinate

finding the sun was always there

in the full splendor of wonder

watching the budding of a radiance

thriving under the moon, night

as much a friend as day

the taste of sorrow becoming happiness

refined

I wrote this poem before drawing 12 tarot cards as a reflection upon this day. Forty-eight years ago I was born into this life. A life that seems, at times, difficult to define and accept. Birthdays have never been easy days for me, in large part because they have been days, like all the others, not wholly mine to embrace and be embraced by. I knew I would find the chalice in the cards, but I thought it would be The Queen of Cups, as this is how the “I” has reflected itself over the years, but 12 cards unfolding this journey brought The Ace. I had, after all, asked for something new...

Long Nights Feed the Muse #writing #foundpoetry

When mid-September arrives I feel the anxious pull of letting go. As autumn calls forth the fire of summer in one last quick burst of color, I can’t help but feel a tug of melancholy watching life give way to the elements of the season. Then winter plunges life into a deep freeze and somehow I relax into the slow pace of darkness. It is is the season of the writer and the poet. A time to give way completely to the magic of night and let the imagination travel where it will.

Millie welcomes a warm lap beside the fire

The inner fire kindles alongside the hearth fire, both ignited to keep the “home” warm. Outer distractions lesson their draw as the cold calls the body inside to keep warm. These days my daily walks with the dogs are brisk and quick, unless I give into their appetite for gnawing at “stick-sicles.”

First snow

A pause allows the sight to expand and sometimes eyes meet in acknowledgement.

“Tree Eye”

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live in a place without clearly defined seasons. Perhaps I would get used to the extremes of a nearly endless summer or winter, but it is more likely I would feel restless with waiting for change. The body and mind get used to cycling and the ebb and flow it offers. Growth wants to circle back to decay before new growth occurs. As a writer, I rely upon the seasons. Summer gives me permission to turn outward and enjoy life unconfined. To take a reprieve from the page waiting for words and give way to the sun’s joy. Fall, in turn, prepares the nest for the enveloped life.

An autumn chickadee prepares for winter

Digging into the folds of darkness is much easier in winter. One must welcome the night or perhaps go mad trying to ward it off. Then spring arrives just in time to awaken the sluggish body back to life. Winter is long here, but not quite too long.

The cat disagrees

It begins for us with my daughter’s birthday, which falls in early December. Soon after, we set up the Dicken’s village and fairy lights are lit inside and outside the house. Even though my children are no longer tiny, the season still feels magical.

Soon after it is set-up the village is rearranged by Millie

Although I do miss traveling, the colder weather offers an excuse to hunker down and stay put. Most days I’m content to sit beside the fire and create even when it’s not always in the form intended. I seem to be at another impasse with the WIP, not quite sure how the protagonists are going to cross their paths again and when. As I wait for them to tell me, I turn to other endeavors.

The coloring books and pencils have reappeared, another WIP

I have friend, a fellow Indie author, who is encouraging me to grow my Instagram presence. She tells me I can’t simply post pretty photos without relevance and so I am urging the muse to try new directions. In the process, I’m finding short poems through erasure to post. The eye searches for words that pull while the hand blackens newsprint. It offers a strangely satisfying means to create something new out of what already exists. Rebirthing text in new form, I often find myself inside the process.

Today’s found poem

What I saw this morning #poetry #griefpoetry #grief #loss #death

Photo Cedit: Pixabay

I saw you in the moors today

your hair wild like milkweed

blown free

with she who waits

standing in the valley between

The wind, beckoning a caress

upon two faces turned upward in joy

Water, cleaving the breasts of the goddess

at your feet streaming the memory of stars

The renewal of spring lapping the hillside

like a newborn lamb, and you standing

beside her remembering it all

Two hands clasped in reunion

opening the womb. The body

becoming formless, ripe, orange

walls pulsing the mother-beat

winged emergence breaking

through stone. Guardians

fortifying the chamber vibrating

your song as you become the light

of rainbows, again. Isis

enfolding and opening

lifts the veil to the path of stars

spiraling to welcome the dragon

descending, running the water

gold

Healing Gifts #poetry

Photo Credit: Pixabay

For Sue

The opened body becomes the vessel

of healer and also receiver

And so I find her in the Seer’s circle

cloaked in owl’s feathers, anointing

those who come to give

Here, in her beloved place of heather and stone

time and space unfold into the opening

and I can feel the press of her lips between the brow

🐉

Seven days brings us back to her circle

to witness the winged soul ever giving

feathers of bird become the butterfly

“Look closely,” she tells me. “See.”

I watch membranes divide

into notes. Hear the music of cells

holding the song that is life

Enraptured until form turns slug-like

and I question the pull back to density

reluctant to notice what is soft is also strong

vulnerable, yeilding

the snail enters the body’s chariot

A tiny spiral opens

into infinity

and suddenly we are in the place of stars. Vast

Limitless

Suddenly, the serpent appears

pulling us into its arbor

above the farmer’s field to understand rebirth

Density becomes a head of stone

fixed as though immobile

“Each is a piece of Her. A brain’s repository.”

I nod, understanding distance to be a ruse and watch

Wisdom circle the mound in the body of the serpent

collapsing time’s hold while the clock splits open

rising sinuous into the darkness

the serpent swallows the sun, transforming

into dragon. Now winged

returning to seed the waiting womb below

Light

splits the body’s veins

finding the path once again

Lavender Dream #Dream #Writephoto #poetry

dream
Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Once again Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt photo has mirrored my dreams. It’s been a challenging two weeks. My computer died, again, and the resuscitation of  it was more laborious and disruptive than I had hoped it would be. Breathing into the letting go, what may be lost, what may take monumental efforts to fully restore, has been a call to open the heart. 

Lavender Dream

I dreamt of the self starved

my body yielding to others, breathing

out instead of in. I will be there

for you, she knows the whisper as rote

memory so deep the threads bind her own

love. You can see it in her narrowed hips

breasts, almost pre-pubescent. As though

the body learned before it could fully grow

to turn inward upon itself. Preservation

in the outer yielding. I will be there for you

too, her voice echoes outside its walls

He brought the amethyst cracked open. Primal

rocks forged by the Mother’s fire

bumpy and dulled gray on the outside

Broken by will. He placed them around my neck

A lei of love. Her lavender heart

revealed itself in a field of green

 Love

returned

to love

 

#Soar #writephoto

storm-clouds-1
Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

Soar

I dreamt of the voice shuttered

tight against the storm. Words

held behind the clouded window, urgent

We are here!

Blue feathers lined in black resting

in sunlit trees. Impossibly large

No, they cannot be mine

I doubted the impossible

stroking the membrane of the quill

so many gathered stories filling

the space beneath, calling

through the echo of time

wondering why the throat

is like a storm cloud waiting to break

open to the sun. Wondering why

space needs to be confined and the bird

of truth lies in wait

for permission to soar

 

Once again, I had a feeling that Sue’s photo would echo my dreams. For Sue’s #writephoto writing prompt,#Soar.

Imagining A World Made New #poetry

IMG-1047

I’m trying to imagine a world made new

A riptide of dis(ease) softening into rebirth as seven

billion people grow golden filaments

around the darkness of our womb. At night

I claw dirt back into Her body

to know the heartbeat wrapped inside the winged

Release the tired shoulders, She whispers, you

who have learned to wear blades

 seeking to stretch beyond the chrysalis

To Breathe Whole

Arms, ready to release

the heavy weight of fight, trap

 the body collecting pain without permission

You wounded warriors of the light

stamp identity across the heart

pressing the false hold into a battle cry

lodged inside the forgotten throat

Open

the portal to the heart and allow the soul

to shout victory

Darkness is a demon

only if left unexplored. Let the cry loose

Let it soar through the shadowland inside

until it ignites the joy

that is life. Real life

Release those golden threads and weave

the memory

of unity

whole