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Given Voice

I visit that secluded poolSettle into silence there, feet cooled by mossy outgrowths of meaningCaressed by deep currentsReflectingWords weave into lifeStories darting silvered just beneath awarenessFlashes catching the eye, jewel brightEnticingThere is no room for striving hereNo net nor reel can draw in what catches youHeld, holding a welling of those same word-watersNourishedGiven voice

Lavender and Honey

The world turns to smoke, and I,a ghost within it,coat my tongue in heavy honeywith each inhale, savoring,savoring,as the breeze flows through, a-calling.Do you know it,that simple hunger of living?Unfurl and be fed. The Cumberland River, seen from Rolling Mill Hill. Photos taken by author 6/13/2021.

Away

The heart sees in it's own rhythmsYou have to learn to listen to the way your flesh prickles in warning, in anticipationTo the subtle difference between desire and fear as they run up your spine, speaking through each otherPierced, sweetly speared by sudden stillness, now a cup, a fulcrum, a falling into beingYou have to … Continue reading Away

Ripening

I will not apologize for being,for belonging to the fathomless.There is a succulence in woundedness that ripens into flourishing in secret places.There is a seeing like glancing blows, a flinching at the edges of all we are,Retraction as communication furled against the world.I would offer you instead a gentled invitation,the Nourishment arising from the poison … Continue reading Ripening

Imbolc Offering

I was a bit uncertain when Brighid requested that I record some of our poetry to celebrate Imbolc this year. Still, it is important to give what is asked of us and so I give this to Her, and to you. It contains a thread of poems from what Brighid and I refer to as my "Apprenticeship." Blessed Imbolc.

Situated

I have been engaged with Erin Aurelia's Imbolc Advent. As part of that, and as part of my larger work and play in the worlds, I have been germinating the Word I was given last Sunday. Tonight that all wove together, words as container, or perhaps as the wild tendrils which slowly reach from within the seed, seeking light. It holds within it all that has arisen in and been shown to me these last weeks, and these many years of joy in Herself.