Archive | Poetry

Oh, my, my. Oh, hell, yes.

 

Photo by Frank Flores on Unsplash

 

The Serpent Manifesto

Woman-
Go now and build a madness nest
a treasure chest
a place to rest
so every woman who is seeking solid ground can land her feral dancing
can wail her prayers and chanting
her no apology passion
and her sacred, soulful ranting

This is our demand
This is the voice of snakes
and the psalms of hands
All your sisters before you- they knew
All your sisters before you- they walked through this fire, too
They faced the shaming and the shunning
Yet they fanned the holy humming
Then they welcomed a new coming

We need your wildness, Woman
We need your wolf howl, Woman
We need your deep scowl, Woman
We need your truth vow, Woman

We need it as much as we need
your care taking
We need it as much as we need your love making
Because Kings and Queens- they’re one
Because divided kingdoms are done

The world needs all of you, but more importantly- you need all of you- the rushing river cluster star loud scream soft melt hard thrust slither kiss ALL of you

YOU need your wildness, Woman

And it’s not going away
it’s not giving up on you
it’s hunting you like a focused warrior
Ruling you like a golden empress
Rocking you like an ancient cradle
Injecting your life with
holy
healing
venom.

| Jocelyn Edelstein |

::: ::: ::: :::

When you want some of this magic,
when you think you might be ready to beg for it,
come find me.

Big love,
Joanna :: xoxo

 

 

0

Someone Dances

Dance, dance wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the dance, said He.
– ancient song

Someone dances all completely still
Someone dances all childlike and playful
Someone dances all electric flash
Someone dances all touching the ground
Someone dances all self-conscious
Someone dances on without any reason
Someone dances so peaceful and easy
Someone dances with hair all crazy
Someone dances in a lonely moment
Someone dances in God consciousness
Someone dances with very much caring
Someone dances so inspired and joyous
Someone dances on faith alone
Someone dances all nameless and wandering
Someone dances in flowing beauty
Someone dances all forgotten and naked
Someone dances all lost for words
Someone dances all completely dance

-John Fox

 

Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash

 

0

For the lost.

It is okay
to be lost.

Know this.

There will be days/
weeks/
months/
years

when all you can do
is kick the dust down the road

or sit and do nothing
but watch the trees

or scream into the air
even though it’s only you there.

You may notice that
your life has lost its color
not even the dingy gold of sepia
is offered to you;
only grayscale.

It is still okay
to be lost.

They (‘they’) will not give you any points
for being lost

But what do points get you anyway?
Nothing soul nourishing
nothing truly useful

And being lost is more useful
than perhaps we ever
admit.

Sometimes you will be lost in work
but safe in love

Sometimes you will be lost in love
but safe in your room

Sometimes you will be lost in the
small
.
daily
.
struggles
.
but safe in the structure they provide.

Sometimes you will be lost in your own breath
but safe in someone’s arms.

It is still okay
to be lost.

Because

//I promise you//

you will find your way again.

You will be different.
Life will be different.
There may still be no color
(because sometimes there is no going back)
but you will find your way again.

We are lost
over and over
in life.

Over and over.

Better to learn how ‘lost’ works;
a map with strange layers
[the soul is a palimpsest]
where old markings
take you a new way
every time.

It is okay
to be lost.

 

Photo by Michael Liao on Unsplash

 

 

0

With each footfall…awaken

Yesterday’s post about sweat (and exercise) reminded me of this poem I wrote a few years ago about running. One of the most sensual experiences I have ever had was running in a warm, soft rain. I can still recall the exact feeling of the rain on my skin and the way my body moved through it. I felt like sex itself, honestly. What a gift and a pleasure it is to move the body.

::: ::: ::: :::

Ode to an Autumnal Morning Run

I am not fleet of foot,
Like Artemis or Athena.

I run like a beast;
My compact body hits hard.
I am Atalanta’s adept;
Solid and capable
Learning to fight my own battles.

I used to run in quarters,
Afraid of what I could not do.
Quarter minutes.
Quarter miles.
Quarter runs.

But my goddess body knew better.
Now I run in thirds.
In halves.

On my path, the bittersweet covers the trees
As fear used to cover me.
Pulling at my life, and letting me hide.

Like Persephone I rise from my grave of fear
Wipe the dirt from my eyes
Spit it from my mouth.
I learned in the dark-
I learned of my dark.

I am no longer scared-
The dark is sacred, too.

I see my serpentine self everywhere as I run
the sinuous vines and branches.
I feel her, too
Sensually winding
Undulating
As feet, ankles, knees, and hips roll forward
Aware of the shift of each movement
Both ecstasy and pain

My heart throws itself against my rib cage
Not just from the work of running
But also for the aspen leaves
So dense with yellow
I want to eat them
So rich red and fiery orange
I would paste them to my skin
And make more beauty of my sweating messiness.

I breathe
I breathe
I breathe
This I was also afraid of

I have breathed so many of the wrong things
Into myself

But running has made me strong.
Strong enough to breathe without fear.
Strong enough to endure.
Strong enough to finish.

And to start again
With each footfall
Awaken
Awaken
Awaken

::: ::: ::: :::

I still run, but only in the Summer and early Fall on our local bike path. In the winter I’m a cyclist, which isn’t quite the same, sensually. Either way, I’m glad to be living in a body that loves to move and can do so with ease.

 

 

0

mood.

if you deserve
honey
mine will flow from my arms to yours
no effort, no asking.
but, if there is none
and
you feel wind instead.
know
that my spirit already
senses that
when you smell sweetness
you
begin harvesting blades in your hands.

– kindness is a form of intelligence

| nayyirah waheed |

::: ::: ::: :::

This is what it
is to be wild
Wild is the strange
pull and
whispering wisdom.
its the gentle nudge and
the forceful ache. It is
your truth, passed down
from the ancients, and the
very stream of life
in your blood. Wild
is the soul where passion
and creativity reside,
and the quickening
of your heart. Wild
is what is real, and
wild is your home.

| Victoria Erickson |

::: ::: ::: :::

Tantra is one of the most important secrets ever discovered. But it is very delicate because it is the greatest art. To paint is easy, to create poetry is easy, but to create a communion with the energy of the other, a dancing communion, is the greatest and most difficult art to learn.

| Osho |

{{ i do enjoy practicing, though. }}

::: ::: ::: :::

At the peak of our stuckness, we habitually long for a sign that will stand out and call to us. We desire a signal or confirmation of the next right step or choice.

We long for inspiration and desire to return to our lives, when we feel desperate and depleted in the mundane.

The richness we crave lies in our ordinary, everyday lives. Cultivating awareness in each moment invites the possibility for deeper experience.

Intention and conscious alertness in our daily tasks, invites space for the aliveness we miss. Noticing details provided by our senses, being with the moment, and switching perspectives can all incite a magical spark.

| Gina Angelini |

::: ::: ::: :::

 

::: ::: ::: :::

Quest

Take me past
the guarded place
in you
where confusion
covers itself
in unrelenting confidence
then marches on
in lively steps.
Take off the facade
let it fall away
into nowhere
Turn around and face me
I search the infinite depth
where beyond all entrenchments
I find your thirst
to be met
and understood
the sadness in your bones,
the want of your silent cries
to be heard
and be known-
abiding within those
unseen landscapes
is a world of precious
dreams.
Let me touch where
the battle wounds
lie quietly healing-
Buried beneath
an armored sheath
rests a lifetime of love
and loneliness,
blame and triumph,
honor and defeat.
Within this blended web
of scars and treasures,
glistening with honey,
there you are-
I found you,
beneath the soldiers plated heart.
So loosen the knots around my own
see all its agony bared and mending
and in between each open space
we’ll breathe upon the frailty.
All the wishful longings to be had
bring to me yours
as I meet you there with mine.

| Susan Frybort |  Hope is a Traveler

 

 

0