Poem

All posts in the Poem category

Wild Soul Woman

Published April 13, 2018 by tindertender

Wild Soul Woman

When we consider how embedded we are in the Earth,
how we are literally made of the same stuff
as rivers, rocks and roots,
we can see how separating from this beautiful, fecund world
might be damaging to our psyches.
Have you ever suffered a terrible accident, betrayal or loss?
Then you know you can be left depleted, depressed,
perhaps even cast adrift …
As if you aren’t quite whole.
In losing our intimate relationship with the Earth
we modern humans have suffered a particular trauma
that has caused our wild souls to split off.
How do we heal the wounded wild?
How do we reclaim our wild souls?
The answer lies within each one of us.
~Poem: Mary Reynolds Thompson
~Art: Elisabetta Trevisan

http://www.awildsoulwoman.org/initiation

Tastebud Heaven

Published February 3, 2018 by tindertender

So Fine,You Blow My Mind

Cold and crunchy,
You ice cream would never be given away!
I can hardly believe it was actually considered
As I sit here now, eating you.

Chocolate and pretzel and creamy vanilla,
Bad for my belly, yet yummy for my tummy.

You may never find your way
Into my freezer again, but for today,
Thank you.

Unknown Journey

Published January 31, 2018 by tindertender

Unknown journeyHot wax, wicks end, burning steady.

Checkered flag drops as they pass, the race has been won. The journey is just starting, destination unknown … to some.

Red light steady, purpose unknown. Blue light, vertical, glows in the dark. It signifies activity, although nothing moves.

White sand in a jar waits for task, right next to colored pencils. A drawing appears in mind waiting to be given life.

The One That Heals 

Published December 25, 2017 by tindertender

Child, Mother, Crone.jpg

Mother, sing me a song
To ease my pain,
Repair my broken bones
And bring the whole thing back.

Take my babies
When they are born,
Sing my death song,
Teach me to cry.

Show me the medicine
Of healing herbs,
The courage of the spirit,
And how I can help.

Mother, heal my heart
So I can see
Your gifts
And so they can live through me.

Jamie Sams
The medicine of the earth
Art: Amy Swagman

To Feel, Or Not To Feel?

Published December 23, 2017 by tindertender

Rabbit hole

Drifting thought.
Sitting, doing nothing.
I reach for pen and paper,
Knocking things to the ground.
Breathing a deep sigh,
I pause.
Dark moments, seemingly never-ending,
Thinking I was alone.
Fallen into the pit,
I climbed my way out …
Deep struggle, wanting to quit,
But not quite.
Reaching the top, I realized
I was never alone,
Always watched over,
And yet, here I am again.
Singular, yet more than before.
I know better now,
But the pit is rising again
In belly. Same helpless
Feelings … however, knowledge of
The strength residing
Inside, a memory.
Sitting in a crowded room
Invisible walls separating.
There is a hearing of words
Spoken, but no understanding.
Those who hear do not
Engage, only discuss
Among each other.
How can truth be
Known without effort to
Connect?
Is connection so strong
That it is not seen, or felt,
Invisible to the ones who experience?
There’s a pill for that,
And a resistance
To swallow it.
Feeling is raw, it
Would be relief to ease it,
To lessen it.
But who exactly benefits
From a mind dulled?
Expression muted, or
Mutated.
Which is preferred?

Colorful Mixtures In Haze

Published December 23, 2017 by tindertender

Cloud ladyIf he was with she, and she was with he,
who are these others?
Golden flowers wrapped in golden stems,
Silken red fabric on which they lay.
Warmth spreads as a visitor crowds in,
Insistent on utilizing space.
Raindrops on a white coat, slight stains left behind.
No color is not the color to wear while alive.
One who flies, yet does not have wings, is capable of miracles.
Surprised at first, reality sets in as ‘belief’ proves anything is possible.
One alert, one at ease, between the two I lay.
In comfort my mind is free to dream.
A hum, a vibration, are they related?
Does stillness fit in this picture? … or perhaps stillness is not.
It simply is what has become ‘used’ to.
Too close to notice what is real or imagined.

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