Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Dandelion Wishes


Dandelion puff,
a child's brightest wishes
blow away on the breeze.



Tiny lawn daisies 
held in a grubby fist:
no bouquet as precious.


Weed growing strong
in a harsh root-bed
has much to teach us about tenacity.


for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: weeds. 

Monday, May 25, 2015

Starshine and Spirit-speak



Open the window, so the spirits of the dying
can fly out and away, into the starry night.
May the song of the spheres serenade their passage,
moonglow seal up the opening in the veil
between their new world and ours.
Watch the early morning light 
slowly outline the rosy mountains,
then faintly tinge the sky 
with the pink of promise
a new day begins, for we, the living.

This moment, as every moment,
all of the waters of the world
are traveling in riversong to the sea,
bearing life along its precipitous passage,
down the mountain slopes,
plunging over falls,
pooling in quiet eddies,
till finally it reaches the ocean's roar
and finds itself home again,
on tomorrow's shore. 

There be spirits here. Come walk 
in the ancient forest with me.
Hear Brother Wind whispering the shaman's song
softly through the branches of Grandfather Cedar.
If you listen closely, you will hear 
him speak.
He knows those who are lost, 
those who have journeyed on,
those who will return again. 
He will bring the touch 
of the one you have loved so well
on the evening breeze.
When the puff of wind touches your cheek,
know it was sent to you with love
from the spirit world,
to gently dry your tears. 

I wasnt sure where this poem was heading when I started off. I was remembering my mother's death, and how it felt like her spirit was flying towards the window, out and away into the night.

A short while ago, my friend, whose husband died a year ago, told me she had waited almost a year for a visitation from her husband, who had made visits to everyone else in the family. One night she finally dreamed of him. They were talking and laughing together, in the dream, and then she started to cry and said, "But you're not here!"  And she said he told her, "But I AM here," as he wiped the tears under her eyes. And she woke, still feeling the touch of his fingers on her cheek.

Friday, May 22, 2015

Still With Me

from lovethispic.com - artist unknown
no infringement of copyright intended


As I'm walking,
my steps slowed now, 
compared to what they were,
I remember your slow padding steps 
beside me in the middle of the night,
when your body was failing
and you needed a midnight stroll 
along the road, under the trees,
to make it through the night.

What people cant see,
as they pass,
is that when I walk,
you are still with me.
I carry you in my heart
and there is an invisible leash
hanging down
to where you still
 - and always will - 
walk beside me.

I am following you.
Wait for me.
I am not far
behind you.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Migration of Souls

czribou migration photo by Rachel Kobernick

Millions of Monarch butterflies,
fluttering tag-teams,
cross thousands of miles
to journey to their
place of origin.
A million wildebeeste cross the Serengeti,
propelled along ancient, instinctive pathways.
Caribou traverse the northern wilds
along a route they have followed
for millennia.
Grey whales swim, their babies by their sides,
 along the western coast,
from birthing to feeding grounds,
such a long journey.

And seven billion human souls
are making their own migration from birth to death,
trekking the mountainous reaches,
stumbling across deserts,
treading water, floundering,
searching for and finding
one's own circadian rhythm
in the fluctuating cadences 
of life's waves

Each soul is heading out
on a route honed by instinct
and a thousand years of prayerful travel,
towards the Portal of Mystery
at life's end,
driven forward by a force 
far greater than ourselves,
an unstoppable journey
through All That Is
towards a finite point
we cannot fathom,
when we will slip out of our cocoon,
and don wings,
our souls taking flight
into Whatever Comes Next.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Clouds and Happy Puppy Smiles


First time going to the lake this spring - which is very hot in these parts, heaven knows how we will make it through the summer. Before loading everyone into the car, anticipation ran high. But we stopped to take a look at my clematis, which is looking pretty skookum at the moment.



The clouds are doing their thing this week, they keep me looking up. This is Taylor Arm, out the highway, on Sproat Lake.



The goldens had a new toy - a floating rubber "stick", but they were uninterested. They are used to trying to drown each other over the Kong, so they maintained their loyalty to the old toy.





Blakey-boy


Luke and Jasmine


creek



Jas in creek



Ferns...just Being



Then we got home, unloaded happy wet dogs 
and took one last look at a lingering Farm Cloud.





Here is a photo of the farm in spring, 2015.

Happiness is a Perfect Cloud



Driving the back way into town, suddenly:
Oh! My! God! LOOK at those clouds!
Puffy white picture-perfect storybook clouds
ringing the valley, outdoing themselves, 
truly, the most spectacular clouds
I have ever seen, against 
a perfect blue summer sky.

And there it was:
perfect happiness.

for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Happiness. I didnt have my camera, so the photo is from another day of beauty-happiness. But yesterday's clouds were the most astounding I have ever seen. Taking my camera with me from now on! I SO wanted to share them with you.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

IN THE BRACKEN


[from pinterest.com posted by stylepantry.com]



If ever you would speak with any tree,
come walking in the forest here with me.
I'll show you the wild mushroom  and the root,
but where the ancients gather, set no boot.

If you would speak with nature spirits wild,
you must maintain the heartbeat of a child,
learn riversong and mountain chasm deep.
You must commune with angels in your sleep.

As you step lightly on the pungent moss,
and feel the leaves the winter wind doth toss,
let your spirit fly away among the trees.
It will return upon the morrow's  breeze.

I go into the forest dark and deep,
every night after I fall asleep,
become a woodland guardian, reborn
I do not want to leave when it is morn.

Last night my spirit fought as a black wolf,
against four brown wolves on the forest floor,
This told me that a battle lies before,
my spirit having  recognized its door.

Come with me. I will show you secret groves,
moss-hung and ancient in this stand of pine.
Deep in the bracken, where the  hoarfrost glows,
the Old Ones are singing Home this heart of mine.


a poem from December 2012, posted for the Poetry Pantry   Happy Sunday, friends.