Deep Peace

eurogamer.net

Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif is CELEBRATE, with a view towards celebrating the arrival of spring, May Day or Walpurgis Night. May Day is related to the Celtic festival of Beltane and, as my roots are Irish, I decided to head in that direction.......also in my head is that most beautiful Celtic poem Deep peace by Celtic visionary Fiona MacLeod. I'll give the old noggin a whirl, stop it the third time 'round, and we'll see where I wind up.

Bedeck the lowing cattle

with yellow flowers,

and trot them round the meadow,

then send them  out

to the far summer pastures,

as this soft azure evening

is falling.

All the menfolk are gathering 

in the common,

to light the communal fire.

Let us gather round the flames,

faces flickering in its light,

and ask Fire for protection.

Deep peace, deep peace

is all we are asking.

Deep peace of the spring night,

filled with starshine,

and of tomorrow's golden morn, 

fresh and new-rising.

I shall take my torch 

and light it from the coals, 

carry it safely home

to light my own hearth fire,

snuffed out by the last cold winter wind.

But first,we women-of-the-straggly-hair 

must hoist our skirts up high

and take long-legged leaps

across the flames.

Set your intention. 

If you make it across

the fire without being burned,

you are already blessed.

Deep peace of the first of May to you.

Deep peace of the bee-buzz in the roses.

Deep peace of the skybird's joyous call.

Deep peace. 

In your heart of hearts,

may it be always newly spring.

When I lived in Tofino, at one of our staff trainings at the treatment centre, we were told about the Celtic tradition of putting out the winter fires in all of the houses, and gathering on the common - where each family took home hot coals from the communal fire, to warm their own hearth fires - something we were trying to do in the Centre - send the families home with some living coals to warm their own homes. Sigh. I miss that place.

Poet in Search of a Poem

google image

When life has worn you into

an unthinking shell

without words

and you sit, blinking into space,

in a place of No Thought,

tap the lifeline

of poetry

that lifts your heart

out of its everyday concerns,

into the realm

of midnight moons

and hungry ghosts.

Look up into the raven sky

and chart the silver moon goddess

as she trails mystery

like a gossamer cloak

across the heavens.

Remember that life

is more than bread and worry.

It is beauty and aliveness

and gilt-edged miracle.

It is the suspension of disbelief

and the belief in quiescence.

It is the lifting of one's eyes

above the "raveled sleeve of care"

to remember

music and poetry 

and love

and the silver shining sea,

forever ebbing and flowing

upon a shore lined

with old growth,

and fastening one's heart

and vision

and belief

firmly

upon that.

On Poetry

[image from google]

A poem......
"wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled
and refreshed,
and less yourself
than part of everything.

"Poetry is a life-cherishing force.
For poems are not words, after all,
but fires for the cold,
ropes let down to the lost,
something as necessary as bread
in the pockets of the hungry."

Mary Oliver

Alive in the Land of Poets

[image from trekearth.com]

In the land of poets,

Fireblossom is Queen
and Hedgewitch
Royal Scribe,
Poet-to-the-Queen
and Chief Collaborateur.

I read their words
in awe,
then retreat
to a dark corner
to quietly 
rend my garments.


I growl and mutter
to my Muse:
“Can you send me
an IDEA????
ANYTHING???????”


My Muse turns over
in bed,
and groans.......
"toooooo sleeeeeeepy!"
I poke her,
and hiss:
"I havent posted
a decent poem
in days,
and everyone is
Writing Greatness.
WAKE UP!"

Because I have to,
I keep doing
my poor scribbling,
stick scratching on 
my little slate.


Fireblossom sits
on the mountaintop,
tossing down brilliancies
upon the hour.
I sit on a bench at
the foot of the mountain.
It is now afternoon.


But.....
somehow,
in the reflected glow
of her brilliance,
my layabed Muse
wakes up,
begins to stir around,
and agrees that
there is still Writing
to be done,
let's just try to not let it be
Total Crap.


The fair Elizabeth
now shows up
in this discussion
just in time,
and tells me to
remove the word crap
from my vocabulary,
to stop listening
to my fatigue,
To listen to my soul
instead
and write to that.
She gives a gentle nudge
right when it is
most needed
and I cant argue
with the truth
of that.

I nudge my Muse:
"It's time!
I really really mean it.
We may not
write greatness
today,
but we can
write the truth
in the voice
that is ours.
While
we're still alive
I will be grateful
to be writing
anything 
at all."


I am rolling up my sleeves.
I am Getting Ready.
I am Plunging In.

Note to Readers:
No, the words do not flow as in days of old when they were a rushing torrent,
my fingers not fast  enough to keep up. But the words that come are mine,
sent out by a good, if exhausted, heart and true. I am happy to be alive this day and still writing.

And I am MOST happy because you are there, on the other side of this screen
this gray winter morning, my wonderful rich new world of poet friends, whose words shine their light on my soul and bid it step forth in return and answer the call of poetry.


My words will come a little easier and will strive to reach a little higher
because your eyes are reading them.


Bless you for that!

A blogger's dilemma

It's a bit of a gong show around here. Two pre-schoolers are here for the weekend, as well as my youngest daughter, Stephanie and her new man, her two dogs, my two dogs, my sister's THREE dogs (across the street but part of the melee)...........my goal is to sail serenely through it without worrying about anything, enjoy it as it it all unfolds.......

I have just very excitedly found Poets United, which opened a doorway to finding other poets.Robert Lloyd has put in a ton of work to create a place for writers to connect, share work, and get feedback. If you write or enjoy poetry, check out www.poetryblogroll.blogspot.com

This is as a long cool drink of water to someone parched on the desert. I live in a cultural armpit where there has been no encouragement or support for my writing. I tried unsuccessfully to get a writers' group happening, but everyone is too busy, so no one can commit. Finding an on line community is wonderful. The problem I am having is that before I found everyone, I archived all my fave poems way back in June. I have written about a thousand poems, but since I started writing them at fourteen, a few decades worth are ancient history. Lately, I have been blogging and inputting some memoir pieces and that has been fun. But now poets are coming knocking and unless they click on my earlier posts, they will be getting a mixed bag, not a lot of poetry, just now. And now July will disappear into the archives. But my camera and I have some cool plans for August!

Tonight or tomorrow morning I will be posting my Project Genesis page and it will have to stay up for a few days so others who are participating can stop by. Then I plan to post some more memoir, especially my Love Song to Clayoquot Sound, my opus:) Then will put some more poetry up. But am thinking, I am going to have to write some new poems!!! This is a good thing!

I love the Sunday Poetry Pantry idea, good chance to dust off some of those June entries and submit them one at a time, thus keeping my "poet" credentials current:)

There is a memorable blog at www.inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com
called Mother Theresa Does New York. Pretty hilarious.

Through Poets United I have come across some remarkable poetry written by a young woman in South Africa. She is at Skylover www.kerryoconnorpoems,blogspot.com

And of course Susannah Bec at Out of My Ocean www.outofmyocean.blogspot.com

Remarkable work, and I am enjoying visiting all of the sites listed. I have so thirsted for a writing community. So much talent out there, so many unique voices, each with his or her gift. An amazing world we live in! Write on, fellow poets and bloggers!