Contemplating the Prompt of the Day

Wild Woman contemplates
the prompt of the day: lust

defined as
a passionate desire for ________

She cogitates.
Wolves?
Wilderness?
Kindness to animals?
More years on the planet?
Books?
A dog?
All of the above.

Carnality has never been
her strong suit.

She shrugs,
cackles,
remembers a blackbird heart
she truly loved and swiftly lost,
proclaims her kinship with the wild,
her unwavering companionship
of wave and shore.
Too late for lust,
she does not wish for
more.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Lust

The Recipe Has Always Included Sorrow

What I Know For Sure:

that even the worst times were necessary
to teach me the lessons 

my soul needed to learn

that it doesn't matter 

how much or little you gather,
in life, only what you give

that each cell, particle, tree, rock, 

each being, in the world
is connected to every other, and to me

that even in times 

when we feel most alone,
we are being guided and helped

that, in order to be truly  

happy and at peace,
we must follow our hearts, 

even when it scares us ~
especially if it scares us!

My Memory Bowl, this lifetime,
got filled to the brim
with laughter, with song,
with wonder, with broken hearts,
with lessons learned, and taught,
with miracles and serendipities,
with golden friends,
with broken trust which taught me
to trust myself,
with a dream in my heart
that forced me to take risks,
with a search for love
that taught me to love all people,
with a journey made
and the price I was glad to pay.

I sift through the bowl
like a goblet of grapes, plucking one
and then another:

those long-gone people,
from a gentler time, which was,
in fact, the harshest of times,

reviewing my heart’s perilous

yet joyous passage

from yesterday
into tomorrow.

The recipe, my friends,
has always included
Sorrow.

for Mish's prompt at dVerse: Life Lessons

Never Fully Gone

Collage created for me by my friend,

The Unknown Gnome

I feel it coming, this poem I will birth
on the seventh year of your passing
from this earth.
So close to tears, I realized, of course, it is you.
Just how much and how long I would miss you,
back then I never knew.
Like a burrowing owl, you have lodged in my heart,
like a prickle-burr that hurts, from which 

I do not want to part.
You live there, night and day, in a corner labeled Grief.
From the missing and your-being-gone
there is no relief.

Ghost voices whispering on the wind,
and wolf howls in my dreams,
you look right into my sad heart;
your wolf-eyes gleam.

The barn owl says to light the lamp
on the windowsill for you.
But how can you find me in this place
that was never home to you?

I'm homeless in the universe, alone, without you
and I fear you're out there somewhere,
feeling homeless too.
Lead me back, wolf-spirit,
to the land we loved together.
I will walk there again
as we did in any weather.

When I can hear the rhythm of
the turning of the tides,
my spirit may still find a home
once more, where peace abides.
Maybe your ghost shadow
will accompany the hours
as I walk forever beaches that,
for a time, were ours.


*** *** ***


I went to bed and slept, and then they came:
four beautiful, snowy white wolves
who already knew my name.
The first one came close,
oh! the beauty of her face!
pushed a friendly nose towards me,
as I stood still, accepting,
but respectful of her space.
We were at the beach, the wolves and I.
A visitation from the spirit-world
of the not-alive,
and from deep in my spirit,
which needs both wolves and ocean waves
to thrive,
because it has never been enough
simply to survive.
The barn owl called sleepily
in the early light to wake me.
Four white wolves live within me now,
never to forsake me.

***   ***   ***

And you?
big, black, laughing, hilarious
creature of the dawn?
You live in my heart
forever, now.
You are never
fully gone.

This is not the anniversary of Pup's death on January 15, 2011. But somehow I feel like posting this poem of remembering.  When I first wrote it, I was still living at the farm, where Pup had never lived. I worried that his spirit had remained in our former yard, across the street, as I could not feel his presence. I hope he has followed me back to the beach that he loved so much, that his spirit rejoices once again in the song of the waves.

Shared with Real Toads in the Tuesday Platform. 

Greenly Greens

When you enter the forest,

walk with an open heart,

with good intention.

Greet the tree beings,

and all who live there.

The forest knows

you are coming.

At the trailhead,

it sends messages about you

through its root system.

If we walk unthinkingly,

with heavy boots,

the ferns and bushes 

tremble.

So tread softly,

with kindness.

Let your good heart

bathe in green energy.

Breathe in peace.

Breathe out gratitude.

Thank all that is alive

in the greenest of greens,

from gigantic cedar

to lowly slug.

Remember 

you are walking

in their territory.

I was taught this by a young Nuu chah nulth woman, Gisele Martin, who gives workshops about the history and protocals of the first people to live on this land, who were and are its guardians for thousands of years.

I am fortunate to have this forest a short walk from my apartment. There is a long interconnected system of trails, so that many can enjoy the peace of the forest. Shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Do come and join us.

ENU

John Millar photo

not like a pounding rain
beating clamorously against
the side of the cabin.....

but like enu*:
a soothing morning mist,
is my heart,
gentled by storm
into stillness.

not like a wild horse
on the prairie,
feet galloping, heart pounding,
kicking up clods of dirt
as her mane
catches the wind.....

but like an old mare
in the pasture,
eating grass and daisies,
tail lazily switching flies,
is my heart,
tired from all the clamour,
seeking only peace.

not like a pack of wolves,
their howls keening
into the midnight hours,
wild and sorrowing......

but like the lone wolf,
silently leaving the pack
to find the pathway
to her solitary death,
is my heart,
reclusive and at peace,
following the gentle
downhill slope
of the months and years
I have left.

*enu: the Japanese word for a misty rain

for Bjorn's prompt at dVerse: Via Negative, using the negative in poetry to make a statement stronger. And for Toni's prompt at Real Toads: 50 Shades of Rain.

RUN

Wolves at Long Beach - note how skinny
Parks Canada photo

Their forest is shrinking. They emerge, tentative, ghostly, in morning mist, seeking food, seeking shelter, seeking safe places that are no more. And they are chased, by men with guns, by helicopters with whirring blades, whole families fleeing in terror, falling, one by one, to lie bleeding in the snow.

Run, brother wolf, sister wolf.
Run like the wind.

Sing your wild song,
of forest den and your young.
Sing your plea
that your cubs will live.
Sing your elegy
for all we have lost,
all we are losing.
Sing our shared heartbreak
under the midnight moon.
My heart runs with you
as you flee for your life.
Run fast.
Run far.

May you find a place
untouched by man,

to live and dream

your wolfish dreams.
May you survive,
for in this sorrowing world
I need wild wolves
alive.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Running. The plight of animals, both domestic and wild, in today's world, keeps on breaking my tired old wolf-woman heart. 

Here on the Coast, wildlife officers try to avoid killing wolves. No helicopter shootings here - but in other places in B.C. and Alberta, it happens. And three cougar , a mother and two yearlings, were killed last week on the Lower Mainland. Loss of habitat drives them into developed areas in search of food - pretty much a death sentence for wildlife these days. 

The Summer Wind

1950's Kelowna

photo by Don Collier

lake-scent and willow whispers

on the summer breeze,

young girl dreaming 

under apple blossoms,

lost in reverie

hot summer nights

in the city,

twinkling lights

and darkling hills,

I sealed my fate

with a promise,

made for good or ill

young mother pushing

baby buggies

through summer afternoons,

at the lake with leggy children

who grew and flew 

too soon

I blew home on the Westerly,

set up house

beside the sea,

felt El Nino's warming sigh,

so welcoming

to me

now I'm remembering

all my summers

lived,

while this old planet 

spinned.

I hear the song 

of all my yesterdays

upon the

summer wind.

for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where you will find good reading on a Sunday morning. Do come join us. Are you all finding it as inconvenient as I am, not having comments come to your email inbox? It makes it VERY hard to keep up and return visits. I used to respond to comments via email when possible. If I have missed you, I apologize. I checked with Blogger Forum. They are aware of the problem and say they will fix it and it will be working again soon. THAT is a relief!