Garden dance

URBAN SOLACE IX
Garden Night
—Mitz Sackman, Murphys

She looks out the kitchen window
Her small garden a picture of stillness
In the fading light
She has worked hard this summer
Planting and harvesting
Been abundantly rewarded by fresh food and herbs
She reflects on the turning of the year
Solstice but a distant memory
The cross quarter day approaches
Her garden dance of thankfulness is due
She prepares carefully washing with herbs 
Donning her cloak, she steps out in the moonlight
Slowly dropping the cloak, she circles the garden sky-clad
She thanks the earth for its fruits
For her life and dreams

Image from Photobucket

Poem found at Medusa's place

Lunar Eclipse

THE MOON CIRCLE
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

(based on “Maiden Moon” etching by Elaine B. Rothwell)


Death is dancing with the maiden in the moonlight. 
He has made a ring of light for them to dance in. 

She lifts the hoop of light 
and dances away from him. 

He is left standing in the circle 
where he is powerless to follow. 

She has stolen the power of his intention 
with her refusal, and thus has transcended 

both light and dark. Death waits—and waits— 
until she is through dancing and will return to him.

Image from Photobucket

Poem found over at Medusa's place

For Dakota and his mom

THE FRUIT FELL RIPELY DOWN

Fox-child

of the old pretend

I know

where you go

when the moonlight

bends

in the trees

and the trees come alive

in the night.

I followed you

again

and saw

old branches

lift and gesture

in a winter-dance

in that forgotten

orchard.

Fox-child,

your sly smile

lit the dark

where no life grieves

and the music

clapped

its broken-fingered

leaves

and you, an acrobat,

gamboled

in such a hungry

pleasure

that old lucent ghosts

of fruit

fell ripely down

to taste

your laughter.

~Joyce Odam, Sacramento

Image from Photobucket

Poem from Medusa's place

In the dream...

IN THE DREAM…

I was in the hospital

something to do

with my heart,

probably broken again,

it happens a lot...

That’s when you came in,

but you weren’t you,

you were something else,

a rabbit,

not a huge one,

but a big one,

maybe three feet long.

You had this white fur,

with caramel colored patches,

lovely.

The inside of your ears

were very pink,

soft,

your nose too.

You cuddled beside me,

under my arm,

your whiskers tickled,

I could feel your

tongue

tasting

me.

The doctor came in

said it was time

for you to leave.

You smiled.

I didn’t know

rabbits could smile,

but you smiled...

It was a nice dream,

I’m glad

you were in it...

~William S. Gainer~

Poem found over at Medusa's place where you can read some fabulous word crafting.

Image from Photobucket.

Earth my body, Earth my soul

This poem was posted over at Medusa's place - I just love it.  The destruction and  desecration of our Earth is our own self destruction, our own desecration of all that is holy within ourselves.  "Saving the Earth" is really about saving ourselves from annihilation as a species.  There is such Beauty here for us to realize that what we behold is what we are...

SPIRIT OF LOVE
—Barbara Deming

Spirit of love
That flows against our flesh
Sets it trembling
Moves across it as across grass
Erasing every boundary that we accept
And swings the doors of our lives wide—
This is a prayer I sing:
Save our perishing earth!

Spirit that cracks our single selves—
Eyes fall down eyes,
Hearts escape through the bars of our ribs
To dart into other bodies—
Save this earth!
The earth is perishing.
This is a prayer I sing.

Spirit that hears each one of us,
Hears all that is—
Listens, listens, hears us out—
Inspire us now!
Our own pulse beats to every stranger's throat,
And also there within the flowered ground beneath our feet,
And—teach us to listen!—
We can hear it in water, in wood, and even in stone.
We are earth of this earth, and we are bone of its bone.
This is a prayer I sing, for we have forgotten this and so
The earth is perishing.

____________________

Image is from here.

A Sweet Whisper

A SWEET WHISPER
—D.R. Wagner

A sweet whisper clipping the tops of waves.
The humidity changing the colors to pastels,
Opening my eyes in already late morning.

I can hear the birds arguing in the palm
Trees. It seems they have important things
To do. They abandon the yard.

I am working over the lyrics to a song
I can barely remember. It says that heartbreak
Can be overcome if one stops feeling.

I am amazed at the way afternoon
Lopes into the room, recognizing everything
But how my heart understands distance.

I begin to sing my own song. There is a 
Moment where everything that prompted it
Becomes real again. I can hardly continue.
The birds return and gather near my windows,
Silent except for their beaks tapping the glass.

Even more delicious word crafting can be found over at Medusa's Kitchen.