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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in poems

Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

If I were naming the moons,
August would be
the Mushroom Moon,b2ap3_thumbnail_116721655_2720505291495009_3608339146132803919_o.jpg
honoring the things that wait
below the surface
for the right moment to emerge,
the invisible magic beneath our feet,
the wisdom of hidden places,
the quiet mists
that rise from cool water
into steamy evenings
beneath thunderous skies
and cicada song.
It speaks of the deepening
and the steeping,
the shy and the creeping,
the unexpected lessons
of loam and longing,
the vast and stubborn network
of all that is unseen,
the sky that sings
and hopes with wings,
and wide, round mysteries
on the rise.

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In my dream,
the Summer Queen
is wrapped in summer’s fire,b2ap3_thumbnail_107548174_2700137346865137_2706254459724466380_o.jpg
garbed in gowns of gold and brown,
and blazing with desire,
the grass and grains
are winding down,
leaning in ebbing spires.
She feels the heat beneath her feet,
her stride is wide,
her lips are sweet,
her arms lift up to lightning streaks.
She twirls around on thirsty ground
raising the passions higher.
With hips and hopes expanding wide
her heart alight with joy and pride
her song is strong,
her howls are long,
her many prayers are hot and bold
and then her plans
find ease at last
remembering the wheel spins fast
it’s nearly time to share the floor,
as Autumn’s Queen
peeks round
the door.


In August, I feel held in a space between summer’s fire and summer’s fatigue. There has been a blooming and a ripening, and now a harvesting and a fading begin as the time comes to turn the page.

...
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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

There are cracks
where inspiration dwellsb2ap3_thumbnail_109830348_2709870642558474_4978359923544854605_o.jpg
and hope still wanders,
places where wonder seeps back
onto parched terrain
and breathes a promise
of joy to come.
There are droplets of courage
sprinkled across buds of faith
and tender shoots
taking root in hidden spaces
where they will twine into possibilities,
seeking and extending
tentative petals to the sky,
keeping the pact they made
before being,
to bloom when they can.

At this point in the year I feel held suspended in a space between summer's fire and summer's fatigue. The air is thick and stifling, the flowers are wilting, the ground is parched, and I feel a sensation in the air of the approaching time to "turn the page."

...
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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

List for today:

Rescue tadpoles from the evaporating puddle
in the driveway.
Look for pink roses in the field.b2ap3_thumbnail_100728699_2662578040621068_2044351931215773696_o.jpg
Look for wild strawberries
along the road.
Listen to the crows in
the compost pile
and try to identify them
by their different voices.
Plant basil and calendula
and a few more rows of lettuce.
Examine the buds beginning
on the elderberries
and check blackberry canes
to see if the berries have set.
Watch the yellow swallowtail butterflies dance.
Wonder about action and apathy
and what bridges gaps.
Refuse to surrender belief in joy.
Listen for faint echoes of hope.
Feel the tender beat of humanity
pulsing in the world.
Feel the sun on your face
and water seeping
into your jeans.
Remember that even if you have to
move one tadpole at a time,
change is always possible.

...
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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

The Perfect Beltane

The cool touch of dew
across cheeks and brow,
a single pink dianthus emerging
between stones,b2ap3_thumbnail_95095453_2637970603081812_7130250266661617664_o1.jpg
sunlight kisses through leafy canopies,
a circle of flower petals,
a gentle hoop of wild raspberry cane
making a celebration arch
under which to sit
on a broad flat stone,
gooseberry bushes by my knees
and the sound of wild turkeys
rising from the valley,
as the sun lifts steadily
into the sky.
It is this small magic
of living I crave
and delight in,
the silent ceremonies
of surprise and skin
that arise before my eyes
and sink into my bones,
the very day itself
the ritual handbook
of a wild witch alone.

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

Goddess of the untamed shore
smooth my edges into gratitude,
tumble me into letting go,b2ap3_thumbnail_83028215_2543529015859305_8056612813340147712_o1.jpg
teach me what it means
to let my longings
ebb and flow.
Roll me until my to-do list
becomes rubble
and my bindings become loosened
by the touch of salt and time.
Carve me back to my
most essential self,
erode my need to know
until it is replaced
by space
around my heart
to grow.
Sweep over me
and leave me expansive and free,
help me to remember
to wait for nothing
while somehow also being
as patient as the moon.
Encourage me to
chart my own course
and steer my own craft,
trusting the transformations wrought
by truth and trust and tide.

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

I chose not to follow crows today,b2ap3_thumbnail_69344062_2412917695587105_7552633619886374912_o.jpg
but turned away
to follow the mist instead,
descending down a rocky hill
and into an underworld of my own making,
in which I laid aside
the pressures of pleasantness

and considered how it would feel
to lay my drive down
across the stones too
and walk away,
leaving it gasping in surrender
between a flattened cracker of frog
and finality.

I knelt beside blue chicory
with a cloak of white fog across my shoulders
feeling weary of smiling,
thin of patience,
and with only a thread of faded magic
beating feebly beneath my skin.
I pondered messages from purple asters,
gravel beneath my knees,
and resisted reaching for rosehips
through the ebbing bowers of poison ivy.

An unripe persimmon, gleaming purple-red
below the bright white sky,
rolled into my path
and as I made my way back up the hill
two vultures rose silent and hulking from the trees,
so close I heard their feathers whispering together.
I felt an ember quicken quietly
beneath my breast
and on the gliding motion of broad wings,
I was reminded that we can always
choose which way to go,
and that even thin and tattered magic
is worth
savoring.

 

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Recent comment in this post - Show all comments
  • Jamie
    Jamie says #
    Molly, That's really nice. Thanks for sharing! Life is hard...it's only a cliche because it's true.

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