My Mother’s Hair

My mother’s hair

is silk-soft,

she breathes

a deer breath

and surrenders

to my hands.

Long ago

she washed me,

her sure fingers

combing through

my hair.

Now I pray

her wounded heart

finds solace

in my touch.

She tires quickly

and I wrap her warm,

dry her hair

with the lowest setting.

Her dark eyes

thank me,

she is too tired

for words,

but it is I

who is grateful

to feel my mom’s

silk-soft hair

through my fingers,

to thank her

for my life.

Everyday Om

The television is going loud.

Kitchen lights buzz, bright as comets,

light-bees in my head.

I’m washing dishes to find calm and peace,

my friend-element water

clearing and caressing.

Solace.

I’m longing for willow trees

when I hear a low sound

like Tibetan monks chanting

Om

It goes on and on.

Amazed, I seek out the source,

then almost laugh.

The dishwasher is rumbling on,

sending a seed syllable into my bones.


Thank you, I think, for this gift.

Om is everywhere.

Sacred

What if we breathed

as if the air

were sacred?


Each breath would be

a gift,

a kiss of precious life.


What if we danced

as if the earth

were sacred?


Each beat of her bones

would teach our hearts

what it means

to be loved.


What if we spoke

as if words

were sacred?


We would not waste them.

They would be blessings.

What could I say to you then, but

LOVE.

Moonwards

The sun blazed high.

I looked to his power

for direction

and was blinded,

scorched until he danced,

a colourful myriad of inspirations,

even further from my reach,

into the sea.


I sat in the cool, soothing air,

listening to owls

telling their stories.


Night jasmine curled around gates

like children’s crowns woven

with white, fragile stars.


A hare leapt across a starlit field,

its tail bobbing like a tiny moon.


The gentle, round face of night’s queen,

simple, white and immense,

rose in the East.


Her light touched me

and did not burn.


I found my direction

suddenly,

under a bliss of stars,

dance moonwards.

I let you go

I let you go

as ash falls away and

your Phoenix wings spread

in the colours of fire.


I let you go

as you taste smokeless

air as you dance,

curl, somersault

in the breeze.


I let you go

to beat your wings

to the drum of the Earth,

to swoop low

and hear

the rhythm of the trees.


I let you go

to watch your

reflection soar,

to gaze in the still

lake and

know your flames.


I let you go,

and then,

that day you come back,

I will open,


the hearth to your fire.

What the birds sing

Humans turn

the wheel,

the grind,

for money,

for status,

and then


there are those who feed the birds.


For every computer-slave

asked to do more,

hunched and typing,

output only,


there is a yogi

unbending bends,

softening shoulders,

connecting us with breath.


This morning,

thousands of birds sang

prayers to the sun.


Those who fed them heard

their names sung out

in celebration.

Guest Poet – Plant Empath

She knows how insects feel;

“Companion plants” (not weeds)-

They are welcome.

Trees are the ultimate creation:

Bold and firm, yet flowing high up

Their branches in the wind;

And talking with their neighbours

Low down in the rhizomes;

The “plant empath” talks back. She climbs

for like all of us

She is just a monkey-type mammal.

“Anything that happens

To us is meaningful.

Anything the birds do is for play.

Our guts recognise the 10,000 year old grains.

The seeds are alive!”

“Plant Empath” is written by the perceptive and talented Arwen.

Winter’s End

It was a white morning,

a wintery morning.


Trees held their breath

and birds cawed,”survival, survival.”


I went out wrapped in layers of soft

against the brittle air throwing

stinging kisses against my face.


The sky was white and grey

like angry pearls.


And then – daffodil leaves,

green buds, strong,

pushing out through

the white layer of snow.


The daffodil bloomed in my mind,

the yellow opening, the promise of sun …


in that moment,

the brittle morning broke.

Snow White

They say she had

lips as red

as roses,


to speak with life

to speak with love

to speak with a full, red heart,


eyes as bright

as stars,


to see the light

to shine the light

to connect earth and sky,


hair as dark

as ravens,


to fly above

to soar through night

to love the black river,


and skin as white

as snow,


to remind us of

the strength

of the rose.