The Shape of Love

I do not know
the shape of love
though my life
has fit its form.

Not in a human shape
reflecting two faces –
a newborn.

Nor in a ring,
a golden, endless
circle infinite
in its holding.

In the first
yellow daffodils
after the
bones of winter
break

just as the sun hits

the moment of bloom
and the next moment
when their graceful
dancers’ heads
bow and drop

that describes
the shape of it

how we bloom and fall
in an endless, golden
circle.

Advertisements

Gift of Water

Here’s one I’m working on. I’m not sure I’m yet happy with it- maybe it rambles a little. But I felt like sharing it. Feel free to give your feedback- anything work for you? Anything didn’t? Thank you.

A little girl
curls her fist
around moonlight

her blonde hair
flashes against
midnight
brown
eyes
like lightning.

I think of her as
the first star
of rain
splashes the
pavement.

I hear the next
fall
and imagine
the sea
from where it came.

Moonlight
touches the waves
and appears
to be caught,
milky in dark water,

as if grace
could be held.

I wonder where
the girl is now,
what she holds
in her fist.

I make a cup
with my hands
and the rain
is cool in my palms.

Lightning
cuts through midnight
and an echo
brightens
the water.

I wait,
hands cupped
to catch a glimmer

of a gift from her
maybe moonlight,
maybe grace.

A Splash of Life

When we rose from the dead,
stumbling and laughing
moonlit shadows
on the sand,

we stubbed our toes
on cockles and whelks
we swooped and cried with
seagulls cartwheeling
in sea break tumbling
onto sand.

Spent, the sea
stretched her fingers
and licked our bones.

She took us out
and out until
we were
moonlight
water
and salt.

Birth

In between
slices of rain
there is
thunder.

Waves of wind
pelt the window –
I howl with it,

a sound from
my blood
as my body
turns against me.

A storm renews
the land,
but first destroys
what stands too tenderly.

In between
slices of rain
there is
birth.

I recently witnessed 18 hours of labor and wow, the elemental brutality of birth came through.

Green

I am green
but not with envy
– with ivy

the deep ferns
of a rich, fragrant
forest

the color of oak
leaves
and redwood
needles

I drink deep
and deeper
through new roots

My human body
is not my
real body

my green body
comes awake

You cry for me
but each day
I grow closer

to the sky

my leaves unfurl
and drink in the rich
love of the sun.

I go from pale
to such a vibrant color
you’ve never seen.

Happy New Year to my readers. This poem was inspired by walking in nature (the Cambridge Botanic Gardens) and also reflecting on growth, change, death and what it is- can there be death without something new sprouting? May we all find the green.

Solstice

In the night
steeped with dark
we hold heavy
secrets.

In the longest night
we can whisper them
one by one

no one will hear

but the souls
and spirits
that have no light
that dwell in shadow.

They will take our
heavy offerings
one by one
so we can be still
and sleep
and feel our losses

so when the sun
rises
it can fill us,
empty of shadow
with warmth
and light.

Here on the Solstice
we give up
what we know is lost
to find
the New Year.

Here in the UK it’s sunset, this winter Solstice. I hope this night heals and holds all who read this. And that tomorrow brings great candles of hope.