Morning Wings

Morning wings
brush mine,
I wake to a
pale moon
in blue.
 
She sinks 
westward
while we soar,
arise.
 
Sunlight rests
in Apple branches,
full of white
perfume.
 
Could I rest 
there too?
I climb and touch
the sky.
 
The eastward 
moon rises,
I close my eyes.
 
Paling,
I sink
 
I no longer
touch the ground.
 
I leave the Earth
for the Sky.

Ice Dragon

Ice dragon
rears into
the soft
of my heart
again,

fanged and
shivering,
old enemy,
old friend.

How well it
knows me,
finds just the
right place

to divide me.

I turn blue,
live in an igloo,
drinking
frozen tears.

Suddenly it
leaves,
my igloo melts,

I’m thrown into
Summer again.

So much gold
after only blue

I am blinded
and I cannot
remember
how to live
without
a coat.

I wasn’t sure about the end of this one- I kept fiddling with it. Any feedback on whether the poem breaks up and where that happens would be helpful.

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.

Between Breaths

I am held
in the stillness
between breaths

whirls of
change
around me.

I will catch up
later
I think

as the moon
grows full
and illuminates
my face

as the birds
land near
and look for seeds.

I am still
though night
comes

though the wind
lifts my hair
and says

“You are here.”
“You are here.”

I wrote this poem in the Scottish highlands, amidst beautiful hills, forest and lakes.

Turning of the Year

There is a

dark green

turning

of the world.

 

Fires roar,

scattered

earth mountains

explode

 

great oceans

pulled into

the sky

whiten

into falling

snow.

 

Green spirit, the land

is changed

where you walk.

 

Trees speak

with your breath

 

tiny creatures

are revealed,

illuminated

by your fires

 

you tame us

all wild things

our fiery longing

our oceans of fear

our windswept hearts

until

we begin

again

gentle,

quiet as

fallen snow.

 

 

Walking a Path

Walking a path
for miles
back and forth
carrying school 
books since I was
a little girl.

I walked this road
sometimes running,
sometimes skipping,
sometimes in tears.

I knew every tree
I ate many
apples and blackberries
on my way.
I tripped over a stone,
and skinned my knee
when I was eight.

After years away
I walk this path
once again.

I lay down
my bag, heavy
with car keys, 
wallet, glasses, and I
sit on the dirt in
mid-afternoon.

A caterpillar,
green and curious
peers out from
a leaf.

A robin hops near-
my heart strains
for the caterpillar-

and I realise
I have never seen
this path at all.

This poem came upon reflecting on ‘looking deeper’. The idea that I might see the same thing for a certain way for years, even, and one day- see something else in it. It’s a hopeful and rich feeling for me- looking deeper- but as a friend said upon reading this poem, I could never go back to the same path. True, I think, and that thought made me pause, silent for awhile.

The Moon World

Birds stop singing
and look to the moon
when the sun grows silent.

Quietly, candles
brighten against
the deepening night.

Shadow whispers,
thin by day
grow full
in the
moon world.

We walk bold
in mid-afternoon
bright as two
singing jays.

When you go
as all things do
and take the sun
away with you-

what light will I know,
what fire will grow
in the moon world?