Loch Voil

Walking through pines,
their tears
on my face

-yesterday’s rain.

The grey sweet
stillness
of the lake
invites.

I keep walking
under weeping trees

the lake, I hold
in my heart
or maybe it
holds me.

This is inspired by the ever reflective Loch Voil in the Scottish Highlands.

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Rain Flood

I saw the child.

I saw her tilt
her face
to the sky.

The rains are
clearing
the streets

cigarette butts
spiral into
gutters

trees drink
ankle-deep

soft earth
turns to
rivers

and change
the face
of the world.

The hundred year
old woman’s tears

flood down
her face
into
heaving
seas.

The child’s face
in bliss.

She takes the rain
in every pore.

The rain is love.
The rain is love.

Quieter Mind

I have met
the quieter mind

here in the valley

of brown and dun
trees

where clouds
softly sit
just between hills,

a shiver of wind
flutters the leaves,

and the mist
wisps away
like spectres.

The mind
does not stir

deeply earthed

– it shivers

a cloud in a lake
it quivers

and is gone.

I wrote this in Scotland where I stayed in a cabin in the hills for a week for solitude, reflection and nature. The early October colors of nature inspired me, as did the still, reflective Loch Voil.

If you like this poem, you might like my short story Hiro, published on Page & Spine this week.

http://pagespineficshowcase.com/stories/hiro-giulietta-m-spudich

Leave me a comment and tell me what you think! Thanks, Giulietta

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.

Wild Garlic

Whistling,
she carries wildflowers
and wild garlic
stains her sleeve.

She is not
from the city

I stare
at the white blossoms
caught in her hair.

My shoes
on the pavement
her hair blows wild.

Songbirds chitter,
pip, squeak
in the bordering trees

in a startling thunder
of wings
they fly.

Her laugh
takes to the sky.

She, an earthed breeze
in a close London square.

I stare
at white blossoms
caught in her hair.