Midnight Garden

I’m in the wood now,

by the moon mirror,

the still, black pond.

No leaves sway

on sentinel trees

this warm, windless night.

Jasmine scents,

a sleeping swan

the same colour as the moon,

her head tucked

under feathers.

I am the only one moving.

I shift upon a flat rock,

my fingers brush a fern.

I come here to be

nobody,

a swan, the moon, a feather.

I would stay forever.

Soon I will hear the cries

of the other world,

the changing world,

and I will go back to

soothe, inspire, mother.

Until then, I rest

out of time.

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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

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.

The Old Tree

There,
curled in the nest
of the old tree,
sit for awhile.

Rejoice in
buttercups
that flame
on the hills.

Let clouds come,
let clouds go.

Then suddenly,
from stillness,
fall

into the wild,
yellow flame
of your heart.

***I just wrote this at a meditation retreat in the beautiful Sussex countryside in England.