Guest post – Fire, Water, Earth and Air

There are four oracles who all live on a place called The Beginning of an End.
They are the Elemental All-seeing Eyes and a person could always claim they were their friend.
Ask the Eye of the Fire and it would reply: find your heart and soul, let them burn bright and aim for a goal.
Talk to Water’s Eye and it will say: feel your calm and flow, feel your wishing grow.
Remark to the All-seeing Eye of the Earth and it could tell you: search for your place of comfort and love, your place of hearing and above.
Speak to the Air of the Eye and it might comment: gather your freeness and breath, gather your energy and death.
And then, with all that in mind, you board your boat and sail away from the Beginning of an End, feeling like you have made amend.

This amazing poem is from a talented 14 yr old, Beatrice. I have read it a few times to myself aloud, and find so many depths of meaning.

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The Green Web

It is the green leaves
swaying in my heart
when I look upon the Ash
that tell me my name –
 
Heartwood
 
When I meet you
it is with a tree love,
 
not with a fist
of money
or might.
 
The true strength
of the world
lies here,
 
in heart to heart,
in leaf to leaf,
in leaf to heart.
 
Within this 
green web
of thrumming 
connection,
we are held
and forever
home.
I hope you like this one. It’s a thought/feeling I’ve been having for awhile, and wanting to express it. – Giulietta 

 

Skipping Through Time

There are echoes.

What is changing?

Cars for horses.
Buildings tall and straight-edged
for rounded stone,
wood or thatch.
Coffee and oranges
for what could be made
or picked from the earth.
The sound and sight
of the screen for
the touch of a hand
or a face.

But there are echoes.

A mother’s kiss,
the lovers’ tryst,
the brotherhood of war,
the sisterhood of weaving,

the call of a wren,
the stamp of a deer,
the comet blazing,

things part of the human story,
a fixed
axis of centre
as all else changes.

There are echoes
of the past
in the present

and echoes
of the present
in the past.

What will be true
in the future?

Life, Death, Love.

As always,
as always.

I recently have felt a sense of timelessness, not sure where or when I am. This is strengthened by watching Outlander and reading Boudica, I think.

I should also say I mean ‘brotherhood’ and ‘sisterhood’ in terms of masculine and feminine energy. Women can make war and men can weave, I realise.

Savannah

History
comes to me,
a dim and starless
unsky.

The truth
lays in lies
by what they
deny.

The flower
in a name – magnolia
belies

the rain

wet green
bog vines

reach
grasp
smother

the rolling rumble
of the land

and the scent
of southern sweetbay

– Savannah.

I spent some time in the south and felt its heavy, rich presence which led my mind to this poem.

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.

Travelling

I left my
shoes in Milwaukie
a scarf
in Sudan

in London
I discovered
a prawn allergy
and in Paris
I ate five
croissants.

I am now on a bus
hurtling through
fields
it could be England
and it could be Illinois

field and sky

I bought shoes
and a scarf
and vegetarian lunch
before boarding

Does it matter
where I am going?

field and sky

me

don’t have
names
anyway.

Insight

There is a slow opening
a fragrance startling
eyebrows lifted
a simple truth
in a chaos of leaves
one golden flower
hidden by tangles.

Bramble-scratched
and shivering we
were led by its
fragrance to find
a bloom more
precious than
a baby’s first breath
a gold ring slipped
over a finger or
the spring, and the first
strong ray of sun
higher and sweeter
than any other.