Dverse Poetics – I Need My Pain

Ingrid is hosting Dverse Poetics this week and has asked us to write from a place of pain keeping in mind Wordsworth’s definition of poetry as “emotion recollected in tranquility.” While I realize that for most people, this probably speaks to us of emotional pain, I’m taking a bash at the tranquil recollection of lessons learned from physical pain.

“I need my pain!” Capt. James T. Kirk

Pain is Like an Old Friend

In the cold and rain, old injuries ache
with the phantom memories of pain
like an old relation, it comes unbidden
reminding me of times better forgotten

I have felt the hurling force
and the white hot lance of fire
as a bullet ripped through
the meager protection of flesh

I have felt bones snap and break
as blood vessels ruptured
from crushing impact before blessed pain
rendered me unconscious

Yes, pain is an old friend, an unwanted guest
mostly you smile and endure until the visit is over
But sometimes, if you listen very carefully,
you glean bits of unparalleled truth
and flashes of enlightenment

Every scar, every ache is a reminder
that I am stronger than everything that
has ever tried to kill me, it is a part of me
my spirit has been hammered
on the anvil of life and tempered
in the fires of pain and I have learned

I learned to see the world in all it’s
lush beauty and stark despair,
and to love them both, but mostly
I learned to love the woman I am today
After all, I went through a helluva lot
to become her

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

Begin … again

Greetings friends, I’ve been absent for awhile so today I’m linking up to the earthweal open link weekend. We’re piecing our lives back together here at chez spoons after a catastrophic hail storm dropped baseball-sized mortar fire on our tiny house. But, as always, we rise and we begin … again.

Begin … again

The marigolds blossomed
and grew like small shrubs
a blaze of rich color
in fading summer glory

I watched the storm gather
as bolts of pure energy
illuminated the clouds
tiny supernovas in the sky

Thunder rolled, lightning struck
the air grew cold 
as the winds picked up
and the barrage began

What could I say after it was done
years of dreams lay shattered
like the shards of glass
strewn across the floor

I am reminded that
the important things in life
aren't things at all
and all we have is right now
this tiny moment in time
to be together and it is enough
so we rise and begin ... again

Til next time ~Stay trippy hippies ~JP

Washing Day

Washing Day

I hung out the washing today
just like I learned in Kaikoura
where any day with sunshine
is washing day

Everything dried quickly
in the summer sun
before the air got sticky and
clouds rolled in

As I began to gather everything
to take inside for folding
I noticed, how I hold your shirts
a little longer

I fold them last, touching them
for as long as I can
before they are consigned
to closets and drawers

It reminds me that once in awhile,
in the middle of an ordinary life
love gives us a miracle
after all, it gave me you

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

Stream — a Quadrille

A stream rejoining the Willamette River

WhimsyGizmo is our host for dVerse Quadrille. De being in Southern Nevada (ooohhh I’m sweating just thinking about it) has asked us for a poem of 44 words including “stream.” I am currently enjoying the relative cool of inland Oregon where streams, creeks, rivers, and lakes are abundant. Ahhhh … sigh. For your perusal, “Stream”

Stream

Thoughts flow through my mind

like this meandering stream

curling into switchbacks

as I watch the crows

fishing in the shallows

raging water once lifted

rocks and boulders

depositing them here

for me to sit upon

while I dip my toes

in cooling water

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

The Taste of Lammas — a first harvest celebration

feral blackberry brambles Westfir, Oregon

For Earthweal’s open link weekend — Happy Lammas

The Taste of Lammas

I hold a peach in my hand
the sweet scent lifts my spirits
with all the promise of summer
blackberries growing wild
sparkle like obsidian jewels
in the dry summer sun
plum butter rich and thick
on a freshly-baked scone
I close my eyes,
the explosion of sensations
color my spirit
as I taste the gifts of Gaia
catching a stray crumb
with my tongue
I sigh with gratitude
and contentment
thank you for the flavors
thank you, thank you, thank you

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

Silence

Silence

The discordant drone of cicadas

like the raspy buzz of high power lines

cars and trucks in monotonous whine

hustle and bustle of coming and going

my sense assaulted by tuneless song

jarring cacophany endless throng

I close my eyes to inner guidance

standing on the ragged edge

praying for a single moment

of silence

We arrived in Cincinnati, Ohio a few weeks ago. Oh lucky me, just in time for the cicada apocalypse. The 17-year cicadas emerged, there were billions of them, everywhere. Yes, at least one got caught in my hair …. eeeeeeekkkkk! (why yes, I do scream and dance around like a little girl). What bothered me the most was the constant noise of the beasties. I also recently read “The Ragged Edge of Silence” by John Francis, so I was more and more shocked at how much “noise” occupies my world and how I yearn for a single silent moment.

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild (quiet but wild)

The Gift of Tiny Things a Crimson Creative Challenge

For Crimson’s Creative Challenge # 133

The Gift of Tiny Things

It is, I think, the tiny things
that often give soul it’s wings
the humming bird in darting flight
fills the heart with pure delight
dandelion offered from a tiny hand
I’ve never seen a gift so grand
a gentle touch, a quiet smile
a laugh, a joke, and all the while
wondering what tomorrow brings
life is lived in the tiny things

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

Crimson’s Creative Challenge 132 — The Power of Water

For Crimson’s Creative Challenge 132

The Power of Water

By the power of water, pure and clean
the world is cleansed of negativity
a hillock adrift in the torrent stream
all that remains of her broken dreams
the Great Mother’s voice whispers
“come child, let me dry your eyes
you aren’t sad because it rains my dear
it rains because you cry”

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP

Through the Lady’s Eyes – a Crimson Creative Challenge

our photo prompt from Crispina Kemp

For Crimson’s Creative Challenge

From Crater Lake Oregon

Through the Lady’s Eyes

Everywhere I go I seem
to find
the Lady’s spirit watching me
Look now, can you not see
the Lady’s face within the tree
or the
feminine forms etched in stone
nature’s hidden ghosts
abiding grace of form
now
look through her eyes
and you just might see
all this world was meant to be

Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild ~JP