Poetry

Elderfire

Posted on May 29, 2019 in Poetry, Uncategorized

Elderfire

Fire crackling through my veins so I bristle to leave
The hearth stone cold,
Abandon home.
No sustaining cauldron of richly bubbling stew to nourish
Starving mouths and bones that crave flesh.
I stir secretly that fire behind things,
Seen only in fleeting shadows that flare and flicker and then reform so they wonder if that glare
Was really there or just
A trick of the light,

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The Gift

Posted on Dec 3, 2018 in Poetry

The Gift by Semele XerriI wrote this poem a week ago as a stream of consciousness exercise after some inner journeying which involved listening to poetry read aloud during a sacred women’s circle. It poured out of me after a particularly busy few weeks that had been dominated by my “adult” responsibilities, and I realised in this beautiful breathing space that my inner playful child was feeling woefully neglected. It seemed appropriate for this time of year, too, when we find ourselves thinking about other kinds of presents.

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Washerwoman

Posted on Nov 12, 2018 in Poetry

Washer-womanIt’s washing day and She’s switched to heavy soil cycle,
Her determined arms pounding out the stains ingrained through centuries of careless wear.
Muddied water churns relentlessly under her garment grip,
The dirt-brown deluge spewing and spating over boulder-strewn banks
While Her low lament lures the keen ear,
Dripping with loss and neglect, sodden with desire.
She bridges the deserted path along which
We’re headed; there is no other route.

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Strumble Head

Posted on Jul 25, 2018 in Poetry

Strumble HeadWe seem to drift out onto the water,
Towed by our gaze to anchor on the thin horizon.
Our stationary vessel nestled on the clifftop like some overgrown gull,
A modern-day crowsnest for these land-locked sailors.
Surrounded by a second sea of long-stemmed grasses that dip their heads in prayer,

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Holy communion

Posted on Jun 25, 2018 in Poetry

Nature's church at Loch TynSoft spikes of pink yearning toward the sun.
Floral spires raise my eyes and soul to Source,
Their silent bells still sonorous and deep
As the playful breeze turns campanologist.
This is my church. I worship here and now at
The high altar of nature, beneath a vaulted nave
Of heavenly blue and angel-feathered sky.

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