A Saloon of Pure Twilight

 

 

 

 

My womb is a saloon of pure twilight,

yet the lamp of breaking dawn.

Longing for no fruit like bitter apples,

but for all the daughters and the sons.

Recalling a colder winter, my mind holds doubt

like an axe that cuts the cord.

Yet, my heart is a crafty weaver

mending together all the fabrics

whether tattered or even torn.

Then one day I gave birth to an ocean

in the shipwreck of my days,

and I let go of sorrows lonely helm

reaching out my hands to pray.

Now my hips have beheld eternity.

The echo of eons past, yet future’s song.

For my womb is a saloon of pure twilight,

and the lamp of breaking dawn.

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List #13 (Gordon Lightfoot)

Image Source Photo by Rachel Claire from Pexels

Dear Grandmother

 

"Natural Woman" Digital Collage Art "Covid Creations" by Susie Clevenger

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #146

 

My debt to you, Belovèd,

Is one I cannot pay

In any coin of any realm

On any reckoning day...

~Jessie B. Rittenhouse

 

It was freedom to know you

like sky is to land

you were someone else’s garden

but still flowers within my hand

to hear your voice was bird’s song

 whispered among the trees

the echo of true moonlight

that lit the path before my feet

there is a might in yearning

that carries stars to distant lands

makes men sail across oceans

where a boy becomes a man

a woman can bear more things

 than children from within her hips

she carries and nests the home of generations

from callused knees and prayers on lips

It was freedom to know you

like open cages are to wings

you let me find my voice

and then taught me how to sing. 

Deep Rooted Trees

Pixabay on Pexels

Linking with Toni's wonderful prompt Wed Muse # 10 ~Shinrin Yoku

Shinrin Yoku is the Japanese term for forest bathing.  It is the healing way of forest therapy.

Today Toni is asking us to write about how trees soothe our spirit.  It is about healing, peace, and calm.

Come join us!

My grandmother loved the sound of a running spring

As she puffed on a cigarette in her recliner chair

My mother loved all things wild and free

Like beetles berries and an untamed mare

I love a walk into groups of deep-rooted trees

Sinking in greenery with my soul head first

It is the only place to leave behind my worries

No more skyscrapers only tree trunks and dirt

Where grass grows high and tickles your skin

As you move inward to the middle of gone

It is a journey that never ends

As the song bird follows with yet another song

My grandmother’s journey was not mine to see

My mother’s path was hers all alone

For I love a walk into groups of deep-rooted trees

And that is where my soul finds a deeper home.

Planted in Belonging

"Ireland" by Emily Soto, fashion photographer


Linking with The Sunday Muse for Muse # 44 and Imaginary Gardens for Season Your Poetry brought to us byToni
come join us!

In search of my mother's garden, I found my own. ~Alice Walker

Running, and searching hard, can be like reaching out to touch the farthest thing with eyes closed tight. It is hard to make progress in a state of chaos and that is what you get when you are running too fast looking for something you have never seen.  The rare and evasive flower of certainty. 

For rare flowers cannot be picked

Nor seen from afar

They must be appreciated

Up close

We all want to thrive

Where we stand

That takes a certain peace

In knowing where we belong

A purpose that is our own to hold

Like a flower seeded by love
in it's perfect season

Meant for us alone

The shoes I fill are not my mothers

She had her own steps to take

The place I call home

Is not my grandmother’s house

But the seeds they both planted

Are the nectar that runs through my veins

I am a bloom in a garden of many

yet at times I get lost looking for a mirror image

In the horizon of who I am
I wander far only to find

I grow best planted in belonging

right where I am.

©Carrie Van Horn 2019