Falling word fragments, scribbled on scraps of paper, bits and pieces of my soul
Today I vividly recall
The embrace of the grim reaper
Today I remember the sharp nick
Of his kiss upon my soul
His passion distracts me
From the Truth
Life is too fleeting and fragile
To remain face down
Spewing out mouthfuls of dirt
©️2019 MW ❣️
Cheers and L’chayim to dVerse and Whimsygizmo. We are writing quadrilles (44 word poems) using the word “nick”…meaning steal, timeliness (nick of time), small cut or scratch.
A new bard on the WP block that will speak to the depth and breadth of your soul. I love the power, passion and poignancy of his words!
The Passion of Her
__________________________
In the stillness of the house
Uncertain echoes of past lives
Mingle in odd intervals of her muse
On life and its meanings,
Interlaced in the hollow sounds;
The forced memory of dead traditions.
No more coffee and TV,
Frittering to life the engines of dawn.
She tries to glimpse the house
A room full of mirrors
No point of view of heaven and earth
All faces new moons in gravity to her.
The husband buried in lawyers,
Interned her son in clay urns smashed to earth.
Did they watch her through
The banal conversations
The technology of gender
On buying guns and hunting trips?
Her body seems off limits to her
Uncontrollable, yet hostile to desire.
She could tell them tales of her father
Roaming the New Mexico hinterlands,
Poaching rattlesnakes, lynching Mexicans
Hearts on fire at dawns blood red sun.
The UFO alerts…
View original post 91 more words
The past is a frozen tundra
Immovable and unchangeable
There is only now
This present moment
To live in the knowledge
I have gained
I allow the past
To drift away
On the ocean of tears
I have cried over marks
I have missed
And cherished dreams
I have failed to
To manifest
Today I make peace
With the Present
And arise from the frigid waters
Frozen fingers aching to weave
A new beginning
From all the frayed ends.
©️ 2018 All Rights Reserved
The bridges you’ve burned smolder behind me
Staining the innocence of a bright new day
Through the thick, dark smoke of brokenness
I see the outline of new bridges [to jump from, cross over or burn to ashes]
Shimmering and swaying in the distance,
Whispering promises that make a mockery of my fears
Looking over my shoulder one last time
I see the bridge where you faltered
Refusing to cross over onto solid ground with me
Within the blink of an eye it vanishes
A mere specter in the realm of what could have been
Before you succumbed to your predilection
For gasoline and matches
© 2018 All Rights Reserved
L’chaim and cheers to OLN at dVerse and our gracious host, Grace.
The Serpent Goddess winds up your spine
Wrapping around your wounded heart
Evoking cool ocean breezes
Followed by the heat of the desert sun
A wild taste of freedom shoots upward
Engaging every inch of your existence
In a sensual dance
Droplets of blood rain fall steadily
Washing away all your pain
Colors flash through your cerebral cortex
Fiery red flashes of anger
Indigo black ripples of peace
Sea green waves of bitterness
Amber orange rays of hope
You become an Old World lizard
A hungry panther
An Indian Star tortoise bridging heaven and earth
An angel with steely wings
Swoops in
Challenging your beliefs
Pitting itself against your humaneness
Pressing sharp talons into your flesh
Shape-shifting
You become billows of smoke
Purging and cleansing
Your tortured soul
You are a crystal clear river now
Flowing fiercely and freely
Calmly and powerfully
Kundalini’s work is done
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
Connecting the Mystical Dots:
Kundalini (the Hindu Serpent Goddess) rests like a coiled serpent at the base of the spine. When her dormant energy is released, it flows upward through the seven chakras, leading to an intensely cathartic process and deeply altered states of consciousness, known as a Kundalini Awakening.
In Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism), the serpent exists to reveal our ego-centric illusions and awaken us to the false narratives which block our access to Expanded Consciousness (mochin d’gadlut), Divinity and Self-Repair.
L’chaim and cheers to Open Link Night at dVerse and our gracious host, Grace.
I dwell in shade
Engulfed by grays
No color palette to
Enliven my days
Shadows take hold
Where my life enfolds
I have no rainbows
To enliven my soul
All my words drift
Into soundless mist
I look into the mirror
And I don’t exist
I have no face
I’ve been erased
All that I am is pain-filled space
© 2017 Mother Wintermoon
For D’verse and host Lillian, using “shades” as our inspiration.
A black cat mewls piteously
upon my gravestone
the stench of decay
fills my nostrils
unearthly roots encircle my legs
smoke
sulfur
excrement
the alchemy of hell
turns my soul into
acrid rain
wizening
eroding
decomposing
soil blackens my lips
as i begin this descent
into the underworld
where fire consumes my shame
Underground II
Risen and fallen
a lone candle burns
upon my tombstone
a feral cat scratches at my grave
roses wither on the vine
as the goddess of the underworld
invokes my name
pain is my destiny
into the bowels of oblivion
i accept my fate
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
Cheers to Open Link Night at dVerse and our host, BodhiRose (Gayle). My poems are inspired by the Underground theme hosted by PaulScribbles.
Into this hallowed chamber,
harshness enters,
bruising my knees,
weighing down my outstretched arms,
despair descends,
as icicles in frozen air,
angels witness,
etched into panels of stained glass,
taunting voices whisper,
mocking my faith,
drowning out the chorus of prayers.
The face of your image looms,
burned into my naked flesh,
i arise! in defiance of,
this sham salvation,
the angels shiver,
trembling against fragile glass,
shattering the panes,
into bright pieces
of sharpened resolve.
© 2016 All Rights Reserved ~
Cheers and L’chaim to dVerse and Bjorn. Our prompt is to work the shadows of light and dark.
Forsaken supplication,
slivers of fractured sunlight,
filtered through stained glass,
warming her fragile flesh~
Swaying with bended knees,
in this primordial House of God,
walls whispering tales of ancient lust~
Encased in prayer she awaits,
invocations in The Holy Tongue,
escaping unbidden from her lips~
Her soul cries for release and vindication,
corporeal scars uncovered,
her robes turned to ashes and dust~
The Bride enters,
a likeness cloaked in amber shadows,
formed from shards of brokenness~
Secrets of suffering revealed,
in rivulets of tears,
carving patterns,
into time worn stone
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
Lexicon:
Cheers and l’chayim to OLN at dVerse Poet’s Pub and Mish, who used the expression “If walls could talk” as our inspiration.
specter of death along a deserted road
the demise of autumn’s reap and sow
ghostly branches of barren trees
eerie hushed babble of glacial streams
icy claws clinging to niveous graves
townspeople gathered in a shadowed nave
the shivery blush of a winter kiss
frostbitten petals of bitter cold bliss
long hair adorned with icicles
crystalline footprints in the snow
waning light of a gibbous moon
north wind howling a song of doom
frozen in time she awaited his return
upon the hearth they placed her urn
© Mother Wintermoon 2016
Cheers to dVerse Poet’s Pub and bard, Bjorn. We are prompted to be inspired by the song-writing imagery of singer/songwriter Bob Dylan. Mr. Dylan, 75, is the first musician to win the Nobel Prize in Literature award.
I interpreted the tale of “Girl From The North Country” in my words. Didn’t you wonder what happened to her? Now you know! Dylan’s lyrics below:
If you’re traveling the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
For she once was a true love of mine.
If you go when the snowflakes storm
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see if she has a coat so warm
To keep her from the howlin’ winds.
Please see if her hair hangs long
If it rolls and flows all down her breast
Please see for me if her hair’s hanging long
For that’s the way I remember her best.
I’m a-wonderin’ if she remembers me at all
Many times I’ve often prayed
In the darkness of my night
In the brightness of my day.
So if you’re travelin’ the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was the true love of mine
You are wholeness,
You are exquisiteness,
You are a dazzling jewel of delight.
There is an entire universe,
Contained in the smallest speck
Of your corporeal life.
No matter how broken you feel,
No matter how many times you have shattered,
You are a crystal of Divine radiance.
Continuing to reflect and refract,
Many whispered wisps of light.
You are a lamplight of the Divine.
You are a guardian of goodness.
You are Holy Sparks waiting to ignite.
You are a luminous being,
You are a rainbow after the rain,
You are the wondrous sparkle
Within the sacred veil of night.
© Mother Wintermoon 2016
Cheers to dVerse and our host, Lillian. We are evoking the energy of the words “razzle, dazzle and sparkle,” using one, all, or none of the words in our work.
I
Feathers floating…
Falling…
II
Sharp talons scratching
At my thoughts
III
Feathers drifting down
Engulfing me
In a cloud of raven black
IV
My words are wings and claws
The color of the midnight sky
V
Feathers soft and sharp
Powerful and fragile
Dipped into my inkwell
Scratch, scratch, scratch
VI
My words are wings and claws
My thoughts are velvety feathers
As dark as the blue-black sky
VII
I am the Morrigan
Protector and stormy pathway
Shape-shifting Goddess
Of fate and death
VIII
I am the Morrigan
Traversing dimensions
Goddess of prophesy,
Night, magic, and revenge
IX
I carry souls
Within my inky wings
To be rebirthed
At my behest
X
Feathers drifting down
Plumose onyx
My thoughts are wings and claws
My words are the midnight sky
© 2016 All Rights Reserved
The Morrigan is a shape-shifting Celtic Goddess of War, Death and Fate. She is the patroness of night, magic, revenge and prophecy and presides over rivers and lakes. She is identified with the raven and is sometimes known as The Raven Goddess.
Cheers to dVerse and our host Bjorn. We’re delving into cubism as a poetry form, where many small poems are written on the same object with a shift of perspective, that provides context as a whole.
A mere shadow of my former self
Moves invisibly through rooms full of people
Existing on a plane rarely detectable to others
Slipping into a sea of inky darkness
My sliver of a shadow cries
Remembering how she once dreamed
Of emerging to greatness
© 2016 All rights reserved
A quadrille for dVerse with our host, De. “Shadow” is our inspiration.
In loving memory of Cecil the magnificent lion and Harambe, the rare and majestic silverback gorilla, whose lives were ended by humans.
mankind, I shall see you again
standing at the entrance to the
Rainbow Bridge
waiting for direction
feet traversing stepping stones
on a new horizon
where Spirit will awaken
the drumbeat of sorrow
at what you have wrought
tears shall overflow your eyes
as you behold our magnificence
your soul will tremble
with the cadence of pain
as you gaze upon the Medicine Wheel
you have desecrated
and the feather of the Great Spirit
you have so carelessly trampled ~
here, within the Sacred Hoop
we are your teachers
we are your healers
we are the stewards of your fate
© Mother Wintermoon 2016
raindrops glistening
like diamonds
mined from human tears
her faith turned into
an empty closet full of lies
broken promises
amassing
into piles of old bones ~
Listening in vain
for familiar footsteps
throwing the feathers
of broken wings
into the fireplace
transforming them
into smoke signals
singeing the sunset
with Her name
© 2016 All rights reserved.
A plea for succor from the Shekhina, the Divine Feminine Earth Mother and indwelling presence of the Divine in Judaism/Jewish mysticism. The Shekhina is our redemption from the underworld – meaning our dark nights of the soul.
Cheers and L’chaim to dVerse and poet Victoria. Our word of the day is “feathers.”
Open
your golden heart to me
Unfurl
your bruised roots
Let me whisper
your soul
into bloom
Open
your violet hues to me
Let me taste
your crimson pain
With every piercing thorn
on your stem
I bleed life
into your wilted soul
© 2016 all rights reserved
Quadrille #16 for dVerse, hosted by Victoria, who prompts us to open to our inner muse using the word “open” in our 44 words.
