She
wears
white,
one leg tucked beneath her,
chin resting on the bent knee of the other.
Her hands rest, one palm up
to receive,
one palm down
to give.
From her fingers flow
ten
rivers
of calm.
Knowing is not all.
Understanding is not enough.
Being
is.
photo courtesy of Imani Clovis via Unsplash
the moon changes tides,
feeds vampire energy —
hot tongue on bare skin
raw, frantic, panting crush of power
delirious, moaning blood wisdom
time:
mad soul
chaos breath
bitter light
delirious death —
the rusted language
of a fragile eternity
Wind tastes darkly
of wild spirit
a hunt of shadow and light
dragons play in hot mist
fragile dreams fly
crash, recover
shake themselves alive
Moon Mother chanting cool water
a delicate storm path
the rain’s journey
I swim in
warm
strong
deep
comfort like skin, a gentle blue water gift
a flowing heart flood
I hear a thousand laughing
sea tongues
sing spirit medicine
transforming dancing light
into a still lake of peace
I have about seven different magnetic poetry sets. Some of them are stuck to my ‘fridge, where I pause now and again to clear my head when I’m working. Some of them to metal boards I hung on the inside of my bedroom closet so I can create while I’m watching the sunset.
I’ll often just photograph them and send them out to instagram to live (@willowstone11). But sometimes I use them as “starts” and edit them a little and post them here.
If I like what I “find.”
First: “Gift to a Dry Land.”
Small Conceits 