Love was an old brick Road

Once we carried wishes in our mouths, our bleeding hearts choked up on poetry and whiskey, the nostalgia of childhood dreams.

When romance was the ocean calling us down to the shore, we ran in rhythm to the pulse of the waves, and stripped down beyond our naked vulnerability, plunged ourselves deep into the indigo of what we thought we’d have.

When love was an old brick road, we danced in ryhthm to the beat of the setting sun, kissed his feet goodnight and worshipped the moon as she rose.

Love was an old brick road, but somewhere along that path our travel plans unraveled, and I ended up walking alone.

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+LJ

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Pandora’s Birth

I remember waking in the stale air of a cave– a womb inside a desolate earth, but not my earth.
This place was foreign and savage, filled with hate and pain and vast seas of red blooded rage.
There were molten moons rising all around, skeletal greys, pale greens and sickly ambers.
They rose over the horizon of this ethereal alien world to taunt my darkened senses.
I wasn’t relenting, and I refused to grow into those long grooves and veins that encapsulated the faces of Saturn’s lovers. Those straining epitaphs of exploding red suns beating as a broken heart deep down at the bottom of his bottomless ocean.
My skin rebelled against the atmosphere of this crater, crawling with nebulous tides of encroaching ice floes. Thirsty poisonous smog growing thicker with my breathing.
I was stranded. My limbs sank into a giving ghost land, striving to understand this meaningless motion.
Saturn floating under my belly, I tried to take my eyes from the burning red orbs calling forth great tidal waves of an unnameable ocean.
Monstrous moons warped time, warping size, warped a boundary that was totally contrived.
I gave in and observed the monstrous growth of the giant suns, the breathing pulse of their fires, the eternal explosion of life. Now death.
But Life again.
The waves of this changing tide burned red in reflections, calling me out to seek the blue.
The green, the Earth in between.
I gave in and
I made you.

 

 

~Líadan Rán
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[Featured image Pandora’s Cluster, courtesy of HubbleSite.org]

Within tempestuous Nebulae

Stars collide
Within these eyes
Memories seducing
Blood alive
Cosmic shifts
Rip meaning from time…
And I became high
A sweet euphoria
awareness
Pulsating in rhythm
To this
Galactic lullaby

[Featured image: Cone Nebula, star forming region located within the constellation Monoceros; photo courtesy of constellation-guide.com]

I dreamed this dream of wooded Wilds

I dreamed this dream of wooded wilds, dripping moisture in the grey air. The Earth’s many scents release when the rain drops onto pine needles and oak leaves. The pat-pat sound of the rain on the palmetto fronds is familiar in my mind.

I rise from my bed, surrounded by quiet and the familiar hum of the ceiling fan. It is early morning, the hour of in between twilight just before dawn, and I hear a voice. A man’s voice outside. From deep inside the dark cool trees, his voice travels out to me. I know that voice.

I wander out of the house, at odd morning hours. My bare feet padding down the lawn leading to the edge of the woods. I hear a crow, the rain, and his voice calling to me.

So I enter that wild realm of insects, birds, spirits. The wild god who waits for me.

He calls to me again, his voice warm and dark as fertile soil. My pulse thickens inside my skin. Shivers tremble up and down my spine, but still I long to find him.

I wander with soft steps on sacred ground. The smells inundate me, decay and life and rain. I weave through the thick trunks of ancient trees, winding thickets of brush and bole, over roots jutting out on my path.

And then I find him. He waits for me by a stream. The sounds of pipe and drum hit me then, though he holds no instrument in his hands.

His face is unmistakable, though I only ever see it in dreams. He whispers my name, and I approach his perch above the swirling water.

“Look,” he tells me. “Your strength is in this shadow, buried beneath the birch tree.” He smiles a cryptic smile, as a teacher might to his student who is working out the solution to something in her own mind. There are no birch trees here.

He reaches his hands out to me, and I take them in mine. His hands are warm and rough, mine cold and unsure.

He pulls me to his body, his warmth, his earthly knowledge. He smells of pine and soil and the decay of leaves.

His mouth covers my own, and I suck him in, all the scents and senses, the knowledge and heat.

Then I wake. I’ve had this dream before. It’s as if this vision, this dream message and messenger are begging for clarification. And I can’t seem to (or I’m not meant to) decipher it yet. But it’s always the same, always ends before the best part.

I like these dreams though, when I have them. They’re comforting and mysterious, as if my fate can be divined by some dream Being’s mood swings in the ephemeral world.

 

 

[Featured photo found on Pinterest]

Creation

It came of Frost and Flame, borne of the Abyss
Child of Chaos and strife,
solidity and cold determination.
It rose, pale and dark, against the blood red depths
of the Ironclad Earth
Ice and Fire and breath of dust…
…and rain, never-ending rain
Acid, poison, at first killing the weak.
Then the Ocean cleansed the Sky and birthed the Waves
Those that engulfed the Land
Tides of the Moon and Currents kissed by Wind
and Man, mortal Man, lumbers as the Land’s great host
Mountains will rise, and mountains will fall,
and it will be our story that the world will tell
The women, borne of the goddesses of Old, come to birth
the lines of succession

And we will rise, and rise again

 

~Líadan Rán

 

 

 

 

[Featured Image: Star-Forming Region LH95 in the Large Magellanic Cloud courtesy of HubbleSite Photos]