Into the Wilds

I began to dream under

the same raw moon

As the tides that bare down

on fragile flesh

the flesh of my forefathers

There’s blood in the apex

of these stones, calling us

to stitch the wounds

of our own callousness and

fleeting desires

 

I wandered into the wilds,

under sand pine prophets

and oaken kings

I lamented on the nature of our

odorous civilisations, our war machines

and dogmas of oppression

 

The egret and ibis heard my prayer

and came to see

the stranger in their midst

A creature of sorrow and

sickness and greed

But I wandered aloud,

my footsteps bringing me

to piles of rubble that once stood

the test of time

and time is now mine

under the stars of my

newfound fortitude,

this reckless keen edge

of awareness budding to life

inside my sleeping bones

 

I was wary once of travellers

of that forgotten golden realm

Longing to hide in the shadows,

a conscious observer

of the night flights of those fighters

The fighters wringing the life out

of the pockets of creation

 

And I stood there watching

while the memories came

to dance about my head

Spiders spinning webs in my hair

to trickle thoughts of liberation

into my brain

 

I thought once of you,

the way your eyes would move

to judge the very fabric that

weaves our flaws together

I set that memory free

and again turned

to the wilds that so

lovingly called me home

 

I followed a deer growing thick

with fetus in her belly,

asked after the hymns

that so wind their way around

and through

beast and tree,

and she told me to listen

 

So I listened to the gathering dusk,

the crickets’ music

transforming my soul

and then I was no longer afraid

of growing old

so I climbed into the crook

of a giant’s sheltering limbs

and I ate nothing but

what I could catch in

trembling hands

 

I sacrificed my self into

the hunt for this wealth

This need to resurrect

what once was a feral heart

I stopped playing prey and

found sanctuary

in the blood of the earth

the blood of reptile skin

and spear pointed teeth

as I became a solitary predator

 

I dug into the midnight soil

seeking a space to sink my roots

to wait and trap any form

any trace of food for my thoughts

I wanted to grow wisdom

I wanted to relearn that

Mother tongue of soil

Muscle and memory

the language of the land’s

savage composition

 

I wandered the forest,

aching to be found among the palmettos

a dying breed of mystic

planting seeds and craving

all things that a human craves

when burning that all to

cinders and ash

 

I buried myself in the darkness

among cypress knees and Spanish moss

Letting nightcrawlers sing me to sleep

I wondered then what it would mean

if I chose to stay

if I chose to let myself forget

to be human for awhile

 

So I tore from myself

small strips of regret

and tied the cloth of those sins

to a dogwood tree

I cried at the wrath of the earth

calling for my explanations

of falling off the edge of this world

So long ago, now, it seems

 

I entered the badlands

of buzzing insects, leeches

and steam

I let myself go back that way again

and found the answer to that riddle:

 

I was never really me.

Advertisements

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.

.

.

.

+LJ

To remember

What is it to hold memories? What is it we feel when stepping silently among the graves of people who once felt what we feel, who once loved as we love?

As the light half of the year is nearly gone, I seek the spirit of truth among the trees. I seek the enlightenment, the means to remember the calling that stitches itself to the strands of my DNA.

The need for flight and otherwordly observation is budding within a body which longs for transcendence, longs for a memory of where she’s been.

Mysteries are buried in the stone, and it’s a difficult thing, ignoring the fluttering of thoughts jumbled together within a mind trying for solitude. The dead offer peace, tranquil cerulean dreams. I seek within the shades of the earth, and find myself attached to this meaning.

The meaning between Life and Death and everything woven within.

St. John’s River

There’s just something about Florida rivers. The lazy meandering of hidden currents, the tranquil relief the waters offer at the end of an extraordinarily hot day.

20160705_201854

The spirits of the rivers of Florida aren’t ordinarily sought out, but they’re no less potent than Ocean, Great Lake, or Sea; the soft drifting melody of the river’s voice is enough to cleanse and renew just as a wild tempest sea roaring ashore in crashing waves.

This I came to love about Florida’s rivers: that calm surface hiding worlds of knowledge just beneath, a surface smooth as glass, reflecting the earth and sky above it.

Response to the Daily Post Daily Prompt–Glass

 

the Sea Goddess

She felt the rise in her belly, the swell of excitement that could only be found within crashing waves.

She let herself be pulled, a calling with more depth and more intensity than mere curiosity.

He took her hand in his and led her to where the sea meets the earth, asking her to dive down deep under those dark waves. He looked back to her face, fearing to see trepidation in her eyes.

But he gazed into the grey of her eyes, grey that matched the rising surf, and he saw wonder.

IMG_20160705_215436

She let him lead her down to the shore, down to let the rolling foam greet their toes.

She smiled to him, a shy crook of the mouth that set his heart to racing.

He knew then, in that moment, that he would make her his queen. He would let her choose, though, and let her roam freely between sea and stone.

He moved her onward into the rising tide, never letting go of her slender hand. And every time he turned to look after her, she pushed him ever onward with the shine in her eyes and the curve of her lips.

Together they entered the sea, down down down into the murky depths of his watery domain. Down to the realm of selkies and sirens, down to the gates of his hall in the heart of the ocean.

She breathed the deep blue of salt water into her lungs, and was transformed.

IMG_20160705_212739

Seals and rays greeted her in welcome, dolphins swam playfully around in large pods, their smiling faces belying their pleasure at her coming.

She rejoiced in her newfound freedom, her newly acquired underwater flight.

She had come home.

 

 

 

~Líadan Rán