After Manchester

You scythed them down in a harvest of hate,
grimly reaping the innocent with shrapnel,
bursting apart hearts already opened by joy,
turning youths’ delight to death.

You claimed to have taken down the crusaders,
yet these young women and men
were not responsible for the acts
of those long ago who were in a battle
perverting three religions
by staging bloody acts of horror
engaging in atrocities unspeakable
self-righteously acting in the names
of their war-blessing gods,
where there could never be any gain
and still today precious little hope of peace.

No, these were innocent children,
these were youngsters and teens
who had yet to learn the hard
cold lessons of adulthood,
despair and disappointment
scuppered dreams and latent wishes
for more and better ways to be,
who would never know
the tender touch of first love,
the delicate holding of a first baby,
the exhilaration of a double first.

Instead,
they rest in morgues in bits and pieces,
or in hospital beds balanced
between life and death,
with shattered limbs and mangled organs,
numbed by drugs sheltering them
from awful truths of agonising realities
they should never have had to learn,
yet to wrestle with the guilt of living on,
stealing forever the survivors’ innocence.

You scythed them down in a harvest of hate,
grimly reaping the innocent with shrapnel,
bursting apart hearts already opened by joy,
turning youths’ delight to death.

Reunion

Near enough to twenty years
since last we saw the other,
first sighted in the shadow
of old Salisbury Cathedral’s
twisted spire with a chill breeze
yanking the flowers
from a short row of horse chestnuts,
extinguishing their candles
under a grey clouded sky,
arms flung out as suitcase dropped
a long-holding hug and whispered tears
melting away time
retracting distance
renewing connection.

Sitting in the cloister
introductions made between
her and my new partner,
three cups of different teas,
mint, hibiscus, camomile,
and then he excused himself
leaving us to reminisce,
indulging in nostalgia
washing between us like tides,
revealing in our sharing
the good days and the dark times
we have each lived
in places far from where we met.

Time stood still,
distance evaporated
stories merged
interests twined,
whilst we sat together,
speaking punctuated
by shared tears and laughter,
hands reaching out to comfort
and affirm deep connections
yet exist between us,
stronger today than we had before.

Alas, our brief time together
came to a close marked by
the striking of the Cathedral’s bells,
and walking to the place of our parting,
we both knew that what we had
will remain and what we have now
will continue to grow
as yet more years tumble behind us,
for our reunion revealed
a deep abiding friendship,
neither of us will leave behind.

The Dawn Quartet

I was wakened by the rain
heard through open windows
pat patter pat beating
like a small tight drum,
then beyond the cloud water’s music
the winged ones began
their chirruping songs
to scores they only know
once the pattered drumming
slowed and ceased.

Head resting on my pillow,
cats eager to see if at
o four hundred I was awake
enough to heed their
presence and desire
to break their nightlong fast,
I heard the morning’s
emerging avian songs,
voices added one on one
the vocal ensemble reached
but four this morn,
no dawn chorus then for me.

Still, I was blessed,
and with a grateful heart
listened to the sweet refrains
of the dawn quartet
to begin my day,
the damp air perfumed,
the ground wet and leaves
bedecked in glistening droplets
after several dry weeks
under a cloud shrouded
breeze bearing sky.

Apple Shedding Blossom

This another breezy day,
twigs twitching
on branches jittering
lifting lightly
as the air sings its enticing song,
flowers follow me
petals join the dance,
release your tender holding
so your fruit may form.

Petal snow the garden
covering delicate
pink tinging white
amid the final cowslips,
forget-me-nots and bluebells,
deepening shade enfolding all,
summer slowly emerging
in the longer sun.

Robins, blue tits,
blackbirds, magpies
swoop though the last
relinquishing blossom,
little wings beating
to their own unheard
internal rhythms,
vanishing and disappearing
in swift movements darting.

Summer,
now that May has had her day,
greens grow darker
working harder,
fruit setting,
light extending
bees alighting,
all the while hour by hour
life meets its challenge
and gifts to us,
all undeserving,
beauty, wonder and delight.

Now I’m Sixty-four

Well, I have been reflecting about being 64 today. I have been ranging back over birthdays past. I have been amazed at how different my life really is now from when I fleeting pondered this age in my twenties and thirties.

I would never have imagined I’d that two husbands would have divorced me. It was inconceivable that I would be living in a country different from that of my birth. To be a vegan was certainly a completely alien notion, even in my California days, although for eight years I was a vegetarian there. None of the assumptions I made about my future in those years is what I am currently living. Those assumptions were much, much narrower and more parochial.

Certainly, in my twenties I never imagined I’d have gone to university (late thirties into my forties) let alone do as well as I did, which was astonishingly well considering my background. In my thirties, I did not entertain the thought that once I plotted a path of vocation that it would not manifest, let alone that I would completely alter my spiritual path and embrace a pagan one.

One thing I take away from these ruminations is that life can never be planned out for a straight from A to Z journey. At least, in my opinion would, to do so would seriously compromise the opportunity for growth and learning. It would hinder the possibility that chance can throw up amazing options and opportunities. It would deny the gift of serendipity and the wonders of risk taking, to whatever extent risk is comfortable.

I rejoice and give thanks that today I have been granted the privilege to be alive, that I am in good health as far as I know, and living in a place that sings to my soul and dances with my spirit. I celebrate having an amazing partner who wants to create with me a Golden Autumn to share together and engage the Mysteries of the Winter of our current passage.

 

 

The Dragon

Today is the day I grieve for the Dragon.

I do not honour the slayer saint, patron of the land I love, for the Dragon here, like the Snake in one of my ancestral lands signify other realities. Yes, dangerous but are we not untamed as well.

For these may indeed pose a threat to the powers of state and church, but they are the realities which sing in my woman-soul and nurture me at levels deep and broad.

This is the day I remember the wild energy of women dead and gone, those live and present, and ponder on those not yet amongst us.

It is a day I hold close the transformative Mother energy of Earth, the raw and raging dynamism of the planet which is so close under foot and seem seldom enough that we try to convince ourselves that our world is a calm and tranquil place.

Today is the day I celebrate the Dragon.

For the Dragon energy lives near us always and no saint could extinguish this potent force resident within our souls.

Let her free to roar again today.

Let her roar to call us to action to protect the land, the trees, the rocks, the rivers.

Let the roaring turn grief into deeds.

Let the roaring turn loss into renewal and regeneration.

Let the roaring turn pain into the hymn of our wild selves singing with the wild Earth, affirming we will be tame and tamed no more.

Let her free to roam again today.