(Note: this was published in the February 2010 edition of Pagan Edge magazine: http://www.paganedge.com/)
Water Meets Air
“I am of the Water,” he said.
He raised his shiny head
above the water-line
and his nostrils flared open
to scent the busy wind.
“I am of the Air,” she said.
She swirled down on a draft
inclined a wing toward him
and inhaled his salty tang;
she hovered beyond his reach.
“I've been told to marry my kind,”
he explained. “I've been admonished
'Keep your thoughts here--in
our liquid realm--where you are
sustained, where you are nourished
and kept safe.' ”
He disdainfully shot a blast of water in the air.
She eyed his magnificent scales,
marveled at his streamlined shape
and ached to touch his sleek body.
She buzzed her wings in agreed displeasure.
“I've been told to marry my kind,”
she responded. “I've been scolded
'Keep your future in sight! Your
destiny lies in the sky, among the clouds
with your kin, where you are cherished,
where you are safe.' ”
She cawed her resentment to the heavens.
He drank her in with his eyes,
those lovely curves; graceful wings--
to lose himself in her embrace...
He slapped at a wave in frustration.
“I am the Water!” He proclaimed,
“But I burn who cannot burn;
I fly who cannot breathe the air for long,
I thirst to be joined with you.”
“I am the Air!” She responded in kind.
“But I soar aimlessly; my keen eyes
never settling on my desire;
my dreams for you floating helplessly away.”
She landed next to him on a seaweed-strewn rock.
Eye found eye; fin to wing they touched.
He wondered at the wind through her soft, strong feathers;
She admired the sturdy grace of him.
“When,” she whispered hoarsely, “can Air and Water dare to join?”
Her eyes sparkled with salty tears.
“In future times,” he answered tightly, “our kin shall finally see...
that Water and Air are but two poles on one continuum--
that the poles are not fixed, and the continuum but a circle.”
“In future times,” she echoed, picking up his thoughts,
“our kin shall know the truth-—that Air and Water are but
two elements among many, and there is strength and wisdom
in combining the best of all.”
In the darkening sky above,
lightening snaked across the orange clouds;
and the ancient rock stood in silent witness.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Poetry--"Her Heart is Deep" written this past Spring
Her Heart is Deep
I know this woman, and her heart is deep.
She loves long and laughs hard--
and sometimes loves hard and laughs long.
She folds those she loves into long, soft embraces;
kisses her children with sweet chocolate kisses;
and pulls others in with her smile.
But her heart is deep; and it resonates with echoes of times past.
In the well of her heart, she held promises of love; fanciful dreams;
plotted courses through her present; made maps for the future.
(But the terrain was unknown, and unscrupulous men plotted to lead her astray.)
And her deep heart was too kind to know this.
With her scars and new-found knowledge;
she set forth for other lands. Her eyes shone like fog lights;
cutting through the swirling mists and calling lovers to her side like a siren...
But her bruised heart was deep; and kind men left pieces of themselves there;
could not fully find their way back from her depths...
(She did not really have control of her heart then--and could wield it as a weapon.)
And for this she now sorrows.
In her cryptic heart she learned to find refuge from all sorts of intimacies--
(But her heart was deep, and it was hard to see this.)
She had learned to protect her heart--
And with her brave face and her compassion and her loving ways;
no one knew the depths of her heart; and no one saw her secret pain.
But now the woman has learned to laugh again; love again; cry tears of joy--
But her heart is deep; and it carries those secret scars and holds arcane secrets.
You can not see these from the surface...
Because to see her now is to behold love...
Children seek comfort in her shade;
friends vie for her ear; and lovers wait to lie with her again.
(No one knows that she holds her hands aloft when alone, letting damselflies alight
on her upturned hand; no one knows that in secret,
she can make an unknown cat purr from across a room or alley, simply by staring at it;
no one knows that she catches dandelion fluff on her tongue as if it's ambrosia.)
No one knows her utter contentment in these simple joys--
These are among the secrets she keeps;
In those watery, fertile depths
of her too-deep heart.
I know this woman, and her heart is deep.
She loves long and laughs hard--
and sometimes loves hard and laughs long.
She folds those she loves into long, soft embraces;
kisses her children with sweet chocolate kisses;
and pulls others in with her smile.
But her heart is deep; and it resonates with echoes of times past.
In the well of her heart, she held promises of love; fanciful dreams;
plotted courses through her present; made maps for the future.
(But the terrain was unknown, and unscrupulous men plotted to lead her astray.)
And her deep heart was too kind to know this.
With her scars and new-found knowledge;
she set forth for other lands. Her eyes shone like fog lights;
cutting through the swirling mists and calling lovers to her side like a siren...
But her bruised heart was deep; and kind men left pieces of themselves there;
could not fully find their way back from her depths...
(She did not really have control of her heart then--and could wield it as a weapon.)
And for this she now sorrows.
In her cryptic heart she learned to find refuge from all sorts of intimacies--
(But her heart was deep, and it was hard to see this.)
She had learned to protect her heart--
And with her brave face and her compassion and her loving ways;
no one knew the depths of her heart; and no one saw her secret pain.
But now the woman has learned to laugh again; love again; cry tears of joy--
But her heart is deep; and it carries those secret scars and holds arcane secrets.
You can not see these from the surface...
Because to see her now is to behold love...
Children seek comfort in her shade;
friends vie for her ear; and lovers wait to lie with her again.
(No one knows that she holds her hands aloft when alone, letting damselflies alight
on her upturned hand; no one knows that in secret,
she can make an unknown cat purr from across a room or alley, simply by staring at it;
no one knows that she catches dandelion fluff on her tongue as if it's ambrosia.)
No one knows her utter contentment in these simple joys--
These are among the secrets she keeps;
In those watery, fertile depths
of her too-deep heart.
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