Wild Words: Ferociously Nourishing Poetry

Nativity

12/27/2020

What if...
inside of you right now there was
the precious treasured long-awaited radiant beloved You,
just waiting to be born...

Photo by Robert Rowen-Herzog, 2007.

No man reaches where the moon touches a woman.
Even the moon leaves her when she opens
Deeper into the ripple in her womb
That encircles dark, to become flesh and bone.

Someone is coming ashore inside her,
A face deciphers itself from water,
And she curves around the gathering wave,
Opening to offer the life it craves.

In a corner stall of pilgrim strangers,
She falls and heaves, holding a tide of tears.
A red wire of pain feeds through every vein,
Until night unweaves and the child reaches dawn.

Outside each other now, she sees him first,
Flesh of her flesh, her dreamt son safe on earth.

- John O-Donohue

Annunciation, for Winter Solstice

12/20/2020

Painting by Kelly Hall.
Used with permission.

Even if I don't see it again--nor ever feel it
I know it is--and that if once it hailed me
it ever does--
And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction
not as towards a place, but it was a tilting
within myself,
as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where
it isn't--I was blinded like that--and swam
in what shone at me
only able to endure it by being no one and so
specifically myself I thought I'd die
from being loved like that.

- Marie Howe

Make Love with the Earth

12/13/2020

What if......our immune systems are not systems of war designed to protect, fight and defend but instead beautiful systems for integrating, one-ing, making love with all of nature?

What if......Mother Nature is silently, patiently waiting to hold you, to nurture you?

Make love
with the Earth.

Let her
have her way
with you.

Let her caress
your naked feet,
crawl up into your clothes.

Better yet,
slip them off
and let them fall
like leaves
to the ground,

so she can behold
your soft, animal skin,
your naked glory.

Let yourself be undone.

Lie with your belly
on her belly.

Inhale her heady aroma.
Give yourself to her.

Let her mark you
with her rich, fertile scent,
the scent of life itself.

Let her whisper
dark, moist secrets
to you,

awakening
the beautiful
wild animal
slumbering
deep inside you.

Let her
remind you
who
you really are.

- Kai Siedenburg

The Dream in the Garden

12/6/2020

Huge thanks to Wild Words' first
guest poet, reader and artist!
Francesca Preston
www.francescapreston.com

clothespins in elderberry ink
print by Francesca Preston

if music is the sound of fingertips
hitting a jug
in which someone once
carried water

mother
what purpose
in my growing beyond
your dream of my birth?

many times i’ve watched you
have it, the dream in the garden
where i emerge:

an old wooden clothespin
with cornsilk hair

you clip me to your breast then,
as if to jumpstart it

and after throw me away
for a reason i have not yet figured out

mother i was born with a body
thickly settled, dense
as a pomegranate

not a fruit steeped in the syrup
it will taste of

i was already hard
with the things
i had selected for myself

inside you i was
choosing and discarding
without lifting
a finger, i was

like the girl
in the department
store, deciding what
to steal

- Francesca Preston

Nativity

Annunciation, for Winter Solstice

Make Love with the Earth

The Dream in the Garden

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Nativity

Annunciation, for Winter Solstice

Make Love with the Earth

The Dream in the Garden

Archives

Categories

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