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Come with me into the expansive gift of poetry to experience a disruption of habitual ways of thinking and perceiving. The magic of poetry happens when it is spoken, heard and felt as vibrations in your body.

In this blog I offer you heartfelt, homemade recordings of some of my favorite poems. I invite you also to spend time with their pulsing vibrations and pregnant pauses, to savor the luscious sensual syllables on your tongue, and to feel the subtle changes in your being as you play with the poems.

Listen, read and then slowly speak them out loud. The medicine of poetry will endlessly surprise and delight you as a portal into your own wild multidimensionality!

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Hawks

3/13/2022

 
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​for Luna

It was late afternoon and we were standing
on the deck overlooking the gray swath
of the Pacific, when my friends’ daughter,
then four, turned to me and pointed at the hawks
flying in the distance. I can call them if I want,
she said, tilting back her head to let out a long,
fierce caw, which floated up over the marsh
and above the trees. At first, nothing. Then--
a slash in the distance. And in the next moment
there it was—nearly above us, wings spread wide,
the color of rust. And then, another, the two floating
in silent circles while she sounded her cries.
The primal cry of the human, raw and plain.
The call to prayer, the weeping at the wall,
the singer’s highest, most broken, note.
Whatever it is we send up into oblivion, waiting.
Haven’t I, too, called out? Haven’t I beseeched
something winged to do my bidding?
And here she was, calling, and here they came,
in answer, this hinged assembly, hovering
toward us on the wind. Ten? Twenty?
Enough to darken the heavens above
where we stood, weighted in place, pinned
by a cover of raptors. Bone swallowers,
snake eaters, sharp-sighted angels of prey,
their scaled feet clutching the empty sky.

​    - Danusha Lameris

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Another Antipastoral

8/1/2021

 
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Foolish Goat Woman by evesthename@VSCO.co

I want to put down what the mountain has awakened.

My mouthful of grass.
My curious tale.  I want to stand still but find myself moved patch by patch.
There's a bleat in my throat.  Words fail me here.  Can you understand?  I sink to
my knees tired or not.  I now know the ragweed from the goldenrod, and the blinding
beauty of green.  Don't you see?  I am shedding my skins.  I am a paper hive, a wolf-spider,
the creeping ivy, the ache of a birch, a heifer, a doe.  I have fallen from my dream
of progress:  the clear-cut glass, the potted and balconied tree, the lemon-waxed
wood over a marbled pillar, into my own nocturne.  The lullabies I had forgotten.
How could I know what slept inside?  What would rend my fantasies to cud and up
from this belly's wet straw-strewn field-
                                                                            these soundings.

​    - Vievee Francis

Aunt Leaf

7/11/2021

 
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Shapeshifter Night by Shauna Crandall.


Needing one, I invented her – – –
the great-great-aunt dark as hickory
called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud
or The-Beauty-of-the-Night.

Dear aunt, I’d call into the leaves,
and she’d rise up, like an old log in a pool,
and whisper in a language only the two of us knew
the word that meant follow,

and we’d travel
cheerful as birds
out of the dusty town and into the trees
where she would change us both into something quicker – – –
two foxes with black feet,
two snakes green as ribbons,
two shimmering fish – – – and all day we’d travel.

At day’s end she’d leave me back at my own door
with the rest of my family,
who were kind, but solid as wood
and rarely wandered. While she,
old twist of feathers and birch bark,
would walk in circles wide as rain and then
float back

scattering the rags of twilight
on fluttering moth wings;

or she’d slouch from the barn like a gray opossum;

or she’d hang in the milky moonlight
burning like a medallion,

this bone dream, this friend I had to have,
this old woman made out of leaves.

    – Mary Oliver

Chimera

6/6/2021

 
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She's not "maternal," she's dangerous.
                                   - Jamaal May


I have no charms.  Admittedly.
No gold comb can move through
This mane.  My skin is not translucent.
Mine is a tail to fear.  I know.
And though a mother may destroy,
She too sees fit to create beauty
That would eventually grow into forms
I would swallow if I gave in
To my hungers.  Nothing will come
Of this womb.  But, up from my wounds--
From this goat's body--
Up from my wood-smoke lungs, from
The milk of me, comes a song, a melody
To open yours, then lick them clean.

    - Vievee Francis
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You didn't come here to get mangled

3/7/2021

 
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Painting by Rashani Rea

You didn't come here to get mangled
by the gleaming machinery of the Mind.
You didn't come here to get welded and forged into a
Republican, Democrat, Sunni or Shi'a,
to get angry at your jagged shadow in broken glass,
or see your own reflection as approaching disaster.
You came to be astonished by a dust mote.
You came to find the Maker of all things
embodied in a dandelion.
You are here to be torn by laughter and pain,
then healed by the tang of a berry
on your wild tongue.
There are no right angles, no straight lines
in the serpent body of the earth.
Valleys, rivers, and hills are the only borders.
Dark-eyed Mother Raven looks down
and sees them as restless waves in the ocean
of Holy Matter.
What makes this planet sacred
is the unfinished circle, not the wall.
What guides us is the wayless curve
in a labyrinth of fallen alder leaves after the storm,
a cloud that stains the soft rice paper sky,
brushstroke of geese in flight.
Why waste another moment arguing
for or against
when you could slip back down a beam
of breath, soft as moonlight,
into the silent radiance you Are?

-  Alfred K. LaMotte

The Serpent

9/6/2020

 
Picture
Moving Through The Void, 2012 by Mandie Cline.
Used with permission.



​It's not about becoming a slithering "Goddess" wearing feathers in your hair... 

Its not about the "power" of how enchanting you can seem 

When you swirl those hips and hypnotize the wild eyes of oh so many men...

You must shed those pretty layers

Peel off the skin of your appearance

Unravel your addiction to performance 

Drop beneath the surface 

Feel the ripple of that current that lives underneath

In the Deep...

You see...

There is a Supple Secret in the Serpent of your Spine. 

A Liberation Revealed

A key inside a hidden lock 

Nestled in the space between your Vertebrae

Sssssssssssssssss

Yes. 

Do you know the Truth that was whispered into Eve's ear? 

The one that turned Heaven and Earth inside out? 

Sssssssssssssssssss

This is not about the glamour of your performance
Or... 
The indulgence of a pleasure that is sticky sweet like candy

You have known Drunkenness 

But have you ever been Awake inside the nectar? 

Sober and Lucid in the Fullness of Love? 

It's in the cracks in between. 

Known only through language of circle and spiral.

Unlocked with the key of that twisting bending S.

Yes. 

Infinity lives here. 

Inside the tiniest drop of subtlety. 

Known through the technology 

Embedded in your spine.

No, not Ma Kundalini.

This is even before that.

Older than ancient.

The Holy Grail. 

The chalice of Fulfillment. 

The apple of crazy wisdom. 

You contain the portal. 

You hold the key. 

Vastness. 

Power. 

Liquid Everlasting Love. 

Heaven on Earth is Here. 

The Serpent knew. 

She knows. 

But it isn't what you think.

Of course, it never is.....

The truth has been buried in the Deep Underground

The Resurrection begins now. 

In the secret garden 

Hidden in your Spine

     ~ Maya Luna 

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    Xochi Trout
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  • Home
  • Services
    • The Emotion Code & The Body Code
    • Biodynamic Craniosacral Therapy
    • Breathwork Intensive
    • Mentoring
    • Death Midwifery & Home Funeral Guide
    • Animal Healing
    • Quantum Touch
    • Reconnective Healing
  • IGNITION: Exploring Sacred Sensuality
  • Wild Words Poetry Blog
  • Ecos de la Marea Cave Ceremonies
  • About
    • About Xochitl
    • Spiritual Midwifery
    • Client Experiences
  • Events
    • Workshops
    • Ceremonies
  • Location & Fees
  • Contact