hazy daze drifting through
a forest filled with mists
a shrouded day of
memory's ghosts & steel
careless wraithing
a bone wight shamble
given to the otherside
casting about for home
dewdrops on the pale
naked for the grey
a rumble within shadow
stalking unseen
i stone eye see
wondering at
the fuss of things made
while even more words
make timberfall from
scythed crescent to
sunset canyon walls
no more false assurances
no more casting out lines
this tightrope is far too thin
but this tightrope is mine
step once a million rivers
passing over and by—
careless memory
carry me to night
You’re learning, says Raven. A bit soft in the head, but at least you’re progressing.
I put another piece of kindling in the flames, keeping the fire. It’s fire season in the forest. While there is no big risk of flames causing mass destruction here, of all places, I try to be mindful of the possibility and restrain the firebug inside. It seems like that critter has vacated anyway, which is just fine by me. My inner firebug got me into as much trouble as fun over the years and I’m tired of manufactured crises.
(more…)
even dead things have their wild—
campfires hold no sway over their
bone whispers shrouded in mists
should you shadowwalk with me
we will slender through feral spaces
to find our the names and faces
we wore before we were born,
or we may lose our myriad selves
in the fog
Disclosure: My use of those tools most often associated with divination are largely as randomized writing prompts, often with the intent of personal alchemy. They are not intended to be representative of traditional divinatory practice. My personal interpretations (and methods) will likely not agree with those found in popular culture.
she is twin crests
her rivers run free
that is all we
need know
she is the green
her cleft draws in
into the womb
under cairn
stone is all that matters
all words just
nattering on like
whispers on wind
she is wellspring
that is all
we need know
my head has gone to heath
mottled stone of lichen
passing steel or passing sun
under rain and dampening
cold the wind whistles wending
through the heath stones
that make of my head
slender spaces shimmer quiet
thin be'twixt and 'tween
here upon my hillock of dream
campfire pops & crackles
set the song's rhythm
spirits remain mute
surrendering space
to night's denizens
so they may sing, too
Another rune poem of mine, where the rune is selected at random.
Today’s rune is ansuz, which has a core meaning “a god” (intended to be Odin), “mouth” or “breath”. Odin is representative of many, many things… in this case, ansuz is most representative of the mouth/breath (speech) that gives life to poetry, magic, song, language, and spirit — largely inseparable in the Viking worldview — and Odin is considered the supreme master of these intertwined concepts.
i wonder at the
absence of flames
my world has been
on fire almost
every day and now…
…now?
there is a long,
cool rain falling
quenching the heat
and i cannot
identify the cause,
nor why of it all
ever so slight of nervous
seeking a torch
to now light my way
These birch at the riverbank, boulder-fractured of growth resting bottom of the mountain scree — they are me. Standing defiant, I insist on being though stone pushes and gravities are drawn, I drink strength of river.
Granite sings, should you open your eyes to listen. I can tune my growth to their song. I am woman, that pale goddess. And I insist you try.
Gathering of breath from wind, from rain, my arms have set to wave. For I bend, not break under the song of the heart. You would too, if only you could see.
the ley lie
betwixt
you and i
no matter
the where
we stand in
ever-the-night
i close my
coin eyes
to run to you
my essence
my ley
my night