So it begins

03 Sunday Apr 2016

Posted by in beauty, becoming, change, courage, death, devotion, family, fearlessness, Fire, Infinite, learning, Love, movement, mystery, poems, poetry, presence, Sight, strength, the road, wonder, work

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So it begins

with

but They but They

and the story pretzels and snarls

morphs into a thorny thicket

of

Yes but.

So it begins.

Reaching in with pruners and magnifying glass,

a madness of 

I will get clear!

muscles work, tire,

eyes pierce, squint, wrinkle-

strength and a certain Sight grow.

One silent morning arrives

with a way through,

not simply a way through,

a path clear- as intended-

and They

are long gone.

Suddenly, dust still in suspension,

the same pain jolts its head through packed earth

and there’s no

But They

anymore.

Only you.

And so it begins…

The creation of this space~

28 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by in poetry

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Because this was dangling in space and needed to be revisited, I post this a second time- with the contact info.

feralpoet's avatarSalt, Smoke, Water and Stone

About:
Rooted, embodied, bound, nourished.
In.
Grace, the Infinite, artful movement, the expression of silence.

A gathering of the ephemeral and the limitless.

A medicine of word.

Welcome. Your presence, and any comments you may offer, are a gift.

Reproduction or use of any of the materials on this site are by permission only. Please send an email if interested~
feralpoetrootedingrace@gmail.com

In gratitude…

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The grain mill

27 Sunday Mar 2016

Posted by in abundance, adventure, beauty, becoming, change, courage, crafting, death, devotion, discomfort, fearlessness, Fire, freedom, gratitude, honoring, Infinite, joy, learning, loving, movement, mystery, pain, poems, poetry, release, strength, the road

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Stretches

(or pockets,

or loop-de-loops)

of time

(meaningless time)

in transition

with sensations of being ground

in the grain mill,

where would we be without them?

In a blistering wind

anger rises and hands us the energy

to do away 

with a trail of uselessness hitching

to our backsides.

(Why were we dragging that marriage/house/walrus again?)

Without halting in mad winds

who jostle our brains and

send hairs flying

we’d not have noticed the 872 pounds

of shit

attached to our spines

which

we can now let go of.

Hallelujah for stopping

to strike the match of compassionate flame

and throwing it on

a tinderbox of ancient nonsense.

Hey Canada

26 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by in poems, poetry

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hello to you in Canada-

yep, you, the one often viewing my page numerous times per day:

what keeps you coming back?

an email address is listed in the about section…

I’d like to hear from you.

{nope, this isn’t a poem. a good day to all you readers. thanks for hanging out ~}

Your next offering

24 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in abundance, becoming, change, crafting, dark, devotion, discomfort, Expanse, loving, movement, mystery, poems, poetry, release, strength, vision

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When things fall apart,

rest.

Pieces

litter the floor,

and probably your heart.

Let them.

A new equilibrium

finds itself

in the passing of light into dark

and back again.

Art gives time

another meaning.

The brokennesses-

curious remnants of another life-

are nothing.

Simply raw material

for the most exquisite

mosaic

and

your next offering

of soul.

Searing darkness

17 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in abundance, dark, discomfort, listen, loving, movement, night, poems, poetry, Sight, strength, transition

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How searing the Darkness.

Sights, dismissed, rise

through earthquaking uplift,

making smaller even

the microstrains of normalcy.

Withholding time from the forgotten,

the never known,

ends

when what had been thrown aside speaks,

“I am you.”

Thank the breath still given and

every fiber of your being

for the strength

to bring the orphaned and hated and dispossessed

close enough

to see the pain in their eyes,

and to assemble what Light

does soothe.

Canvas

15 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by in beauty, honoring, joy, Love, mystery, nature, poems, poetry, presence, receiving, release, vision

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Being a canvas
life- God- paints upon,
wouldn’t you say it’s only right,
natural,
to celebrate
each bit
from soft eye, scar,
scratch divot curve and curl,
shorter leg and smaller foot
to brisk brilliant sneeze?
Divine art doesn’t exactly
deserve
a critic like you-
or that guy from the coffee shop-
in the end,
does it?