Untravelled

That tentative touch
Meant more than
Grasping hands
Or heat and hearts
Or legs intwining
Dangerous, damaging
No, nothing carnal
Nothing of the sort
Yet it burns hotter
Hotter than I remember
Harder than you know
Heavier than salt
And twice the sting
In the wound now
Open again and
Bleeding
Bleeding
Bleeding
No bandage but time
No salve but rhyme
No options here
But partners in crime
Will laugh and sigh
And cope
For haven’t we always?
Or was that yet
Another illusion
Mist in the wind
Headlights in the fog
Journeys untravelled
Forever.

Writing Therapy

I find writing a wonderful coping mechanism. If in doubt, write it out! Poems, songs, even random ramblings all help me put my thoughts into some kind of order; left to their own devices, they squabble and have no pecking order, but on the page, they are orderly and meek, though no less filled with the zing of inspiration.

When feeling low, when depression threatens like a blackness in the peripheral vision, the simple joy of sharing a poem can put a candle to that black. The sense of achievement from a deadline hit, or an essay that hits home; these little victories straighten my spine inch by inch, allowing the shoulders to bear a bit more without sagging.

Sometimes when anxiety is a raging tornado of bile and burns me from the inside out, I cannot write. This is my weather check; if I can’t write, things are bad. And sometimes I will try and force myself to, but will be so horrified at the muddled mess on the paper that I curl in on myself, hiding from my failure, and the world. At times like these music becomes my companion, coaxing me gently away from my fears until my hand is steady enough to hold the own once more

In magic, we sometimes write out things we want to be rid of- negativity, regret, bad habits and so forth- and we burn the paper, imagining our unwanted aspects drifting away with the smoke. Writing is a powerful tool, and I am grateful for it, especially at times of stress, when spoken words simply stutter and the mind will not be calm.

Still…

Gut stained purple
Still saying no
Stars fade forever
Still have to go
Sunlight sudden
Still in shadow
Snow in summer
Still burning cold
Stomach at the circus
Still drop the curtain
Lion needs taming,
Still crack the whip
Heart in free fall
Still turn machine off
Beeping fading
Still can’t hear.

not really a finished piece, just some ideas I’m working on.

Spring in Burntwood (3)

And strange little holes that had to be investigated with torches. This one, formed by part of an ancient pipe, held about a dozen snails, sheltering from the sunny spell.

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Spring in Burntwood (2)

And snowdrops:

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Spring in Burntwood (1)

We found pigs:

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Blackbirds at Twilight

Blackbirds at Twilight
Calling, indignant,
Get out of my space
This is my place
I perch at the edge
The edge of worlds
The edge of all things
Guarding the boundary
I am Druid Dubh
But hear me now
For you are still
For you respect
For you listen and understand
Try to connect;
My angry shout swells
Into song so sweet 
And while light remains
Hear my soothing strains
As you walk the winding lanes
To your nest.

Springing Forward…

I’m about to start writing our rite (riting??) for Spring Equinox, also know as Ostara and various other goddess related names. I’m using the theme of fresh beginnings, which is common through ritual work at the Sabbats, as we cleanse away that which is no longer required, and look forward to new achievements, new goals and new way of living.

How do you celebrate this time between Imbolc and Beltane, when light and night are in perfect accord?

Jimmy Nelson-Before They Pass Away

You must see these gorgeous pictures of tribes from around the world. Absolutely stunning:

 

http://www.boredpanda.org/vanishing-tribes-before-they-pass-away-jimmy-nelson/