She’s hunting the corridors In her once splendid gown Now, just sad tatters of brown Retracing her steps, as countless times before
Where once there were eyes Is now pits of black sorrow Knowing there will never be a bright tomorrow The house echoes with her cries
She will never again hold her children close Or see them thrive and grow Never again see their smiles Or guide them through life’s trials Never again hear their laughter Or have the joy to care and look after
A mother’s love never dies Keeps her searching forevermore Trapped here on the lonely moor Even as the centuries flies
Some say I should curse my love, for making me become this. That I should have refused her hand, as I lay dying on the battlefield. I say she swooped down and saved me, took me to the fields beyond. Gave me new meaning and eternal love.
So what does it matter? How I look, or the horns I bear. I bear them proudly, without feeling their weight. They are a sign of my prowess and courageous heart. Of her giving me part of her essence, meaning she’ll always be near.
Now we fly the skies together. From afar seeing what becomes of man. Diving down to pick up, those that no longer have flesh hands. After we have them delivered, we fly back to our fields. In the soft twilight, there is no need for armour or shield.
There we lay together, exploring the way to each other’s bliss. So truth be told, I’ve never been happier than this.
When inspiration strikes, whether it’s convenient or not, I try to write. And few things are as good at waking my muse as the pictures curated by Paul Brooks over at The Wombwell Rainbow. See all images and read other responses to the Folktober Challenge here.
I’m very proud and happy to tell you that The Anthropocene Hymnal – An Experiments in Fiction Publication. Is out now! I’m as bursting with joy and gratitude today as I where when the editor asked me to participate with two poems. Mother of Creation and Leaves fall to Moulder. Below you’ll find all purchase information.
The Anthropocene Hymnal is a collection of 63 poems from 34 poets from across the world. Beautifully illustrated by Valdis Stakle and with cover art by Kerfe Roig, the anthology is the brainchild of Ingrid Wilson, and in her own words is “a unique response to an unprecedented crisis.”
The second part of the book looks at what hope means in difficult times – what we still have to hold on to – what can still be done. Taking the form of invocation and prayer, these poems cast a thread to find a way through and call on that in us which is bigger than our current crisis. RedCat’s Mother of Creation gives new names to hope, while Kerfe Roig’s Mercy 1 and 2(after ML Smoker) speaks of finding a way back from despair with “You leave a candle burning, / place it in the window.”
The waiting is over! You can now purchase The Anthropocene Hymnal in Paperback and Kindle format from Amazon (just select your relevant region).
There is also a PDF version of the book available. The PDF is not sold but revived in response to a donation to the WWF Fundraiser. Once you have made your donation (minimum €3 or equivalent in your currency) please email confirmation to firstname.lastname@example.org and and the PDF will be sent by return email. The aim is to respond to your email and send you the PDF within 24 hours of receiving it. The editor will also be making regular personal donations of the Amazon royalties as and when I receive them. Please follow my fundraiser page for updates!
The blue forest of remembrance is full of quavering echoes Whispering through the trees susurrations of memory Wandering among the trees dreaming soul shadows Most lost in pensive reverie Reliving, rethinking, re-choosing life through hindsight’s windows It’s all part of sleeping souls nightly recovery
Whispering through the trees a multitude of echoes Joy and happiness, sorrow and pain Most lost to the wind blown shadows Others fall as antique white petals rain All part of how memories lights the windows How dreaming souls lead their wake selves to staying sane
Joy and happiness, sorrow and pain through the trees echoes Some souls dream of floating in happiness rainbow bright Others fall ensnared in clawing painful shadows Losing another nights fight How dreaming leads to the memory windows How souls fare in the forest, changes every night
I especially liked Looking for Clues by Merril D Smith and the VillanelleSylvia by Tim Fellows.
Written in the same poetic form as Mind Finds Soul Fearlessly Shines. One of two invented by me. Because I realized a form used but once, might not be a form at all, so I had to see if I could use it again. I’m glad to say that it worked.
I’m still unsure of how to denote it so that anyone but me could use it. How do you denote a line (2, 4, 6) that only partly repeats in the next stanza? Is it a refrain? Or that the last word in lines 1, 3, 5 repeat in every stanza?
Next I have to see if I can repeat the form used in Moonsea.
likes drawing and painting children, animals, landscapes and food. She specialises in watercolour, mixed media, coloured pencil, lino cut and print, textile design. Jane can help you out with adobe indesign for your layout needs, photoshop and adobe illustrator. She graduated with a ba(hons) design from Glasgow School of art, age 20.
She has exhibited with the rsw at the national gallery of Scotland, SSA, Knock Castle Gallery, Glasgow Group, Paisley Art Institute, MacMillan Exhibition at Bonhams, Edinburgh, The House For An Art Lover, Pittenweem Arts Festival, Compass Gallery, The Revive Show, East Linton Art Exhibition and Strathkelvin Annual Art Exhibition.
Her website is: https://www.janecornwell.co.uk/
Since this is anything but a normal year, I raise my glass to you all, wishing your dreams come true!
I’m so happy and proud to reveal
Three poems by me in
The Poets Symphony
“A really good poem is full of music.” Eric Whitacre, American Composer and Conductor
Tune in to just a few lines from a song and one can easily be pulled back into a single moment in time, memories rising unbidden. New moments to be discovered, music weaves through our lives tying them all together.
Lovingly composed by thirty-one artists and writers from around the world, The Poets Symphony delivers the seduction of music in the form of poetry, lyrics, rhyme, digital art, photography and more.
From inspiration to nostalgic memory, love affairs to the musician himself, place the needle on the record and allow the music of life to flow through your soul.
You can find the paperback at lulu (recommended), Barnes & Noble, or Amazon. (Lulu has been shipping out books in about a week (or less) while Amazon is taking over a month to ship out book orders.)
The other night I never got to fall asleep. Around midnight my youngest started to cry heart-wrenchingly because of growing pains. Aside from heating the wheat-heater, there was nothing I could do beside hold him and comfort him. He fell asleep again, fitfully. Waking every other hour to cry. Sometimes during the night, after crying myself because I felt torn in two wanting to do something and knowing I couldn’t, I wrote this poem.
This year have been different and difficult, not only due to the pandemic.
I found the courage to truly persue my writing dream deciding to take a leap year and go for creative writing classes. I learnt things about myself I never thought possible. Both that I have more strength and courage than I thought and that apparently I’m neurodiverse. (Still processing that one.) I got to know, connected with, got close to, new people who have taught me about myself, taught me to appreciate myself, and given me more love and care than my trauma wrought mind thinks I deserve. I won’t make any new years resolutions but I’ve already wowed to keep writing, keep exploring my inborn strength, keep searching for the right way to pay forward the love and care I’ve been given and keep searching for the most effective way as an ascender to ensure as few children as possible will know the kind of abuse I knew (or any of the other kind available to abusers).
Take care of yourself and through action, not just words, show those you care about your love! ❤️
Birth echoes through all our time Time shard echoes in our minds Minds echo with contact cruel or kind Cruel or kind actions, echo through humankind Humankind echoes, with what was done before our time Time to shed the old, to let new life echo all around
I’m running late for everything it feels like. But mostly it’s about the writing I have left to do. And the fact that I haven’t prepared the advent calendar as I had thought to do. So here a day late you’ll get the post I have thought to re-post to free my time up and celebrate my oldest turning ten.
At first I thought I’d do a re-post today, of my first Echo Poem, to give me free birthday time. But my mind keep going round and round in echoes, so I had to write a new one.
Each year in the day leading up to my children’s birthday I have flashbacks of birth both in mind and body. Not something I mention often as it sound so trippy, but both my own mother and others have described similar feelings. And if your open to it, giving birth is one of the most profound birth-death-rebirth experiences, aka trips, a woman can have.
As the days shortens and the nights lengthens to midwinter it feels like time is running out. Like soon there be no time left to do anything. The awareness of the coming turning does nothing to alleviate this feeling. Add to that a ton of course work left, a child’s birthday to celebrate and only ten days left to Christmas Eve, and the feeling goes from uneasy to alarming. There really is very little time to get everything left to do done.
Time is running out This odd year is about to end Darkness flowing in