Scratch a few notes in pencil,
erase and feed them to the fire.
With your soul at risk
what the fire burns is not your worry –
that is the closed room, the barred door,
the lock without a key.
The tide shifts and water rushes south.
Scribble your last pleas for freedom,
then give way to the moon.
Break down the door
and let the wild one go free,
if only for the morning.
photograph by Ann Foorman
Reading of “Give Way to the Moon” with music by Faces.
Letting the wild one go free…that is the key!
Don, the wild one? I imagine you are thinking of Kevin D. If only he could be limited to one day per week.
Liberation… the theme song for us imaginal cells!
When the moon shines, I howl. Thanks Don.
Finally, ours is to behold that one morning Sun-Light that Eden saw at play. Hence, I give elated thanks for our every morning– while we can still spring, wildly free, from the last locks of old, and greet God’s creation of a New Day.
With our Divinity in place we are safe to let the wonders in this eternal Earth take greater hold.
The self comes into the agreement in Love.
Thank you Don. Your poem reminds me of lyrics to a song by Greg Brown. “Spring Wind”
” Love calls like the wild birds– it’s another day.
A Spring Wind blew my list if things to do away.”
A lovely photograph by Ann.
reminds me of “iron john” and “east of the sun and west of the moon”
Don, the moon in Donegal is frightening. You must have read my mind before composing. When that baby is full and large, anybody can lose their mind. Besides one morning per month should be allowable. Unlike Tom F., I do not turn away.