I harvest words within the earth
made of owl wing, moon change,
fallen trees and stubborn grass.
Old rocks lend their stories,
wet spray of the winter sea,
speaking in voices more eloquent
than my translation,
hoping to sing us all home
in the remaining light.
sweet poem. I can feel the components of the song coalescing
Thank you Don, you have moved me beyond words, which is the point of poetry in the first place!
Deep beauty, deep magic. Thanks for the incantation, Don!
Resonates w/ this man’s experience, Don. Great photo as well. Thanks, Brother.
You’re on a roll, Bro’ — fire in the belly!
Hot Hugs, Sista T
Keep singing, Bro – there’s enough light left for those who want to come with us…
Thank you for speaking so eloquently for our sacred earth. She needs a voice. You understand her powerful language. I love hearing it!
“…hoping to sing us all home in the remaining light” I see a bit differently from what I understand your poem to say. Remaining light doesn’t have to mean twilight but remaining light before brilliant sunrise in all our lives. Love the image of “singing us all home”.
I bring my own story to “remaining light” as well, as well we should. Lovely, always, Don.
If your words were food the world would be sated and no one would go hungry ~
This poem moved me to tears.
Lovely, Don. Thank you.
Don, your words give voice to our shared awareness that the incredible magic and beauty of sacred Life and Creation is still present. thank you.
I like this one especially. I am left sitting in the mystery.