Let us not allow the dark,
inside the hell we’ve
lived for months on end,
to destroy our light.
Let us rise and shine,
brighter than Father Sun
smiles on each new bud.
Feel the change in the air,
know that soon
we too will be released
by our keeper below,
into the morning woods.
Dear Poets and Dreamers,
Just a short note to say that I will be disappearing down a Jungian rabbit hole for the rest of the year in order to explore my Animus Diet diaries and Divine Hermaphrodite essays in greater depth, before hopefully emerging with Persephone next spring, with a new book or lengthy article at the very least.
Full Harvest Moon blessings to all! Birthed under Oaktober’s magickal full moon, here’s the postscript to my second poetry collection, The Shepherd’s Daughter, my very own “Red Book”.
Writing my second book has been an unexpected joy!
Something invisible, terrifying, beyond our walls,
just outside the door, scratches at the window, waiting.
We fear it has come to destroy us and perhaps it has,
those spiky red Christmas balls spreading across screens.
At the still point of this turning world
Stood before the great mystery
the poet calls life,
she senses something approaching,
which, as it draws nearer
the poet realises, is the plague.
Thrown into turmoil,
she tries hard to cut and run,
but the plague seizes her.
Fireworks whistle past our ears,
lighting up the dark night
as sky-flowers, laden with stars,
blossom above the bonfire
in sparkling petals of starlight.
While hearts burst with joy,
November sets off with a bang
yet quickly fizzles in a flash.
It’s on. You are cordially invited to the Royal Wedding! Which seems just perfect for discussing the archetype of the Hermaphrodite. In the first half of my Jungian themed essay I shall explore my personal reflections and in the second, I will continue that journey in the shape of a long prose poem. The joint presentation of each feels right, bringing the Solar King and Lunar Queen together in a way I have never worked before. I hope you enjoy!
for Elaine and Vic
Sitting on a fallen tree,
two hearts of gold smile at me
and all the world becomes a song,
as love and bird sing all day long.
Hush listen to their hearts a-flutter,
as memory moves to early summer
where May recalls her happy hour,
a dance amid pale yellow flowers!
And as I spy behind the oak
a pen falls from my poet’s cloak,
for never have I seen such love
that sits beside the tall foxglove!
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