One True Way

There is no way onwards, but through,

No path that is easier to walk,

No shield that will deflect the blows.

There is no answer but to run

Barefoot and screaming through the fire

Holding to the insanity of belief

That there is some far side

Where no one will be throwing rocks,

And the screaming ends in a bliss

Of silence.

The only way forwards is through,

Walking into the storm in a summer dress,

Watching the umbrella tear apart.

Nothing, nothing at all can save you

From this.

You are destined to become the giant

Bearing the weight of the world

Those shoulders must suffice.

Being crushed offers no respite.

There is only through, the marching

On bleeding feet, exhausted limbs,

Willing the path into existence

One step at a time, hacking a route

Out of the jungle of mayhem,

With no idea of direction,

When the screaming turns out to be

Your own voice raised in torment,

And the silence wears a death mask.

There in no way onwards.

The road stops here.

Time to dry tears

Break rules,

Evolve wings

Decline apparent destiny.

Leave.

Breathe.

Stop,

Wait for the inspiration

Make a new story.

Corn King’s Song

Corn King, come and dance
Over fields and meadows and away.
Beckon to Sun and beckon to Self,
Crowned with the harvest
And sacred to Earth.

Lead us in the eternal circle
To honour Our Mother
Who gives and receives.
With steady step through golden autumn
Set yourself free.

Turn one last time
And sing us your song,
Echoing far through open fields,
Before your steps turn to Our Mother
And your light to darkness yields.

© jsmorgane (Oct 2010)

What does a year look like?

Does it look like
Twelve coloured pictures on a wall,
And 52 pages with numbers to call?
And is it a circle divided by four,
Showing cardinal points, the elements and all?
Two lists of people come with the tide,
Of those just born and those who died.
But maybe a year’s a butterfly,
A rose, a twig, a yellow leaf,
Or shows itself as yet
Another wrinkle in my face.
It looks just like a bag of tears,
And like a secret sold.
Looks like a child, a man,
A woman, young and old.
It’s also in the many smiles,
Returned a hundredfold.
And when I pass a mirror
And catch the person’s eye,
I see that I’m the year, that I am life.

© jsmorgane (June 2010)

A Taste of Stone

Taste the stone
You are holding
In your hand.

It smells of rains,
Like the waterfall
Gushing down your throat.

It smell of winter wind,
When you throw it
High into the crystal sky.

It smells of blood
Which its sharp edges
Cut into your tender skin.

It tastes of salt
Like the balms
Cradling it.

© jsmorgane