Spirits of the Forest
In Forest Presence
I listen,
leaves
and needles rustle
Voices
Hum inside
Hemlock bark
sounding
if only humans
would listen
Incantations
erupt beneath
the forest floor
wrapped
in a tapestry of threads
millions of miles
of white
cottony intentions
interevntions?
made manifest
by Raven and
Owl
I listen….
Rapture
is Stillness
within,
without
Only then
do birds
reveal
the Secrets
we crave
Spirits of the Forest
Oh yes,
I listen.
I finish this poem and read Janet Rudolph’s essay on labyrinths on FAR (6/29/22) and am struck by the synchronicity between this essay and this spontaneous poem that appeared moments before when someone sent me a picture of myself on a bird walk in the forest. Sometimes I have the sense that my thoughts overlap with those essays that appear on FAR in uncanny ways. I wonder if this happens with others?
Janet quoted Teresa of Avila words: “If we learn to love the earth, we will find labyrinths, gardens, fountains and precious jewels! A whole new world will open itself to us. We will discover what it means to be truly alive.”
This has certainly been true for me.
Twilight Prayer for July
Owls,
Saw whet
Barred
Spirits of the night
High in the canopy
Hidden from sight
serenade
slippery moon.
Listen!
Messages abound.
Benign Spirits of the forest
interrupt
Summer’s
Chaotic pattern
(a destructive human
field that is
Part of the whole)
Embrace, protect,
Cool
Burning coals
quell
Flames
erupting from within –
without.
Harden anguish
into jewels
falling
from the sky.
‘Nice’ is surface varnish
lacking
substance
a hole is torn
in earth’s fabric
truth denied.
Voices loom below
chaos, rage, incineration…
How does one make sense
out of such fractures?
Crooked mud
a sizzling sun star
I do not know.
Waters no longer flow.
Mute
Where is the rain?
relief from
charred remains?
Postscript 1
These two poems address the human chaos I witness around me and also experience within during the hot summer months. They also expose the lies that lay beneath the surface of “nice” – a place where human betrayal thrives. Nice turns on a dime and whenever I attempt to cut through deceit I am the one blamed. Patriarchy thrives on lies…
__________________________________________________________
Butterfly Wounding
Bittersweet orange
invokes wounding
past torment endured
at the hands of those
who would harm.
Air is lightened,
cleansed by absence
Trees rejoice
Slaughter shifts perspective
Despair presses Diamond.
Fritillary seeks
her flower
lover in waiting
Tongue seeking.
The two, Butterfly
and Weed lay eggs
One will be dead in weeks
Blazing blooms live on
Seeds of the Future
held firm by roots
an abundance of nourishment
Gifted from below.
Postscript 2
Every summer I wait for the Great Spangled Fritillary.. first the painted ladies come, admirals follow and then the swallowtails. This year viceroys made an appearance and of course, as the insect icon everyone has eyes on, monarchs will be arriving shortly, although in how many numbers we don’t know. Saving one species without saving the forests and meadows won’t work, but most don’t recognize this truth. We seem stuck in the think globally act locally meme, so outdated now. Acting globally means saving the forests streams and meadows that we destroy every single day so any species can survive…
Meanwhile I’ll take the Fritillaries that roam through the forest as I do. In our own ways we both seek out sweet nectar from wildflower meadows, water from streams, protection from trees….
Finally arriving here when butterfly weed blooms I am enthralled and can spend hours watching these butterflies drinking their fill and wondering what they may be saying to one another as they gather in communion sharing precious food….
A Meditation on Life.
I am also struck by butterflies arriving as a favorite summer insect, particularly those monarchs who now adorn wall paintings as they once were scratched on the walls of prisons no child would survive.
A holocaust is occurring as I write – Too many species are disappearing before we even know they exist. Beneficial insects have vanished throughout the world at an alarming rate; one third of the root of our food chain is gone… (conservative estimate)
Insects, animals, trees, the rest of nature, and women….our rights to exist are at risk. Is annihilation the goal?
When I engage with the fritillaries I sense the fragility of all life, feel my own losses keenly, mourn the women who betray and are betrayed, while praying for those I love to get what they need.
Death of one kind or the other seems to be on the horizon everywhere.
But the fritillaries gathering “at the well show me how to live.
BIO: Sara Wright is a naturalist, ethologist (a person who studies animals in their natural habitats) (former) Jungian Pattern Analyst, and a writer. She publishes her work regularly in a number of different venues and is presently living in Maine.
Wonderfully stated. Amazing insights
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Thank you!
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Thank you for sharing your poetry
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These poems so perfectly capture late summer and the paradoxes and many realms and realities of our world at this moment. Thank you.
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Carolyn thank you so much!
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