Category Archives: poetry

A Poem for Solstice

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A Poem for Solstice
 ©2020  Louise Gallagher
In the presence of imminent light
 I linger in supine decadence
 along the edge of darkness
 holding close 
 memories of the sky
 littered with stars cast like dice 
 upon the pitch black velvet bed
 of night 
 softly lit
 by the sliver of a moon
 hanging
 like a partially open door
 inviting me into the mystery
 unfolding
 in the heavenly realms
 beyond the horizon
 where neck stretched
 face upturned
 I wait in eageer anticipation
 for the return of the light
 breaking through
 the edge of darkness.
 
Morning casts aside
 the fiery blanket of dawn
 as light kisses the darkness adieu
 and slips gracefully
 from night’s embrace.
 
I awaken
 to dawn’s breath
 calling me into the mystery
 of life
 unfolding
 on this new day
 born from darkness.

The Poetry Hour

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Every Wednesday evening, for the past five weeks, I have gathered on Zoom with four other women and with our guide, Ali Grimshaw, poet, coach and facilitator and curator of the Flashlight Batteries blog, we have written poetry together.

I have attended many workshops and retreats and have always felt inspired by the community that is created when a group of people with a shared creative passion come together in support of one another and their craft. No matter how long the workshop, by the end I always feel like I have just participated in something rare and precious. It’s as though, in coming together, we wove the threads of our collective consciousness into a song of our human magnificence playing in harmony with life.

I always thought it was the physical space that facilitated those experiences. After five weeks in Ali’s virtual space writing with a group of women, all of whom met as strangers, I’m not so sure it has anything to do with the physicality. I think it has everything to do with the people.

We span several decades. Come from across North America (as the lone Canadian, I am the only ‘foreigner’). Have varied backgrounds and occupations, and still, in the collective space of the Zoom time we share, deep bonds of affection and admiration have been formed.

Last night, as we spent our last hour and a half together in this five week section, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in that divinely special space and just breathe in the magic and wonder of the faces in front of me.

Thank you Ali for being you. Thank you for creating a safe, courageous space to write and share and be inspired. And thank you to Kelley, Chere, LilliAnn and Kayleigh for sharing your words, heart and light with such gracious care.

________________

I wrote both poems above during last night’s session. I created the painting with Slow Down during an online workshop I’d taken several years ago on the Divine Feminine. It was my first watercolour and collage. As I was getting to post this morning, that painting came into mind to go along with the poem. It was very serendipitous but I love how they walk hand in hand.

I took the photo accompanying My Heart Grew Weary outside our old home many years ago. I remember it was spring. The snow was melting and I had gone out in the morning with Ellie, the Wunder Pooch and saw the drops of melting snow on the fir tree’s needles. I had to capture it for beauty’s sake. I also remember being pleasantly surprised by my phone’s ability to take such a photo!

In The Sacred Nature Of A Tree

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 I stand beside a tree
 reach out my hand
 and touch its gnarled trunk 
 where the scars of time lay weathered 
 in undulating ridges of knobbly wood
 and granulated particles 
 pressed together
 to mark the passing of time
  
 I run my fingers along the path
 the squirrels ran as they played 
 a wild game of tag up into its branches
 to that place 
 where they nestle together
 through the long cold nights of winter 
 beating its icy winds
 against the sheltering limbs
 they call their home.
  
 And I hear the sweet song
 of a robin returning to the nest
 it built high above the ground
 to keep its babies safe 
 until they are strong enough
 to fly free like the wind
 far from the sheltering limbs
 of this tree they once called home.
  
 I lean my weary body against the tree
 and close my eyes 
 as if closing them 
 will block the sight of the scars
 of time passing and the disquiet
 of these times of isolation and worry
 that do not weather well
 in my troubled mind 
 stirring up thoughts
 that grip my heart with the fear
 this place I call my home
 no longer holds a safe place
 to breathe.
 
 And the tree stands tall
 swaying with the wind
 welcoming the seasons into its branches
 and I hear the whispers of time
 running through its sap
 in juicy fecund certainty
 that this too shall pass
 with time passing.

  “Rest here," the swaying branches
 and rustling limbs seem to say,
 "Rest here and lay you burdens down. 
 Here, where my weathered trunk
 meets the earth and my roots dig deep
 into the soil holding me steady
 in the ice cold winds of winter
 and the long hot days of summer.”
  
 And I take a breath deep into my bones
 and feel the warm sweet nature
 of the air around me
 enter my body.
 I breathe out
 and imagine all my worries
 sinking 
 down 
 into Mother Earth’s fertile womb
 and I feel my heart 
 beat
 slow
 and my breath
 flow
 in and out
 with ease.
  
 And the earth
 and the tree
 and the squirrels sleeping in the hollow
 and the robin nesting in its limbs
 breathe with me
 in the sacred nature
 of all of life 
 on this planet
 we call our home.
  

I do not know why I took this picture of a tree yesterday, but, as I walked through the woods and Beaumont the Sheepadoodle ran through the winter dry grasses, this tree called to me.

I clicked a couple of shots and Beaumont and I continued on our way.

And then, at 2am, I awoke with the words of this poem rustling through the sleep soaked crevices of my mind.

I got up and left my beloved sleeping in our bed. I padded quietly into the living room where Beaumont slept on the sofa. He barely raised his head to acknowledge my intrusion before falling back to sleep.

I opened my laptop where it sits on the desk in front of the front window of our home that overlooks the tree-lined banks of the Bow. And I began to write in the quiet warmth of night resting peacefully inside our home.

__

Outside, darkness shrouds the world. On the deck, white Christmas lights twinkle along its glass enclosure.

A streetlight shimmers on the river’s surface where it passes under the bridge.

The sky is heavy. No stars on this cloudy night.

And I sit writing.

It is not what I’d thought of earlier for today’s post. Thank goodness WordPress lets me schedule it for posting at a more practical hour. Perhaps when this posts, I shall be sleeping once again.

The muse… I’m not sure she sleeps and she’s definitely not as practical as WP. She likes to have her way with my creative expressions.

I just wish she’d be a little more thoughtful about the time she chooses to stir my imagination and awaken my creative juices to the desire to listen to my heart and flow free.

Snow Falling At Dawn

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Snow Falling At Dawn
Louise Gallagher
 
Sometimes, on mornings like this, 
 when the sky is gloomy grey 
 and snow falls softly
 as the world rests lightly 
 in the lingering tendrils of night's embrace, 
 I stand outside in the still quiet space before the dawn 
 and close my eyes 
 and turn my face up towards the sky 
 to feel
 the cool slick wetness of snow 
 falling against my skin.
  
 I listen to the river flowing
 to the sound of geese stirring
 on the far bank 
 where they rest upon a gravel bar
 throughout the night.
 A quiet honk, a rustle of wings
 and then 
 only the sound of the river flowing.
 In the distance,
 I hear the sibilant hiss of tires
 approaching
 followed by the more gutteral thrum
 as a car crosses over the bridge.
  
 For a moment,
 my mind will stray
 and I will wonder
 about their direction.
 To work? Or coming home?
 Were they at the hospital all night
 saving lives? 
 Tried? Weary? Exhausted?
 Or are they on their way
 fresh faced and eager to greet this day
 where they will serve 
 in a multitude of ways
 those of us who venture out
 only for necessities.
  
 And then, I’ll take a little breath
 say a quiet prayer of gratitude
 for whomever it is crossing the bridge
 and in that prayer
 I will remember all those who have crossed over
 their final bridge
 and all those who will cross over
 on this day that is just beginning
 which will become their last.
  
 Tenderly I hold the silence 
 in the sacred nature
 of my heart
 beating quietly
 in this darkness
 before the dawn
 and let my mind settle
 once again
 into the still quiet spaces
 of morning awakening
 slowly 
 beneath the tender light
 of snow falling at dawn.

Today is my birthday.

It is a day full of gratitude. Grace. Generosity. And above all Love.

My heart is full.

And though the world around me is locking-down in an effort to stem the flow of this virus that is reaching out in ever-widening waves to infect more and more people and cause more and more hardship, gratitude remains at the core of all I feel and know. All I welcome in and all I bring to this day.

I am thankful for my beloved. His heart and kind-spirit. His constancy and Love.

I am grateful for my daughters. For their tender mercies and love that has never faltered even when I have fallen on the road of life and lost my way.

And for my step-son and daughter who remind me always that love can expand in never-ending ripples of joy and laughter in this sacred space of being family.

I am grateful for my sisters who hold my heart and memories with such grace and who share theirs with endless generosity. And for the men in their lives who stand with us in all kinds of weather.

I am grateful for my friends. For those who have been on this path with me for many years and those who have only recently started walking beside me. Your presence illuminates my path, no matter the times.

I am grateful for all of you. For visiting me here. For being part of my journey. For encouraging me and seeing me and acknowledging me on this path.

There are many paths to find joy, contentment, happiness, peace. I am so grateful you are all at the heart of mine.

Namaste.

Snow Falling At Dawn

Two Simple Words

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Morning light — photo unfiltered. untouched.
 
 I want to write of gratitude
 of how this year hasn’t been so bad
 how there’s so much good that’s come out of
 the bad
 and how I’ve learned so much and grown
 and found my way clear to living in this moment
 but the darkness outside my window
 seems to linger
 and I feel myself falling
 into its cloying embrace
 hoping it might hold me
 just a little bit longer
 all the while hoping
 it will let me go
 find my way out of the darkness.
  
 And my shoulders slump
 and my body grows tired
 of waiting for the morning light.
  
 I lean back into my chair
 close my eyes
 and try to take a deep breath
 but it’s not very deep
 this morning breath filled with
 the weary and worry of 
 these times
 that seem to grow heavier
 with every news report I read.
  
 And as I sit with eyes closed
 I hear my Auntie Maggie’s voice
 who at 90 lives alone in the city in southern India
 where she and my mother were born.
 She hasn’t been out of her house since March
 her only contact with ‘the outside world’
 her two servants who come daily
 and a neighbour who visits regularly
 and her What’sApp calls
 where she sometimes laughs and sometimes cries
 and always sings me a song from her childhood
 when she and my mother and all their siblings
 lived together in what they called
 their own private Shangri-la.
 Your mama loved to sing, she says
 And I remember and hear her sweet voice singing
 her favourite Christmas song, 
 “Il est né le divin enfant
 Jouez hautbois, résonnez musettes”
  
 And I smile and open my eyes 
 and see
 that in those few moments
 while I sat with eyes closed and spirits flagging
 the sun has broken through the darkness
 and streaked the sky with rosy hues
 that glow and pulse across the horizon
 in undulating waves
 of violet and pink and tiffany blue
 and the trees are dressed in cloaks of rose-brushed gold
 and the river flows deep in the morning glory
 of dawn breaking free of night.
  
 I want to write of gratitude
 and find myself here
 in this moment
 falling
 breathlessly
 into the beauty of light
 bursting through the cracks.
  
 I want to write of gratitude
 but words escape me
 as I breathe into the grace
 that arrives with every breath
 when I let go of what I want
 of what I miss or regret or yearn for
 and let this prayer
 of two simple words
 be all that I can say.
 Thank You.

Beauty Lives In All The Seasons

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Mother Nature and the Muse conspired to get me outside yesterday and breathe deeply into and with the beauty all around.

I stepped outside my studio door and autumn greeted me with wintery kisses.

The muse wrote words upon my heart and… because I’m working on my video editing skills… I made a video of the muse-inspired poem that fell onto the page.

Flight of Autumn Fancy

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There is something inexplicably provocative about a Chinook darkened sky stretched across the western horizon pushing up against the sun rising in a clear blue sky to the east.

There is something beguiling about trees standing naked, limbs exposed, their branches bare of autumn splendour. Their sun-cast bodies create a filigree of negative space that fills the gap between the sky above and the earth below.

The forest floor is covered in dry and brittle leaves now. Slowly, they are turning back into themselves in a never-ending cycle of life flowing into death only to be reborn again in distant days yet to come. Once summer’s shade, they lay quietly fading from gold and rust to dank brown and black. Nature’s compost in the making. Their dying bodies will protect the roots from winter’s harsh breath. Their decay will nurture the soil in anticipation of a future spring.

I walked in the woods this morning.

I listened to the wind and the trees and the birds. The hum of traffic not far in the distance. The sound of the leaves rustling. The grasses hissing as I passed through their expansive nature.

And beauty wrapped me up in all its glorious sights and sounds, textures and smells.

And Nature whispered, “Come dance with me.”

And I danced.

Namaste

____________________________________________________________

Flight of Autumn Fancy

By Louise Gallagher

And the wind blew
and the leaves flew
and the trees stood tall,
naked limbs stretched out wide
to touch the sky.
And Nature whispered,
“Come dance with me.”
And the trees swayed
and the wind blew
and the sky soared
and autumn’s golden light
wrapped the world in beauty.

Out Of This World – a 49 word prompt

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It has been a long time since I played with one of the many word challenges online.

And then, today I read Dale’s response at A Dalectable Life…

And felt moved and inspired.

The word for today’s prompt is “Megalith” (I had to look it up.) The direction is, to create something with the word and use 49 words to do it.

The founder of the prompt is Sammi Cox who posts a prompt every week. You can find all the links to this, her 175th prompt, on her blog HERE.

To read more about the prompt, and to read Dale’s moving and beautiful response, click HERE.

My response–

Out Of This World

There is a place
where birds twitter in trees
and fish swim free
where bears wander wild
and snakes slither undeterred
by man’s intentions
to build megaliths to himself.
 
It is gone. That place.
that used to be
before man’s intentions
drained beauty and nature
out of this world.