Sunday, September 30, 2018

Swan Songs

I cannot teach you languages,
nor histories of nations and men,
nor can I teach you of wars and rebellions;
but I can teach you of the stars and sky,
the silt and dirt of this dear Earth.

I can teach you why your heart flutters
at the sight of beauty
and why the touch of another
is the hand of a most holy angel.

I can show you galaxies undiscovered by mankind
until the reflection of your own soul appears,
in cloudbursts blanketing the sky.

I can tell you why your feet, bare,
long to hug the sand and soil.

You are a channel to the divine.
Do you not recognize the call of birdsong at early dawn?
How can you deny your breath and body?
It is made of the same elements as driftwood and thunder.

Your voice is that of lightning,
your breath,
the aether of ancient firmaments,
ones your ancestors sat and prayed beneath,
bedouins in the searing sun,
the sweetest eye of heaven.

Come, take my hand,
I shall lead you to yourself.

You have seen the well-worn path,
wooded and weary
by lakes and rivers.

You know the way, you may have forgotten.

Come, come follow me into what is known and unknown,
what is truth and fiction,
where there is no language,
only sight,
where swan songs are heard,
deep, meditative ruminations,
trumpeting supplications to the great Gods.

Come, come follow me into what is known and unknown,
what is truth and fiction,
where there is no language,
only sight,

and walk proudly, dear soul,
walk proudly,

into your rightful place
of existence.

© Photo & Words Susan Marie

Sunday, September 23, 2018

Like Lovers Do

My hands shake
beneath this precious dawn,
not for myself,
but for the fate of humankind,
a land I do not belong,

for my eyes see the peaks of Himalayas
in the tips of pine trees,
where bluejays perch,
contemplating their next flight,
and the grass,
as Whitman pondered,
this precious gift, otherworldly. 

No, I do not belong down here,
yet I am grounded,
for my spirit is in flight
with the hawk,
scrying above,
screeching solitary,
as a murder of crows
attempt to take it down
from the most holy sky,
yet fail,
again and again.

I see this world like a child,
wondrous and wide-eyed,
an explorer of my own soul,
the new dawn shines upon my chin, upturned,
and the breeze,
she tussles my long mane,
like a lover,
splaying my legs,
ever so gently,
to the virgin skies.

I belong in the waves,
meeting the shore,
the crashing of tides
beneath the moon, full.

I exist in the limbs of trees 
and the sound of my feet
bearing down upon this sweet Earth.

My soul longs for completion,
for respite from the dying world,

for I exist in both,

in a land where my voice is unknown
to the language of humankind.

© Photo & Words Susan Marie