"wildwood" poems
Beltane Bride
Harken to the drums of the Beltane fire
Pounding out its rhythm as the flames leap higher
Dancing around it, your senses overcome
Moving with abandon in time with the drum
The longing in your belly starts to rise
Along with the passion that shows in your eyes
Sweat soaks your body, your bloods on fire
You tremble with the force of your raging desire
You start to chant the ancient rhyme
Calling to your lover “come to me, be mine
Come lie with me in the wildwood tonight
In honour of the Ancients, let us unite”
Then through the smoke and dancing flames you see
The one that you yearn for, wild, proud and free
Wearing the antlers of the horned god on his brow
He watches you intently, then gives you a bow
You, are his chosen one, he’ll lie with you this night
Deep in the forest under the stars shinning bright
Like the Lady and her Lord, you two will be as one
As you make love to the rhythm of the distant Beltane drum
The drums are now silent with the dawn of the new day
Your loving now more gentle, for no drum beat now holds sway
Buried deep within you, his fertile seed pours forth
With each powerful ****** of his, you feel its potent warmth
A Blessing was bestowed on you virgins both that night
By the Lady and the Lord, the only witness to your rite
Today is our Hand Fasting, he whispers softly at your side
I will love you for eternity, my beloved Beltane Bride.
Blessed Be
9th April 2012 Dragonborne Wolf
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 7:45 AM UTC
Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder: now with love He takes me across to the further shore.
~~~~~~~
mere to giridhara gupaala, duusaraa na koii |
jaa ke sira mora mukuTa, mero pati soii ||
taata, maata, bhraata, baMdhu, apanaa nahiM koii |
ghaaM.Da daii, kula kii kaana, kyaa karegaa koii?
saMtana Dhiga baiThi baiThi, loka laaja khoii ||
chunarii ke kiye Tuuka Tuuka, o.Dha liinha loii |
motii muu.Nge utaara bana maalaa poii ||
a.Nsuvana jala siiMchi siiMchi prema beli boii |
aba to beli phaila gaii, aanaMda phala hoii ||
duudha kii mathaniyaa, ba.De prema se biloii |
maakhana jaba kaa.Dhi liyo, ghaagha piye koii ||
aaii maiM bhakti kaaja, jagata dekha roii |
daasii miiraa.N giradhara prabhu taare aba moii ||
____
Notes
I am the translator of this poem, "Torn in Shreds" by Mirabai. I did not copyright it; it's in the public domain and everyone is free to help themselves to it. I simply request that it appear with my name as the translator.
Johanna-Hypatia Cybeleia
4.8k
Mine Is Gopal
Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder:
Now with love He takes me across to the further shore.
3.5k
her words formed colored dust on
butterfly wings collecting photographs
of green ivy hearts in the wildwood,
delicate valley flowers circling
her hair like verses of hope dappled
yellows, forest greens, daydreams and cream
she found a path in the forest balancing
on the breath of nature silver rings
like lace intertwined with reflections of
grace her own cordial way of handing
out smiles with every hello, slight twirl of
her skirt, I walk past shelves of stories golden
binding each classic manuscript echoing
her name we float down vintage corridors
like rivers dancing to the tune of a fiddle
breathing in deep breaths of autumn
winds beneath the willow canopy sky she found
a path in the forest and the reason to fly.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
Gray Owl hearkens
the dappled daybreak knell
echoing through
the wildwood forest stand;
rock doves and frosty stones abide,
where a marooned heart doth dwell,
disrobed by the longest night's frigid touch
Timber stand grips tight
red clay and bedrock of ages,
postured tall and strong
as eagle's spirit throne
Pine cones hide
in the low drifting clouds,
ripe acorns tumble down alone
unto a windblown
shallow earthen grave,
hillocked beneath
the sky-high canopy
Bones of branches,
furrowed bark from burled oak,
wood-grains of pith,
natural gnarled achings
peeled by the shivering
wind's breath
Paling autumn memories
grow dim as the receding sunlight,
recollections of ebbing Jasmine's
mellowing fragrant balm
waft aloft in a favorite fading fantasy,
the edge of winter metamorphosis
bears down with a prodigious weight
of a different kind of retreating light;
brindled Queen Anne's lace
hold sway across
the tawny frostbitten meadow
imbuing the poignantly
whetting breeze
The blink of an eye winks,
to catch sight of
an intimate glimpse,
an unspoken
solitude holds forth,
the mesmerizing coo of rock doves,
reverently mirroring
the sanctity of the forest wildwood
lingering amongst the frosty
ferns and stones
The harmony of tranquil silence wanders;
only the bowing resistance of the boughs
manifest the shapeless wind’s
whispered breathe
swirling above the labyrinth threshold;
therein lies an unfractured fault line
rooted deeply beneath
the earth’s crust
like the sonorous heart
of a sanctuary hearthstone
Hence there is symmetry
felt in silence that only whispers
in the deep toned consonant
of our own harbored sighs
a holy human blood link
born of heritage wilderness heartwood
beats keenly alive
written by: harlon rivers ... December 2017
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
On her knee sat a pallet of paints, a blank canvas and the trees, slowly her eyes closed into the emerald depths,
Once not long ago, the splendour of winters nature witch was in silent slumber on crisp meadows, gone are blood berries of Holly’s frozen clusters, I see hedges spiked and glossy leaves,
Awake I am moving past the trees, nowever will I wonder in glades of silver and green, I am a gentle jewel entwined within trees
High pitch calls of the little owls are peeking, the woods be alive
Little Robin Ruby Red breast is showing a deep chest, serenading me,
A badger munching and crunching yonder I see,
Tiny oak trees sprouting upward, a little gift from the squirrel’s scurrying year
High above, a Raven black ink to my eyes.
A jet feather is floating free, a gift from my beloved woods in mind
Feeling the leaves dancing among big oaks trees, maples, beech and twigs are spiraling down enchanting on me,
Whispering are the leaves that move, now dark, now light
In the morn Wildwood tear drops of sliver hung on clever leaves, fairies are laughing hither tither and yon, sun catching their smiles in glitter,
Golden rays bow to the dancers in the green glens and groves
Apple and pear trees laden with blossom perfume the air,
Sweet grass is tickling my legs, and lady bird red wing sings in the passing warm breeze, gazing upon Blue bell carpets just for me
Into nights spell
A voice wind runs through my hair, come and dance by the edge of the sea, I will guild you on a moon beam a bride to be, cooling the passion you feel, Beech nut husks crunch at my feet, and acorns marbles are laughing at me
Wildwood possessed dew drop lips, majestic of night in the glades of silver green,
Summer’s evening fire warming the passion you feel, dressed in cotton, wire and silks purple be, I am who you invoke and have always been, come to the edge of the Wildwood's near the sea to dance come be thee
── Gently her eyes fluttered open, lifting her brush, smiling she began her self-portrait among the trees.
© Arnay Rumens / A Sol Poet T20.2014
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
Everyday I'm trying so hard to like my favorite things for reasons having nothing to do with you.
Today when I decided to drive on the meandering border of Walloon Lake,
Wildwood Harbor rd,
The canopied trees
flashing shadows of squirrels peaking through paws
reminded me of every motorcycle ride I accompanied you on.
Holding tight to your chiseled stomach,
hands cupping your belly button through your sweatshirt pockets,
you would maneuver your mobile machinery through every dip and dive,
garnishing curves with streamline, flawless breaking and acceleration.
I would lean into your spine,
imagining the path of your lower back as the map of our road ahead,
each bump and curvature a flawless representation of reality,
the living moment.
Something sensual existed about the way you and I forged a relationship on pavement,
riding the asphalt the same way your bending fingers rode my thighs.
And every time I choose to drive our road with my less than aerodynamic Marquis,
each stomach flip from the unsuspected slopes
transports me to lazy mornings-
Naked and alone in any way imaginable.
Purity and solitude,
truth, the end of it.
So I turned onto M-75
trying to forget every reason that I love Wildwood Harbor for you,
and only remember the reasons I love it for me,
but couldn't find any worthy of space.
You made everything so memorable.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
I strike a hot match against those Front-Porch-Sitting-Mowing Freaks who live across the street.
I'm out there every morning;
Afternoons, too,
My grass stands tall,
And my fingers dance lightly across my dulcimer.
I'm strumming 'Wildwood Flower', mistakes and all.
I get serious with 'Whiskey Before Breakfast', not well done.
But then I break out with 'Cripple Creek.'
And who can fault me for that one?
It's a happy tune, done well, or poorly.
Those **** neighbors sit across the way.
They don't even bother to stare.
Something has changed.
There is still no sparkle in their eyes,
But I am happy.
It isn't my job to entertain the world.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
I am a Woman:
My skin melted in moonlight into grim of the darkness of night,
My hair sewed a meadow’s wildflowers,
That's how a woman created in me'
with blood divine,
I am a woman' strong and at the same time soft,
I am more like a pure wine of heaven,
Through dew, the spark of life arrowed in,
Giving birth to the wildwood adored skin,
Delphinium vivid petals of spring late,
With flagrant red roses; coloring my lips,
My eyes carry the dreams of poetry,
hopes of songs,
and music of joy,
An existence where I would live with pure me,
Where I would dance with my **** truths,
Play the drama of mystery,
And audience and stage all are for me,
Gathered to listen to me,
To see me play all drama and dance in between of drama,
I wrought the hair of my drenched in the psalm,
Enchanting with dark godly melodies of mine,
Braiding light with sorrows that, there, were.
The breeze from the voided air,
To embroider something, while reciting a prayer,
And dizzily, I fabricated a soul for the mud,
I inhaled, in awe and feel the life,
I am the words in a poem, ready to rhyme,
Yes, I am a woman,
Enough to feel the entire universe within the word of Woman,
My light reflected on my broken pieces,
The rays shaped a tree of wicked caprices,
Where my fantasies grow,
However, I am my own little beautiful creation,
And this reality is my hunger’s innovation.
The reality we all share,
Yet what deep is, makes my reality whole.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 3:33 PM UTC
Coyote’s mournful cries echo across
the bitter frozen wintry darkness
A deepening silence thrums as loudly
as the echoes the unanswered bays
Snowflakes mute the fading wails
coyote’s softly questioning appeals
An eerie answerless hush echoes
through the boughs,
writhing in the piercing frigid
wildwood blackness
The howling east wind gathers in
the throes of the lonely bespoken pleas
Carrying the weight borne a bone chilling
silent ache, beyond with the frozen autumn leaves
wild is the wind ... December 8th, 2016
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Flood me with your love
Don't hold back
Don't refrain
Don't be afraid
To seal your fate
We feel the same
This is our truth
I feel the Spirit
When I'm with you
You are my light
You are the truth
Like an avalanche
Your emotions rain
Feel free to be
The way you are
When you're with me
No restrictions
Nothing's too much
No expectations
Just acceptance
And pure
Love
You've been alone
And pushed away
No one to call on
Everyday
Trapped inside
A barricade of snow
Nowhere to go
Nothing to flood
No where to flow
Calling all angels
Spread your wings
Open your arms of light
And bring us
Hope
Bring us home
A way to cope
With emptiness
Giving back to those
Who chose to love us
Just as we are
Just as the stars
We were created
To be
Send your dove
Of cosmic love
To touch us in the night
To teach us in our dreams
To hold us when we cry
To comfort out the screams
The world is in pain
But we are abundant
Ready to share
Ready to bare
Paving a way
To be eternally
Saved
Flood me with your love
Don't hold back
Don't refrain
Don't be afraid
To seal your fate
We feel the same
This is our truth
I feel the Spirit
When I'm with you
You are my light
You are the truth
Walking through the forest breeze
Hugging Mother Nature's trees
I open up my heart to please
We bow before you on our knees
Stand in the middle
Of the wildwood where
The flowers grow
I'll meet you there
To fill you with a flood
Of love
A landslide of
Fervor and light
Every day
And
Every night
Find a special place to sit
A field, a seat of grass, a place
Where we can quietly visit
Think of me
Speak with your heart
Speak with your mind
I will meet you
You will see
We are connected
Infinitely
Your soul path leads you through
What you will learn on earth
So you can grow the wings
You'll need to fly
When it is time
To say goodbye
And when you say
Godspeed know this
You actually say hello
You see
You're never truly leaving me
I am always with you
You are always with me
Just as your loved ones
Have always been
Anyone you lost
And loved
Has always
Watched you
From above
From behind
Right beside
In every tree
And every stair
You've ever climbed
I am always with you
Listen, listen, listen
Flood me with your love
Don't hold back
Don't refrain
Don't be afraid
To seal your fate
We feel the same
This is our truth
I feel the Spirit
When I'm with you
You are my light
You are the truth
I know that you
Can feel it too
I am always with you
Listen, listen, listen
Shhhhh....
I'm here with
You
tHE tERRY tREE
In memory of our loved ones and my brother Benjamin (Jan 24, 1985 - Oct 09, 2012)
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
We were built as a compass to the
Stars and the sun
The moon held us
As the earth turned.
We were raised in wildwood
Times, when fires burned
In hearts above.
Standing still, prayers still
Drip from us,
We hold your knowledge
In the turning of the sun.
RB
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Helplessly Incomplete
Panicked
We search for our twin departed
The other half on this
New Moon; the Heron silently watches
With a knowing eye, old friends
Pulsating sadness; he reads our truth
Drinking its gravity
A pull down his feathers as two fall
Pulled above water
Guided by a shadow of a Hare
Rippling from an egg that has
Split into two
Not whole apart; a part here resides through
Memories of broken shells
Barefoot we run into the Wildwood
We remember the way
Back to a maze instinctively
Through the door in the tree
A face in green leaves whispers to the higher
Sight
Drums dance in my chest
The Shamans chant is my breath
Follow old tracks to make anew
A wheel turned as we
Bow to the bones
In my soul a Heron feather lies
And so in yours
A journey complete
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
where do you go when you lay your head to rest;
upon the laurels in the canopy of breath,
or to wildwood thickets and entangled pure excrement of excite;
your supine tenderness blurs the lines of tremendousness
into the minds' concupiscent forlorn worlds,
Worlds for new Words, and tinders beautiful blues while
the light's hum their tremulous cries, and the majesty of woman
reigns hero and heroine, mused and amused, in the qu'ues of real crimes
what all makes us feel so alive
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
In our bright winter’s morning, I drive up the road
Wipers brushing off the leftover flakes
The heat melting the snowy excess
In a flashback I remember the warm sand between my toes
And the ocean’s fist making contact with mine
The waves cracking from the collision of our blows
I smile but I am sulking on the inside
Yet hopefulness grips my train of thought
Two more seasons and I’ll be back just like that
I’ll be back on the beach, happy
And hopefully
She’ll be there too
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
While sitting on a hill one day
Remembering my days of play,
I saw a curious sight
That I'll try to recall with all my might.
The day was clear and bright and shining
The horizon, fuzzy with white lace lining,
And as the clear sun shone and the wind blustered
As I lay surrounded by field mustard
I dreamt of my childhood
Filled with stories and exploring wildwood
And when my eyes opened, a gift to see!
An array of floating dreams for me.
Clouds
Puffy and nostalgic of my days running with an old paper kite
Days of longing and silly spite
Twilights of catching fireflies in the brush
Nights when the birds were hushed.
And now I saw them, floating above me
As they did for little me
And I searched among them for pictures
Intently as a priest with holy scriptures.
There’s a puppy, a rocket too,
A fly, a cat, and a shoe,
A tree, a phone, and a shell,
Two bicycles, and a bell.
And that beautiful day
Where I was a child at play
Watching those puffy, huge, inviting
white, nostalgic, so soul igniting,
Clouds
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
My love of nature is only surpassed
By the sheer magnitude of its own grace.
Its playful creatures, its leaves em’rald cast
The gleam of the sun, the moon’s brilliant face.
I waltz through the wood, my heart aflutter;
The dappled shadows whisper at my heels,
Butterflies float past in a sweet mutter,
Fallen leaves caress the ground it conceals.
Admiration bubbles up inside me,
Similar to a babbling brook in June,
The thrill of nature seems to set me free;
I fall into the soft grass as I swoon.
Here in the wildwood I can reminisce
Of times when everyone knew of life’s bliss.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
you made me
want to go
slower,
breathe
deep er,
notice the
dots you get
on your face
when you need
to shave or the small
fluttering in my chest
when you just said simple
things like "chill out" or
"yeah?" and now i only
want to speed up my
hours until i feel
like i can walk
without my legs
r e m i n d ing
m e o f
y o u
.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
I"ll swing by the corner of the old stone wall
'til the wildwood flickers with gold
when the last rose of summer hands me her breath
in the pale flush of unspoken hopes.
A sliver of newness rooted in grace
clings to the mellowing earth
to soak the windswept loneliness
tinged with silent mirth.
Each twinkling hour spins its secrets
strung on a withering bough
and slips through the shadows of fallen trust
to the light that Christ endows.
Wrapped in the Lord's abiding strength
I lend a warming clasp
and feel the year's adventures ring
preserved within God's grasp.
The broken hush of a faltering prayer
shaken still with fear
sweeps through the golden emptiness
where Jesus draws us near.
Tomorrow pours its steady promise
caught in the twilight's stare
and wakes His peace within our hearts
that guards the midnight air.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
I always become
Nostalgic
When I'm deep into the bowels
Of nature.
At first I thought
It was Camp Wildwood
Coming back to me --
Capture the Flag --
My crush and I, Sarah,
In the woods alone
Using inside-jokes and "strategy"
As a knife
For the tension
Swelling up inside of us
a forbidden bloom that never was --
But it isn't that.
It's the genes inside of me
Ancient ones
Deep Prehistoric spindles lit
Crimson tooth claws laws
Of an order
With no defined border
Knuckles whitened ***** firing
Mounting and
Muscling out the moral
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
I sit here on the side
Of my own long road
Listening to the memories
Of crickets and toads
As I remember back
To years of childhood
Spent feeling lucky
To be in the wildwood.
No car horns honking
No neighbors screaming.
No jarring realities to
Waken me from dreaming.
The breezes and the stars
The city kid changing gears
Creating a landscape that has
Resided in me through the years.
Ice cream socials and songs
Sung in the church nearby
Bringing tears to my eyes
But I did not know why.
Why did these simple folks
So very glad to be alive
Smile through the foment
Then go right on to thrive?
They had no television,
Some had radios to hear
They relied on Farmer’s Almanac
To help them through the year.
They made their way themselves,
Knew when to plant and to reap.
When to harvest and store food;
Early to rise and early to sleep
They had a car and a tractor
But seldom had to leave home.
They bought this farm
When they lost the urge to roam.
We didn’t go to movies then,
But weddings and funerals
Brought friends together;
Cousins aunts and uncles.
At summers end I went back
To the city I knew so well
And got used to being there
After a rather touchy spell.
The water tasted differently
And Grandma was a great cook.
So, a whole lifetime later
Those days deserve another look.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Said the gull to the Helter Skelter:
‘Did you know, when the oak was felled
You would, one day, delight a girl
With raven eyes, who’d lost her way
And wound up starting fires?’
The gull went on:
‘Did you know, when the oak was cut
This wayward girl would grab your mat
To climb the stairs of our own prayers
To outshine all the spires?
And, did you know, when boards were made
A dusty offering to the lathe
You would, one day, tease out the sap,
The wildwood sap within her bones
Confounding all the liars?
So, you should know, when planks were bent
Twisted, slotted, primed and painted,
That this lost girl would one day jump
Up higher than high flyers.'
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 7:37 AM UTC
Rustled voice,
summer weeds
pierces palms,
blood on flower buds.
grafted wildwood
loves the desert,
dies efficiently
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:36 AM UTC
I lost my soul.
Somewhere between Atlantic City and Wildwood, NJ.
The salt still lingers in my hair, eyelashes, and tears.
The moons changing cycle as we eat candy on the beach and chase our childhood memories away
Creating tiny drawers to stash away keepsakes and overdue dreams
You pet me like a long lost lover with a fragile hand
Brushing out my knots and curls before we continue to share our sparkle
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 12:16 AM UTC
A lone , Water Oak wonder in golden armor
Sentry of the night , of uncertain shadow
The guardian of the gate , donned in-
bucolic regal linens
Living Testament to the power of Earth ,
securing the wildwood sacraments
Platform of the evening songster , transitional buoy of red morning starlight ..
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC