Tag Archives: Free verse

Well Being to Share

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 14

Morning meditation, the road to my spirit world
Where wisdom and kinship await —
Ariel, appearing as a small human woman
Greets me at the kitchen table,
In the room of healing potions,
Hanging bundles of dried plants,
My mind —chaotic with dread and sadness —
Reveals truth without words,
A sexual predator, voted in —
Ushering a pack of liars, grifters,
A kakistocracy of criminals,
The laws broken, the press bending,
Spineless politicians bowing
To mean-spirited bullies
Who plan to override the democracy
They hate —
Ariel takes my hand and leads me
To the next room with its French window
Where we wait for dawn, for hope —
Now delicate twinkling white lights dance
Along the walls,
And I sit in front of a fire place,
The warmth of the flames and the lights
Begin to fill my body
With a brighter, softer aspect — the alarm recedes —
Finding balance ahead of dark times
Means showing up early for the opposition,
Starting from a place I choose,
Grounded —
Refusing to obey —joy and love
Protected, nourished —
The shade of fascism feeds on hopelessness,
Fear and isolation in the dark —
Ariel reminds me to celebrate Yule,
The glow of fire,
The shimmer of lights everywhere,
A cozy feeling —
Authentic, not forced,
Well being to share —
A pot of tea, conversation, tears, smiles, gifts
With my family and friends,
And out into the world I send that love —
For all of us, the animals,
The land,
For earth herself.

Laurel Owen, December 2024

Lighthouse of Hope

Brigid’s Ritual, Part 8

A kitchen of potions, dried herbs
Hanging from rafters, and good coffee --
My landing place this morning in the spirit world --
Ariel, my friend and guide, and I
Sit at the table before dawn
As I impart the news between sips --
Our excitement shared
At a ground swell of bold
winning aspiration catching fire --a sense
We collectively, resoundingly
Will defeat the menace of religious fanatics and 
Their corrupted puppets --
Ariel smiles with my joy,
And leads me away from our table --
We fly as crows
West, to a lighthouse,
A warm light and an open window
Beckon --
I shift into the small room full
Of books on shelves --
I'm drawn to an open tome on the table
And lay my hand on a page --
The words tell a story --
Forbidden literature and wisdom,
Characters portrayed
In secret --shared in someone's cottage
Between friends, book to hand with trust given --
Where nationalism thrives in gloom
and imposes a blinding fog —banned
Books offer a lighted path
To dissent and survival --
So we tell our stories of outlawed sensuality
Or ancient lore
To arrive at dawn, at democracy,
Freedom of bodies, minds, lifetimes
Lived and set free in the pages of books and beyond --
Outside the pre-dawn stillness --
The expectation of a bird's first song,
The sound and smell of salty waves below,
The circling beam of the lighthouse, now over land
Now over sea --
A comfort at this moment --
The lighthouse, my lodestar
As I speak and write
Hopefulness in my world.

Laurel Owen, July 2024