Tag: poem

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The Truth of You

“You are a story the
ocean is telling
the sky

the stars speak your name
the moon sings
in your veins
the selkies who swim
through harbor and lagoon
remember you
with liquid eyes

come home
to the timeless tide
to the truth of you
hidden like witchlight
under your skin
come home to your
true story
the one hidden like
sunken treasure
beneath
who you think you are
and who the world
told you
you could be

daughter
mother
sister
wife
worker
healer
helper
friend

you are more than
the roles you play
for others
and the ones you try on
for yourself
you are more than
your fear
more than your
longing
circumstances
and pain

come away
from the harsh
dry land of limitation
move away
from the shoreline
of approval
the sharp rocks of fitting in
will only bruise your
luminous skin

lay down
all you think you know
abandon
that habit of smallness
relinquish
the sting of bigness
let what is unworthy
drift out from you

feel

allow the waves
of possibility
to cradle your
soul-drenched heart

float

on the current of ancestors
those who burned and bled
who gave all so you
could embody
what they could not
so that you could become

more

spread your arms wide
like hope
and your legs wild
like abandon
feel your spine loosen
with silk and
starlight

you belong to She who holds
the deep in her lap
She is not afraid of the dark

She is the dark

and you are
the pearl
she is crafting
from chaos and crisis
look at you shine
every bit of you
treasure”

~Angi Sullins
WITCHLIGHT album

💗

Art: The Energy of Me
by Nancy Lankston

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A Proper Feminist Nativity

A Modern Madonna by Caro Dranow

“i like my nativities
with a side of heresy
with midwives and mothers
and empty mangers
and full arms

i like wise women
over wise men
attending to bloody people
born and crucified
showing up in places
church leaders won’t go

i like heralding feminist agendas
and trouble
and god’s good news
which is kind of repetitive
since they’re all the same thing

proper churches
want proper nativities
because women’s bodies
are shameful
whether bearing christ
or just bare

and instead of silent nights
i like loud protests
because
be silent
is not a phrase about joy
but about control

so give me a christmas
without white supremacy
and bright sexism
where the story of a baby
becomes a story of a woman
and my nativity looks like
god’s
and not like
man’s”

~ Kaitlin Hardy Shetler

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Let’s Go Get Her

once upon a time
before the shame
and the sin
you were a cartwheel
hair flying
in full tumble
throwing yourself
with mad delight
into the arms of
wind and spirit

once upon a time
before the shame
and the sin
you were a starkeeper
your wishes alone
kept the stars aloft
in a velvet sky
of invitation and belonging

you knew the sylvan
truth of fireflies
and trailed their
golden lantern path
over silvered meadow
into to the lullaby
of fairyland

the moon was a
grandmother from a tale
you still remembered
watching over your every move
look! you said. Look!
everywhere we go
the moon follows us
all the way home

once upon a time
before the shame
and the sin
acorns were goblin hats
trees were secret keepers
clouds were sky puppets
butterflies and honey bees
were emissaries of otherwhere
guarding the old stories
adults had already forgotten
to remember

once upon a time
before the shame
and the sin
you moved through
the world like it was
your back yard
elbows made of frolic
knees made of wonder
fingers and toes a whirl
of color and possibility

your mind was full of
neverland
and your heart was full
of Oz
your body was still
a playground
and a confidant
and a friend

remember her?
she got lost somewhere
between the shame
and the sin
but she’s still there
cartwheel smile
moonbeam soul
fairy tale girl
in love with
her own life
in love with you
bawdy and soul

she’s still in there
daring, brazen
wild with
possibility
let’s
go
get
her.

~Ang Sullins
www.angisullins.com

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I’ll Tell You A Secret

Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,
write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.
So I’ll tell a secret instead:
poems hide.
In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping.
They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings
the moment before we wake up.
What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

Image: Pink Sherbet Photography 

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Full Moon in Airy Libra

In honor of the first full moon of spring…

Beehive

Within this black hive to-night
There swarm a million bees;
Bees passing in and out the moon,
Bees escaping out the moon,
Bees returning through the moon,
Silver bees intently buzzing,
Silver honey dripping from the swarm of bees
Earth is a waxen cell of the world comb,
And I, a drone,
Lying on my back,
Lipping honey,
Getting drunk with silver honey,
Wish that I might fly out past the moon
And curl forever in some far-off farmyard flower.

~Jean Toomer
1894-1967

🌙

#AprilMoon
#LibraMoon
#spring
#honey
#bee
#joy

🌙

Art by Neil Thompson
available on Etsy

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The World Stops

god is a mother
and with that
sentence
the world stops
the world always stops
when woman and
divine
commingle
as if the
feminine
dilutes the
miraculous
when in reality
it embodies it
when jesus turns water
to wine
they clap
but when women turn breasts
to milk
they cringe
a broken man’s body
is celebrated each sunday
while a broken woman’s body
is just hidden away
and it’s no wonder
that mother is a word
used by men
to demonize those
who don’t claim the name
and weaponized to shame
those who step out of line
because
their ideal
woman
plays the role of
nurturer and silencer
in pews
built and led by them
but
when god
becomes mother
she is neither quiet
or compliant
she leads confidently
she questions authority
she commands respect
which might be the problem
for mother god
did not gather us up
carelessly
but took her time with it
she fed us milk
birthed our souls
and broke her body
and the permanence
can be uncomfortable
and to disentangle god
from motherhood
Is impossible
but
to disentangle god
from womanhood
is sinful
because seeing god as mother
is one step closer
to seeing god in me
and it’s in that
i am truly
born again

~Kaitlin Hardy Shetler

🌙

Image: A new mother nurses her baby
unknown photographer