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Here is an ensemble of poems. There will be further postings on facebook. Perhaps you will find poetry coming through your lips from your own experiences of song. 

...Listen. Every molecule is humming
its particular pitch.
Of course you are a symphony.
Whose tune do you think
the planets are singing
as they dance?
- Lynn Ungar

“A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.” John Muir

The Silence of the Stars

When Laurens van der Post one night 
In the Kalahari Desert told the Bushmen 
He couldn't hear the stars 
Singing, they didn't believe him. They looked at him, 
half-smiling. They examined his face 
To see whether he was joking 
Or deceiving them. Then two of those small men 
Who plant nothing, who have almost 
Nothing to hunt, who live 
On almost nothing, and with no one 
But themselves, led him away 
From the crackling thorn-scrub fire 
And stood with him under the night sky 
And listened. One of them whispered, 
Do you not hear them now? 
And van der Post listened, not wanting 
To disbelieve, but had to answer, 
No. They walked him slowly 
Like a sick man to the small dim 
Circle of firelight and told him 
They were terribly sorry, 
And he felt even sorrier 
For himself and blamed his ancestors 
For their strange loss of hearing, 
Which was his loss now.

David Wagoner

Song of Amergin (500BC)

I am the wind on the sea

I am the stormy wave

I am the sound of the ocean

I am the bull with seven horns

I am the hawk on the cliff face

I am the sun’s tear

I am the beautiful flower

I am the boar on the rampage

I am the salmon in the pool

I am the lake on the plain

I am the defiant word

I am the spear charging into battle

I am the god who put fire in your head

Who made the trails through stone mountains

Who knows the age of the moon

Who knows where the setting sun rests

Who took the cattle from the house of the warcrow

Who pleases the warcrow’s cattle

What bull, what god created the mountain skyline

The cutting word, the cold word.

Drew Dellinger, “Hymn to the Sacred Body of the Universe”


Which means:
beauty is restored again . . . 

It is dawn, my friends.
Wake up.


The night is over.”

Lyla June Johnston

Super blue blood moon toward Imbolc


Drumming on basalt rock

as She rises brightly in the gloaming

through an opening of whispering clouds

like an eye gazing lovingly from the Multi-verse

to feed and breath the world again.


Seagulls return through the South veil

soaring and falling across invisible staves to the North

making music l cannot hear.

l hear all the talk for the day is done.

Now silence but for the sea breeze

and a haunting mystery melody

before a sky brow.


I am mesmerized in wonder;

broken open once again

by the beauty of this moment

and this:

the continuing magnificence of Her Presence

reminding me of being held knowingly

in a Cosmic composition.


© Wendy Robertson Fyfe, Dunbar

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