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.
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”
beauty is restored again . . .
It is dawn, my friends.
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
the continuing magnificence of Her Presence
reminding me of being held knowingly
in a Cosmic composition.
© Wendy Robertson Fyfe, Dunbar