We were born into the wind in days when the sun was young we found our voice and learned to sing into the mystic of time begun…
We talked all through the night until first light an ocean of words slept before the dawn nothing was left untouched or unsaid on the day we were reborn…
On the day that we were born, the dynamics of life changed some things ceased forever, others rearranged the you and me and destiny reached out beneath an endless sea of stars in those days when the sun was young when we found our voice and learned to sing into the mystic wind.
* SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver 2021 Inspired by Van Morrison
There is an old deep magic in this forest which has seeped into my bones becoming one with roots that reach to embrace this Earth with tenderness… … a deep old magic which resonates through my blood and recognises the kindred sacredness in the beating of my heart;
The energy is pure and palpable embracing growing trees and rich earth soaking in moisture which nurtures the lines of my blood, making me weep with gratitude for all that holds sway in the stillness of deep old places … … the shadows echo and whisper echoes whisper of wisdom and nature which resonates through my blood and recognises the kindred sacredness in my soul
As we transcend the unconscious and as we transcend the ego and as we transcend the chaos to a place of deep inner understanding We will find a place in our hearts where we will know the truth of our own heartbeat And we know we are home in the deep old magic of the forest. * Poetry and Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021
The full moon rose over suburban streets faint traces of daylight slowly draining from a shadowed sky… … bats swooped above tree silhouettes darker shades against the night…
Branches echoed with a babbled chorus as parrots squabbled for tree-space and one by one lights shone from regimented rows of houses…
There was a measure of stillness as night took over from day autumn kissed my aging cheeks chill lips against my skin as a muted sense of calmness permeated the quiet streets somewhere a dog barked and the last echoes of children playing fell to silence…
I realized there was a peacefulness in such a setting even though it was not the tranquility of my beloved wilderness… … was it that I had become accustomed to my new surroundings acclimatized to the hum of traffic and the way buildings blocked the view?
As I ambled through the twi-lit streets my youngest son, at 22, slowed his pace to match his mum’s… … yes, the same mum who had hurried his little feet to school- – stopped to tie his scuffed shoes… held his small hand in hers and smiled… come on son, we’ll be late… … as if sensing my poignant thoughts my man-child smiled at me, nice night, was all he said. * How things change, as the years change pace slows and thoughts take on reflective layers each passing month… each year that slips by offers insights new and rewarding as a full moon rose over suburban streets faint traces of daylight slowly drained from a shadowed sky… I smiled at the evening stars that appeared one by one and realized there was a peacefulness in such a setting even though it was not the tranquility of my beloved wilderness…
Perhaps the true test of time is to find such peace where ever one resides. *
PANTOUM A poem in a fixed form, consisting of a varying number of four-line stanzas with lines rhyming alternately; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated to form the first and third lines of the succeeding stanza, with the first and third lines of the first stanza forming the second and fourth of the last stanza, but in reverse order, so that the opening and closing lines of the poem are identical.”
You and I
When the night is spread out against the sky shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon.
Shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon.
Secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon When the night is spread out against the sky. * Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021
She felt her body with blind fingers…. …. feeling the hard curves and shriveled bones of an old woman –
When did she get old? Crone-like… crow-like…. desiccated feathers dried to leather;
Skin akin to the family Book of Life… So many stories among us… yet so many untold chapters Skeletons in the closet, lips sealed forever against unshared secrets…
She felt hervbody with blind fingers. …. Self-examination before ‘selfies’ became a zen-ful form of self – evaluation. …
The years between then and now had left their marks, for good or bad shriveled bones and all she was older then she ‘d ever been – but she is still the she she’s always been just Crone-like… crow-like…. desiccated feathers dried to leather … a tomb of stories wanting to be told… before She fades into the Lands of the Remembered or Forgotten. * Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021
Life isn’t meant to stay the same just as seasons turn… people grow and change sometimes drifting so far apart that echoes are all that’s left of the past. And the laughter which rang, and secrets aired seem a fragile reminder of time shared when dreams were whispered in midnight hours and truths were offered like fragrant flowers. *
So I sit in limbo, waiting, lingering in reflections of life and past & present… and an obscure future which refuses to offer clues or clarity as to what direction I should be taking. These reflections, today’s reflections circle around a life of friendships that faded as time passed. Very few from neglect or negative reasons, mostly because life changes and people change. People moved, I moved. And new circles of friends are eventually formed, with the old friends never forgotten and often thought of. I wonder how they are, those friends from earlier years, who shared and laughed and cried so deeply with me? Have they survived the years and are now aging with whatever grace and dignity afforded them? Have they found their “happy place” ? Are they grandparents as well? Were any lost between the cracks of society?
Lingering within reflections today… outside the sun is finally shining after two weeks of torrential rain… difficult to believe it’s actually an autumn day, the way the sunshine is dancing across the yard, deepening shadows and highlighting freshly washed foliage. I should be outside! I should be wandering ‘neath trees, breathing in the earthy scents of nature. But I’m not. I’m sitting in limbo… waiting for a property inspection which the landlady has arranged- second one in less than 8 eight days… I ache somewhat, physically, from the extra household chores I felt obliged to do… aching somewhat, spiritually, because I’d rather be somewhere else doing something else or nothing at all, just BEING.
If truth be told, I’ve relocated so many times in 60 years… reinventing myself, my life, and in the process my circle of friends and each time the “she” who is me became a quieter more introspective person… life became less encumbered with material possessions and the circle became smaller and smaller. That’s not to say that I have forgotten those friends and friendships formed, connections that, at the time seemed permanent and perfectly suited to my heart and spirit. Each one ripples in my soul, circles in my pond of life.
Reflecting on this journey, I wonder why none of us ever managed to stay in touch, stay connected, stay friends despite distance and disruptions? I wonder why I have so few long term friendships… none from childhood… nor school… or those wild and crazy days in my early 20’s.
Only one from my failed attempt to be trained as a “nurse and model citizen”. And I haven’t actually seen her in thirty years, we ‘refound’ each other through Facebook and stay in touch. As for the group my late husband and I socialised with, well… None of “our” friends stuck around. After. So I started again. Again.
All this leaves me awash with melancholy homesickness for times lived and me’s I use be… and I wonder, Why?
Just why. Why is it so. * Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver