Lioness, outside The Garden Not all is lost - my lion walks loyal beside us. She was where I lay my head under the low stars, in the uncomplicated, verdant heart of living; where ground-wings opened to pink and perfume ever-present. He called her Ariel. I call her Ari. She carries the star-thrum energy of earth newly created; all fire eyes and focus, yellow allegiance, claws on instinct. Whereas I - I can't stop thinking. I leave our tent; bark and stem like praying hands and rest on her sand-coloured fur - She is still the same; four-legged land of the horizon, muscles of vine and forehead of moss, a head that moves like water around a river bend - a moving, prowling garden. No, not all is lost. LJ Ireton, 2024
My spirit was swung low like a string hammock so I lay with it, sunken under the hottest star to meld or fuse what it could. I opened my eyes to the sure, steady mind of a Red Kite, cutting through finger-smudged clouds and all uncertainty - an ever-winning coin. Under the relentless energy of the Sun And the set red bend of bone and feather, one strand pulled taut, alert again. I thought of poetry; the beautiful things forever flying fierce: star stripes, bronze birds, truth - all these strong lines in the sky are under my blood; my tired self is still singing. LJ Ireton, 2024
The outline of that crown Sank beneath the Sun And into the sea. Those castles now were Underwater cities. So, too water fell From her face To join the murky shapes Of memory. But with depth There is foundation - She summoned herself To the other side of the sea Where her own waves And wild horses Waited To be made or broken By their unknown queen. Copyright LJ 2020
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