A March Summoning

By -
I sink under the St David's sun -
teasing yellow promise and primrose.
Is it over now;
the disconnection
between bone and flower?
I expose my stomach and toes
to the hovering hot star 
that's been haunting my sleep, 
and set my arms free 
from holding myself through
cold, glass rain, unthinking weeks. 

It will be a slow knitting;
the time it takes for seeds,
opening their eyes in the dark,
to extend their arms of anemone -
and I'm still numb under the divide.
Spirit, wake, forgive the sky -
the heated epiphanies stir once again
in the soil - 
I want to meet them barefoot,
my skin alight and feeling. 


Copyright LJ Ireton, 2025

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

This morning I saw seagulls

By GlitterVegan -
This morning I saw seagulls, Far from the sea Circling the moon I can not tell the type of day I'm walking in to -  The Sun, on the other side, said it loved me But I have a stone in my shoe On the way to the station Change can be mysterious, it can be Frustration. I am far from the sea Circling the night - The only certain answer To a day of Question.  LJ Ireton 2023
Read more

Lioness, outside The Garden

By -
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
Read more

Under the snow

By -
Everything that breathes wild, sleeps; the roaring given over to the wind, screaming through the trees that were sanctuary. Even the fairytale stars, inherently kind,  appear cruel, burning only frost light through the black lake of sky. I am unwanted by the outside; winter hunts the human. Everything healing is  under the snow,  with patient claws. So I must, too, let sadness, want and  not-understanding roam; whirling with snowflakes, dirt and everything Earth has to say right now; while I find the creature, the candle  the deep, deep dream that will emerge when the time of the anti-sun is over -  read her stories of wolves and warm star-bears - she will need them in the thawing. C. LJ Ireton, 2024
Read more