The Seed of her Heart by Isabelle Andres

This came to me, a long while ago, almost in a burst, writing itself on a piece of paper, following its very own rhythm...

It had a mind of its own, I am not too sure if it wanted to be a poem, a fairy tale or what. I let it be what it wanted to be and I saw the river from Paulo Coelho’s novel and the witch from Philip Pullman’s novels happily sneaking in. I let it do what it wanted to do and it decided to reveal itself today.

I suspect it is now ready to share a message, a message that was entrusted to us by our yoga teacher a little while ago now: “We all have a seed of love within us, sometimes our journeys take us astray from it, sometimes we may let it dry, but it is in each and all of us, for us to connect or reconnect with, for us to find and cherish.”

The Seed of her Heart

by Isabelle Andres

Once upon a time,

There was a man,

Whose cold heart,

Would turn to ice,

All that he found in his path,

And like in most fairy tales,

Our heroine was almost stale,

As when her fate joined his,

Her wild heart almost became,

One of those extinct species.

Midnight passed,

Yet no prince strikes,

Her anxious heart,

Forever trapped,

To this ice-cold frozen path,

By the River Piedra,

Our heroine cries,

Calling for a soaring eye.

There is no time left,

Serafina casts a spell,

The seed of her heart,

Can sprout again,

And like in most fairy tales,

Our heroine’s heart,

For ever bloomed,

In an eternity of wild woods.

Isabelle Andres: A few years ago, I decided to embark on a new journey, a rather personal one, one of self-discovery and so I began to let go of all I once was to become all I am and will be. Along the way, I have discovered myself a passion for photography, writing, reading and dancing amongst many other things. I find my inspiration in Nature and contemporary art and I love to explore the creative and spiritual spheres. From introspective journaling I somehow began to venture in the land of poetry. My first poem came to me whilst I was absorbed as I often am in a moment of Nature contemplation. Recently I have begun to venture in the land of fictional writing and I now secretly dream that one day I will be the proud author of a novel. I can be found on my website Belle Pan’s Maze and on my writer’s page on Facebook.

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~

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IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience. Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

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I’ve had several days now of alone time… It is unusual and a gift that I couldn’t see until I breathed it. I have been able to watch the sun’s rise through the grey of dawn and smile at the flickers of frost melting on the waving boughs of evergreen. It’s unique to follow daylight as it traverses the tempo of a cat’s soft slumbering purr. Night comes swifter and the glow of candles and the flames of fire comfort me more than the steady stream of always-doing-more. As much as I resisted, I needed this break. I had no idea how much my body was trying to tell me slow down until the exhaustion settled in around my joints. My eyes swam in molasses. Heaviness of I-can’t-hold-out-much-long, walked me to the throne of my nest. It’s winter’s gift of self-nurturing and love. It’s been a quiet proclamation of femininity and a need for comfort foods. Lemon crisps and cranberry, white-chocolate shortbread dipped in tea; I felt a hint of being pampered without

Journey of the Heart

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