LEARNING TO FLY by Edith Lazenby

I wrote this poem the other night for a friend, as a gift, a way of sharing understanding of how many ways a heart can break.

Like any who’ve lived life, if lucky actually, they’ve known love; and then learned what they knew as love had roots in something other than compassion, giving and true care.

As the Native American saying goes: the more the heart breaks, the stronger it grows.

I find the creative process feeds the heart in all ways. A child can be the product of many things, but in an ideal world, a child results because of the love of a man and a woman. Or today, same-sex partners can find a means to have a child with the love they share.

Being childless, I don’t have that blessing. But I do have a loving partner [after several who were not] and I have writing, yoga and faith. I can lose everything else I know, but even life cannot take those three.

Learning to Fly

Feelings crack my heart

Like an egg with a chick

That’s wants to peep:

Instead I see a yolk

Run with blood in the center

And though I am making

Eggs for my kids

Like I usually do, all I scramble

And beat takes my insides

Out as I toss in the butter

And begin to cook.

What’s cooked and roasted

Is a spirit that wants to thrive

When instead each breath

Stops at my throat

And I chortle and choke

To find the pain of dying

Like the baby bird

That could not grow wings.

My feathers were plucked

Before they could ever fly

And I know if I could bury

What never found life,

A part that cries

Might grow wings

As I find meaning in pain

Only time can treat.

I decide to curl into a ball

And imagine a woman

Holding me as if my love

A womb able

To birth a joy

Pain won’t let me know.

And as I lay in the embrace

I learn that woman is me,

And slowly a healing

Plants a seed as I find

My way to a limb

Of a tree and look up

To feel the sun warming me,

Getting ready to spread my wings.

Edith Lazenby: “I love to write. I began writing poetry in elementary school. Sometimes I write poetry daily, other times not. I adore Mary Oliver, her way of embracing the light while acknowledging the darkness. I teach yoga full time and find the practice has grounded me deeper in my body and heart and helped me move closer to what I call spirit. I also now edit for Elephant Journal and write for them as well. I live with my husband, who is my best friend, and 4 kitties. Life holds challenges yet with time I feel better able to live in the moment, moment by moment. All great teachers teach presence. I find each day is a lesson in being. The process of writing holds me and I find the craft teaches me something new each time. You may visit my blog here.

~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!~

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

IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor

The inspiration for this poem came after I watched a magical winter sunset and full moonrise from the top of Firle Beacon in the South Downs... Unusually for me, I wrote the poem quite quickly and changed it very little before publishing it – perhaps the energies were working through my pen! Imbolc is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It’s a fire festival which I particularly love because of its associations with Brigid, the Celtic Mother Goddess of arts and crafts, clear sight, healing, inspiration and nurturance of creative talents – something which, through my writing, I am always trying to connect with. I also love Imbolc because, with so much darkness and negativity in the world today, it is a time for hope, potential, visioning and initiation. With love and blessings as the light returns. Photography by Chanel Baran IMBOLC by Caroline Mellor I am the dream of awakening. I am the returning of the night. I am the tough green

WINTER SOLSTICE: A GIFT OF LOVE by Carolyn Riker

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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