I CAN by Heather Awad

There are moments when we lose the spirit inside us…

... from one type of loss or another, but we are rewarded with faith, hope and love for ourselves.

I Can

I can look up at a blue sky
like it's here just for me
on a day when gray clouds
would have pulled me
into the ground, the way
the earth drinks the rain.

I can write my emotions
in a poem till I've emptied
myself, less weighty, less
dispirited over another
estranged someone I gave
my heart to and had to
take it back.

I can wake up tomorrow
and it will be the next day
farther from this one
full of intrinsic belief
that the sky inside my heart
will be blue no matter what.

Heather Awad: I began writing poetry in my early twenties. It started as a way to express deep emotional feelings I could not release verbally. Very bound by my own voice, poetry became the medium for me to speak. It remained my salvation in healing hurts, and in learning to deal with strong emotions such as love and loss. Throughout the last ten years, it has been an up and down process of writing consistently and seriously, to letting it slip away in place of other more pressing demands. The most prominent time when I returned to writing poetry, was this past January 2014 when I began using photographs of various kinds to incite myself and awaken creativity, and I have been engaged non-stop since. I have taken numerous online poetry and creative writing classes over the past year, and continue to do so. Much of my poetry can be found on my Facebook page 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!~

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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

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

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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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