Skip to main content

NORTHERN LIGHTS GUIDED ME by Alyscia Cunningham

I’ve always been amazed by the fact that different hues of color flow through the sky so beautifully...

Although scientist have their explanation for the Northern Lights (Aurora Borealis), I honestly don’t think they have a full understanding of the many wonderful mysteries of our magnificent Universe. I also believe some things aren’t meant to be understood but instead enjoyed and appreciated.

Earlier this year I entered a short story contest with Iceland Writers Retreat (IWR). The winning participant received an all-expense paid trip to the Retreat. Unfortunately my story did not make it. Later IWR sent an email about another company that was also holding a poetry contest with the same prize. As of yet I don’t know if I won but I do hope so.

Since entering the IWR contest I keep getting messages about Iceland. I’m seeing pictures, documentaries, posts on social media pages or conversations that come up out the blue. I can’t ignore the strong pull telling me I need to visit even if I wanted to. In the process I’ve realized my initial introduction to IWR contest wasn’t a coincidence but actually planned for me. Somehow there is a connection that I haven’t figured out as of yet.

After seeing a poem and picture with beautiful hues on Catherine Ghosh’s page I decided to submit this poem. I don’t know where the image was taken but it was enough to remind me of what I keep seeing. I’m not sure what the future holds for me journeying into Iceland, but I know I’ll be there someday soon.

Northern Lights Guided Me
by Alyscia Cunningham

Feeling lost so looked within,
for escape into space out of the dim.

Needing guidance through the world,
silencing the drops of tears impearled.

Dropped to my knees in sigh of fatigue,
then dazzled by glows yearning to intrigue.

Lifting my head to confirm my belief,
the dancing hues gave me relief.

Magnificent green, violet, yellow and blue,
Aurora Borealis, it that you?

My Frown turned into a smile,
no longer in exile,
magnificence now surround my profile.

Thought I was alone,
yet you guided me,
as I seeked to find what I could not see.

Now covered in auras of confidence,
blankets of pleasured prominence,
restore me with compliments.

Stood up in assurance,
for all life’s occurrence,
was an attempted deterrence.

Before I begin,
I lift my chin,
and give thanks for Iceland.

I self-reconcile,
feeling assured that all the while,
you were with me as I hiked the long mile.

Northern Lights in my Horizon,
starts my journey into the Highland,
of a path forever brightened.


Alyscia Cunningham is an author, photographer, entrepreneur, speaker, wife, mother of three children and a creative soul. Through her lens, Cunningham captures and celebrates raw beauty, as she believes the media not only does a good job of focusing on our insecurities but also profiting from it. Her previously published book, Feminine Transitions, and upcoming books and documentaries are social-change projects challenging the "idea" of beauty. Alyscia started journaling as well as writing poems and short stories at the age of 10, and has has kept all of it all in her memory box. She says one days she'll have the pleasure to sit with her children and read to them some of her childhood writing. Connect with her on Facebook here, or visit her website. 


~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!~

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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