This poem came to
me starting with the phrase, “Something in me sighs,” and it compelled me to
sit down and see where it wanted to go..
It turned out to be a story of spiritual journey. First, a quiet longing that gets
stronger, until it lays one bare.
Alongside that, the expression of grief over loss... whether a person,
an ability, an opportunity, an expectation. Allowing the grief to wash through until nothing is left,
starting from bone. The burning of
heart-purpose starting as a pinprick of light, then growing so powerful that
the old story of who you were is unrecognizable in the new landscape of who you
are becoming. It is a poem about surrendering
to one’s own heart wisdom, rising from the ashes, and rebirthing the Self.
 |
| Photography by Katharina Jung |
by Tamara Fairbanks-Ishmael
Something in me sighs.
A small voice,
A whisper of breeze, gently lifting
hair,
hesitant, playful,
grasses swaying.
Then, picking up force –
A gust knocks the birdhouse from the
tree
as its branches
dance fervent hallelujahs against the sky.
Gaining confidence, it becomes a
gale,
howling, finding
the cracks in the cabin chinking.
The earth is lifted as dust,
blowing, blasting,
seeking,
stripping away
layer by layer.
The landscape is scoured bare, a
polish on each stone.
The Wind will not be silenced.
Nothing left but bone.
• ~ ~ ~ •
Something in me cries.
Welling up, spilling over,
The first drops hop merrily on the
sidewalk,
abstract blots of
dark.
Dirt turns to mud, saturated.
Then, bubbling, seeping through the
cracks,
Running, swirling
in eddies in the low spots.
The carefully tended garden
is swept away.
A torrent crashes on rocks
and rapids rage.
The battered birdhouse bobs
downstream,
receding in the
distance.
The landscape is broken, spent,
alone.
The River will not be stilled.
Nothing left but bone.
• ~ ~ ~ •
Something in me burns.
A pinprick of light, a bit of
stardust glitter
in the center of
my heart.
First, cold as space.
The bud flickers, glows, smolders.
Seeking the air through the cracks,
gasping,
growing,
bursting into a flower
with petals of fire.
It pulsates with passionate purpose,
its blaze
insatiable –
The sparks fly as it crawls, darts,
explodes, roars,
Snacking
on curtains,
gorging on furniture.
The cabin walls become coals,
crumbling.
It advances,
consuming illusion,
devouring flesh.
The charred landscape smokes,
a smudge offering,
a moan.
The flame will not be extinguished.
Nothing left but bone.
• ~ ~ ~ •
Nothing left but bone.
…and these things:
Blackened ash
A drop of water
A breath of air
And the stirring
of wings.
Tamara
Fairbanks-Ishmael is the owner of Good Earth Gatherings, a shop and Learning Center near Lawrence,
Kansas. She is a former
professional speaker and English/Drama teacher with a Masters degree in Liberal
Arts. Tamara has passion for
learning and teaching, and she has taught classes to people ranging from junior
high students to company CEOs. Her
classes are outgrowths of her interests and ongoing learning, which include
Home Herbalism, Earth wisdom, women’s spirituality, creativity and healthy
living.
~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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