Journey of the Heart

My poem, “Moving Metaphor” is about Woman, as the embodiment of the art of poetry... She IS poetry. Her being moves as an art form, bringing insight and love to humanity. She is sorely needed today in a world that sometimes seems off course. May the woman of today rise to her most noble place among society, bringing her art of wisdom, guidance, and peace to all, in whatever form she takes. Photography by Katarina Silva Moving Metaphor by Kara D. Spain She is moving art, in creations of light and dark, casting metaphorical shadows, upon walls of life Her feet, dare not touch the decaying floor of stillness- she glides upon it, as if skating on glass-bottomed seas, of emerald and sapphire- armed with images of poetic lyric; her powerful pen, bringing forth the call, raining down showers of verse upon all Her body, a propelling metaphor, in rhythm and rhyme, tickling the minds of fools, sublime; as she walks peacefully, among a lonely land, to li...

In the Celtic Spiritual Tradition, we acknowledge the existence of "Thin Places"… These are places where the veil separating the Spirit Realm from the Earth Realm is paper thin and penetrable. These are timeless places where wonderful visitations and visions may happen.  Along with countless other spiritual travelers, I found the sacred isle of Iona, (one of the Hebrides, off the western coast of Scotland) to be such a place. My experience there was one of tremendous awe, Presence, and Deep Love. I have since come to believe that we ourselves are such Thin Places, where Spirit and Matter beautifully, seamlessly meet. The following piece of writing welled up from the Thin Place of my own soul; where I am blessed to encounter the Divine Beloved, no matter where I may physically be. Our Place, Our Time by Cheryl Anne It is All Your Planting; this lush landscape of soul. I pray in a sodden inner sanctuary. Though the day beyond is parched and begg...

I wrote this poem a day or two after my first Poem-a-Thon came to an end, with Tiferet Journal this year... The experience of being part of writing a poem a day for a month, responding to the sensitive calling forth of prompts each day and writing alongside other amazing people was a very spiritual journey of discovery for me.  I felt like I had spent every day birthing something and at the tail end of the Poem-a-Thon, I felt at a loss and wondered how to move forward. Then I wrote this poem.   I am entering a new phase of my life as a woman, just turned 40.  New experiences await and at the same time I am being invited into the experience of "now" like never before. I feel like God is showing me something of freedom - in a sense of freedom to be who I am. Freedom to be who I am with who God is. And that for me is very important at the moment, as I am letting go of what has been, to learn to "be" with what is.  D...

I would like to believe that my “spirit” animal is a dragonfly... I am definitely drawn to these creatures. The dragonfly, with protruding eyes and exoskeleton, is not nearly as pretty as his butterfly cousin, though in their lifetime both metamorphose, adapting, becoming something else.   I’ve learned that even youth, the dragonfly nymph faces adversity, and must learn to swim the currents to survive. Their delicate, translucent wings disguise their real strength. In this stage of my life, more autumn than summer, I too have changed— writing poetry, finding my voice. And in the past year have discovered a courage and inner-strength strength I did not know I possessed…yes, I am drawn to dragonflies… Dragonfly by  Ginny  Brannan Ever transforming stronger than you first perceive I am ‘dragonfly’ * * * * What is it about the dragonfly that attracts me… As a children we were told they were “darning needles” would “sew your mouth shut” …...

As an author and artists who greatly appreciates the Celtic Bardic tradition... ...I felt inspired to write this prayer for those who seek to enlighten through their art.  Photograph by Katarina Silva A Bard’s Prayer by Avellina Balestri Let me catch the flame Golden, glittering, glaring So my fingers may glow as I hold the pen Let me taste the wine Sweet, smooth, sumptuous So my speech may be seasoned when I tell the tale Let me smooth the cloth Crumpled, crude, queer-colored, So beauty and grace may greet each eye Let me weave with thread Silver, star-lit, spider-spun So my words may flow like a moon-kissed stream Let me glimpse the ghosts Fast-footed, fair-faced, fleeting So my blessing may reach them as eyes meet eyes Let me climb the chain Twinkling, taught, tenacious That connects the present with the haunted past Let my arrow fly Straight-shot, shimmering, shocking To cleave each heart for the sake...

 I wrote this poem during a particularly difficult season in life... While in it, I had to stretch a little harder, reach a little higher, breathe a little deeper in order to find the good in each day, the simple joys that open our heart and elicit a feeling of thankfulness for life. There are times where the stars align and the season bursts into beautiful bloom, and our thank yous are easier to grab onto, easier to offer. And then there are times where the we can't quite see the sunshine through the clouds, where we wait in seasons of loss, transition and uncertainty- not knowing where life is taking us, not knowing how we'll get there. The thank yous are harder to come by, the fears and doubts greater. And it is these times especially that we have to be insistent upon finding the good in each day if we want to cultivate gratitude and find the good of day.  I am learning, the more I become, that finding joy can be the easiest thing or the hardest thing. But is a...

Searching for the meaning of life-- for one’s identity in this crazy world--one often goes around in frenetic circles.  We keep forgetting that life is in the  Here and Now   and so the merry-go-round won’t stop. What seems so simple – being and staying in the present – is the most elusive, leading us nowhere yet bringing us back to ourselves. The paradoxes of Life and Truth! Frenzied by Shernaz Wadia I am the wave crashing on the shore in search of the ocean the dune rolling about frantically looking for the desert the jasmine seeking its own perfume that is who I am And the star beaming away in space wondering where its light is I am the deer darting around crazily craving its own musk I am the flame leaping and crackling As I chant, where is the fire, oh where? Searching, wondering, craving, leaping,  I have become a tumble-weed Chasing its own core. Shernaz Wadia   is a retired primary scho...