OUR SOUL'S SEEDS ARE BORN FROM DIVINITY by Carolyn Riker

Our Soul's Seeds Are Born From Divinity

by Carolyn Riker

If I could string each raindrop

into a knitted sweater

the colors would be the opals of a sunrise

and the music of the sea.

If I could touch each hurt and transform them

into a talisman of safety

the emotions would elicit the thunder of a mountain

and the joy rendered in the flight of a hummer set free.

If I could formulate soundwaves into a lullaby

the leaves would play a melody of tiny bells

and it would have the qualities of wind

round and full, flowing through the trees.

If I could paint with clouds, I would stand on tippy toes

dipping my brush into the clever cumulous creations

of course, with my imagination

feeling the colors of hope and love wash over me.

If I could, and I think sometimes we forget

we are the magic in a raindrop’s opalescence

where hurts can change into a talisman of safety

and we can sing a heartfelt lullaby in any key.

We can soar with our imagination

bestowed from the clouds

when we believe in our creativity

because as you and I, can finally see

our soul’s seeds are born from divinity.

Carolyn Riker is the author of three beautiful books of poetry and prose. She's also a licensed mental health counselor in private practice. She frequently writes for Medium. If you'd like to receive an email notification when she writes something new, add your name to this link. Carolyn also has a Facebook page and an Instagram page for her poems, quotes, and musings!

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Comments

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

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