In these open spaces
I find solace waiting,
meadows red with summer,
red fields rushing to the sea.
Peace is waiting here
in the rustle of wild grasses,
the soft hum of bees,
the heady stillness of the mountains.
each winter this piece of farmland near the village where my parents live floods and becomes a small lake that lasts through the colder months. the area is called lochán, which i think is irish for ‘little lake’. i’ve always been fascinated with the place ever since i was little, i love the idea of a lake that seeps back into the earth with the summer sun. on frosty mornings you can hear the ducks, geese and swans that come here all the way over at my parents house which is several miles away; they make quite a noise!
In my sleep
I stand in the silence
of the places I have left behind.
The past is buried
beneath fields of young green corn
and skies sullen with snow.
when i step into the stillness i remember
why my heart seeks to return to this place,
somewhere in its beat it remembers
that the night can be black;
dark and silent;
that the horns of the cresent moon
are what tear at the soul
allowing blood and ink to flow free ~
I come to your alter with words,
take me back there
to see the world as it once was:
golden and green
sunrise and sunset
blackbird and shell.