Christmas

 The prompt for Palavras Aladas - Winged Words is Christmas 

Christmas

I string words like stars
decorating a Christmas tree.
Stars like poets gathered
around a table and beyond,
creating garlands
of poems of beauty, of wisdom,
of lyrics that sing.

The world needs poems,
and the spirit of Christmas,
for it has lost its soul,
its sorrow bleeding through us.
So we stitch its wounds,
set up trees with flickering lights,
and sing our carols.

We toast to the planting
of seeds of joy,
of seeds of renewal
We gather
and celebrate
to create peace
from shreds of fabric
and wish each other
a very Merry Christmas.

Then we let our small lights
rise together
slowly
softly
into a new constellation
of hope.

A Merry Christmas to everyone

Marja ❤️

When the light found me

A meditation on receiving rain, lullabies, light and the gems that appear when we do.

When the light found me

I stepped into a room
when the light found me.
I didn’t look for it
I simply opened
and let it in,
just like that.

I remember it now:
the way the ground
receives rain,
the way the wind
sings lullabies to stones,
until they fracture

and in their fracturing
a gem appeared,
radiant
full of colour
jam-packed with
possibility.

I’m letting the light
flow through me now,
whenever it chooses
I lean into the new self
who keeps tasting
tears of delight.

Living in the In-between

 The prompt for Poets and Storytellers United is "be inspired by the concept of “in between”.

Living in the In-between

Some days I swallow the light,
let it burn small holes in my heart.
Other days I release it,
watch it find wings
and rise above the clouds.

Sweet as sugar words
fall softly like glitter on cupcakes.
But scratch the surface of trust
and sarcasm sprouts
quicker than wild weed,
cutting through
the cake of pride.

So, eat my words!
The ones that fail
to grow sometimes,
yet hang like fairy lights
among the stars,
glowing only
when connection calls.

Some days
I perform in the limelight,
bow to the ghost of an audience,
only to descend the next moment
and disappear into the quiet
hum of the forest.

Living in an alien world,
I play the game
of hide and seek
the rare one,
married
to the in between.

 

Opening doors to echoes

 The prompt for What's going on is to write a poem about loneliness without using the words "lonely" or "alone.

Opening Doors to Echoes

She spills the lemons in the supermarket.
Blue eyes radiating sweetness,
picking up the pieces for her.
It warms her heart
She has enough fuel now,
to get through the day.
Days filled with the tick tock of a clock

Her skin is like dried fruit
her mind waves of haze and clarity
She gazes at the traffic,
at people,
a movie in which she moves slowly
she tries to catch up,
her breath slowing her down

Her age hangs like an old jacket
in a hall of forgotten sleeves.
She loves to dream
of the orchards of the past,
ghosts of a time when sweetness
grew in abundance.
She murmurs to herself,
opening doors to echoes
that still know her name.

Inner Compass

Poets and story tellers United asked : take inspiration from the title of songs in Florence and the Machine’s new album, Everybody Scream. I used Perfume and Milk

Inner Compass

What were you meant to do?
It is written in the scriptures
of your being.
Peel away some layers. 
Remove the debris
of expectations.

Devote yourself to
what is carved in your bones.

Still, the world looks away.

Droplets of doubt
weave into a mist of thoughts.
People already have
Perfume and milk
cars and coffee machines,
holidays and heroes.
Do they need me?

Trust.
You are part of the horizon
you move toward.
Pierce through the fog
knowingly.

One day
the rain will put on his bow,
the sky will open,
your spine will straighten.
You are what you do so much,
you dress yourself in it,
and the world
starts looking.

Wider than walls

the prompt for What's Going On:
Show resistance through art, joy, trust, and love.

Wider than Walls

When you struggle,
remember life is wider than the walls around you.
This remembering is the start of resistance

Beauty speaks
in trees leaning toward the sun,
in the quiet pulse of music,
in a poem opening its hands,
in the soft goodness of people
who forget they shine.
Lean into the arms of this world

The walls around our sadness are not stone
they are only mist,
lifting
as soon as light arrives,
as soon as colour spills on the flowers again,
as soon as warmth touches your heart.
This world will always meet you with light.

Like a nourished plant,
you grow
and there is something in you
that the world cannot break
and that is how you became
the beautiful creation
you are now

All of it is love,
wearing a thousand quiet faces.

And you
even on the days you doubt it
you belong
to that world.