Tag: Raunächte

Ancestors

A presence of barely noticeable strands
Holding me in place

When the storm rages
When the nights grow too dark
When grief claws at my soul
When pain tears me apart

Their presence a beacon of light
Finally I walk the double-helix
Into the darkest shadowed past
Into the garden of blood and bone

Not all who have passed
Were diamonds who shone
And I have faced these scars
Down in the darkness alone

I am of your blood and you are in my bones
And I won’t carry your night into the known

Like a swaying lantern growing large
Is ancestral guidance in the dark

A blustering solstice

Raunacht Collection: Day 11

I made a pencil and ink sketch of a tree

A violent twang ripped us from a restless sleep.
The death cry of Elder Elm, like a Banshee’s shriek,
perforated the swagger of a rampageous winter storm.
We grieve for Elder Elm, awaiting daylight to survey the harm.

On the other side of Midnight

Raunacht Collection: Day 09


Time slowly drips into the new year.
Just another day laden with too much expectation.
Only last night we cheered the forward motion of the clock,
and wished one another well–for once
And took stock of time and people left behind,
on the other side of midnight.

A Grey December Day

Raunacht Collection: Day 07

One of those nearsighted days,
During which I pull the grey light around me.
A blanket of distortion.

There is no discernable horizon,
Just a gradual thickening of dreariness,
Until even the blurred silhouettes of trees disappear into the nothing of this day.

Time is on hold.
Indeed the proud buzzards sit on the ground.
Watching mole-holes, soaked feathers drooping, talons dulled by mud.

I study hula hoop waves dancing across mawkit puddles.
Until the rain grows too heavy,
And recoil destroys the circular serenity.

Dullness has piled into darkness now.
I switch on the light.
And all I see is the reflection of me in the French windows.

This photo is literally described in the poem. Dull day a field with trees barely visible through the fog on the horizon. Only the buzzards are missing here

It’s just so damn flat

Raunacht Collection: Day 06

Flat was my main complaint.
Everything is just so flat.
No mountains, not even hills,
At most we have some rolling fields.

There is no ocean either.
No seaside, beach or other feature.
A river half an hour walk across the road.
At least in our cellar lives a toad.
-Or three
And summers are hot.
And winters have snow.
If only there would be some hills to show.

Ink sketch exercise of rolling hills with trees and a church, sun breaking through clouds, a river runs from the background of the image to the foreground. The poem is written below. The sketch is extremely abstract just line drawings.

Witchgrass Acre

Raunacht Collection: Day 05

Witchgrass Acre
An Ice age afterthought
Rocks salt the soil
witchgrass sprouts from tiny crevasses
Mammoth teeth strewn below ground
Teeth, geodes, rocks and sand
Blanketed by brittle clay
Stone age pottery brought to the surface by autumn tilling
Once I even found a bronze age brooch

Witchgrass Acre
Ancient land
A meandering river bed
An old side arm
Indentation across the Western end of the farm
This is where the floods go first

Witchgrass Acre
The ancient creeds are still walking along paths forgotten
Overlaid realities
Sometimes you can see their shadow
Paths come and go
Medicinal plants everywhere
Holler* and Rowan protect the parameters
Witchgrass Acre grows powerful women

silhouetted corn field in the foreground with the sun setting behind and a blue darkening sky above featuring nice weather clouds

*Holler is an old fashioned word for Elder Tree in German

A Sansa Walk

Raunacht Collection: Day 03

Knee deep snow beyond the paths
Mountain pine branches bent by white weight
Stillness of a windless day
Monks’ chanting
In the Buddhist temple at the apogee
The only noise besides the crunch of snow underfoot

The chants an eerie iterance
In a silent world
Carrying us up the mountain
Breath visible in frozen air
I am in this world and other world
Walking the liminal space
Floating in a white suspense

Prayers as metronome
On a snow-muted day
I am here, and now
And always and everywhere
In this moment

Christmas Eve

Rauchnacht Collection Day 01

Joyful chimes
Dance through the winter’s eve.
We are wrapped tightly,
In thick scarves and coats like down blankets.
Woolie socked feet, in big boots,
Crunch their way along the dark road,
Carefully determined,
Towards the sound of the bells.

Waiting are candle light, warm hugs from friends, carols to be sung, and nativity play.
Our noses numb with cold,
Mother, sister, me.

Stars decorating the dome above
Like the candles on our tree.
Snow is sparkling tinsel along the wayside.
We celebrate the light born.
Sun rising again and the days growing.
Stories blending into rituals,
Ancient tales in new dress.

The path, a road now,
Once carried mammoths,
And neolithic tribes.
And still we strive to the building on top of the highest elevation.
Coaxed by the sound of the bells,
To celebrate light reborn.
As we have done and will continue to do,
As long as the sun rises the next morning.