Tag: fults

Summoned

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

bear

Many thanks to Carol Coogan for allowing me to use her collage for this posting.

              Summoned

She has been called by the stars
so she has come without resistance.

As she stands by the tracks
with a warm coat
and a backpack
She looks to the night sky
for the source of the whispers
that lure her on
to her greatest quest
her most wondrous adventure
her best vision
her deepest union
with her truest destiny.

The summons her soul has been waiting for,
In this moment, the journey to her own heart begins.

by caf

© collage by Carol Coogan
© poem by Carole Fults

A Secret for You

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

robinThe Secret

This morning the sky is water tower blue and
My heart is humming as I think about all the people I love
Those who are happy
Those who are suffering
Those who are happy but struggling
As I recall the faces
I wonder if there is something – anything –
I could give that would make their lives easier, happier, freer.

One time from an upstairs window I watched a robin
bring food to his nested young
who were chanting their hunger pangs
He placed an answer in their open, squeaking mouths.
One by one he fed them and still they hollered
their bellies craving more
I envied him – he had something to give to those he loved.

Often my giving feels inadequate to the love I hold
and sometimes giving something is easier than just saying
I love you, the love word being so awkward among us.
Sometimes anonymous love is easier.

I want you to know so there is no mistake …
if I give you something –
a hug, a piece of art, an offer of assistance, a kind word,
a smile, a plant, some money …
don’t think it’s given to retrieve something else …
nor is it given like winds that blow with mighty gusts
to spin you around or blow you away.
It is given by my human heart, a soft hand and a nervous hope
that the gift will please you and make you smile.
And here is the secret – if I give you something it probably means I love you,
But I won’t spoil it by actually telling you so.

© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults

Azaleas and Wild Onions

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

Rhotodendron 2

Azaleas and Wild Onions

I’m in my Azalea bed digging out – again – wild onions that continue to
multiply there year after year.

When a hawk flew into the house and was killed
I buried her in this bed,
rested her on dried Sage,
planted an Azalea next to her,
placed a beautiful stone over her plot.

And the pungent wild onions grew.

When my brother died Mom and I scattered his ashes
in a hidden clearing in the woods behind her house.
We planted Azaleas to adorn the earth
next to a beautiful stone I placed on his plot.

And the pungent wild onions grew.

Sometimes the sorrowful fragrance of this planet’s progeny is just too much.
Year after year I’ve uprooted the sad scented things.
I’ve covered them over with heavy mulch – leaves and bark-
so the sun can’t warm them, I believe
so they can’t grow bigger, I think
so they can’t multiply, I hope.

Still in the spring wretchedness again grows up around the bushes of pink and purple joy.

Then I discovered I could eat them –
those tangy, tart, toothsome, taunting allium canadense .

So now, I snack on them while weeding
knowing that ants farm aphids, and flowers seduce bees
because they live in mutual symbiotic relationship.
And if I eat bitters, sweetness will by and by appear on my plate
from the soil of the One Earth
from the One Garden.
Where grow both wild onions and Azaleas.

© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults

The White Mare and the Ocean

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

Ocena 2

The White Mare

A white mare snorted for me in the yard one night
signaling it was time
to leave my desk and pens and tea and come outside
where poetry lives.

I followed her beckoning and rode her to the sea
where I dismounted to watch
as she galloped through the sandy tides.

The waves grew large as the moon rose up
and cloaked us in soft light,
Shadows of clouds lie atop reflective moon beams.
I watched safe from the jetty
as the mare splashed and pranced in the water,
her mane mirrored in the crest of curling waves,
her breath becoming the sound of breakers in the rocks.
Her neigh rose and fell with the wind
and the calls of the gulls in the squall.

A five year old girl appeared and jumped on the mare’s back
clutching her withers and laughing,
daring the sea to swallow them.

The mare paused, gave me a long look and trotted
back to where I clung to the safety of rock and land.
She must have known I longed for the freedom of the storm
for she regarded me with her wild eyes and untamed soul
and snickered,
“Come with us. Everyone needs to leave everything
at least once.”

© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults

Coyote Wind

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

Jan Wild Moon

Coyote Wind

Did you hear the wind last night
howling up the creek
whistling in the snowy, twig shaped shadows
of January’s full moon?

Did you see the moon
last blustering night
brazenly brightening the deep sky
dark of clouds?

One time, when the gale quieted
and all sound was frozen silent
I slipped outside in time to see
a Screech Owl fly stage front shrieking
“Wild, wild everything is wild!
Everything is wild!”

The wind rose again as I huddled under a tree
It pushed me through a tunnel
into the reckless freedom of space and adventure,
shattering the stale sameness
that orbits everyday life.
It sang a new way into being and then,
returned me to my bed, freshened,
where the barking spirit of Coyote
stalked my sleep
and dreams dripped into an awakened life.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Angel of the Labyrinth

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

Labyrinth Angel 1

I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”

CAF

©Carole Fults photo and poem

You Are Sky And You Are Beautiful

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

not my clouds with caption

And the sun said……

“You are sky and you are beautiful
You are trees, birds, soil
Your name is Water and Stone
Grasses speak in whispers when they hear your voice
Wind howls with anticipation of your approach
You are the maiden of darkness
wearing the wise moon on your head
and wrapped in magical starlight.
You are sky and you are beautiful.”

CAF

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Bittersweet

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

Bittersweet              

A Perfect Storm

Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.

As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.

In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Carrie

by cfults, posted in Uncategorized

the-view-from-below_edited-

Carrie

She was a lover of Yardley’s lavender soap
and purple double petunia’s
She washed floors in a blue house dress
laced with small flowers
and crocheted rugs from bailing twine
and plastic bread wrappers

I heard she had beautiful long brown hair
that inspired my grandfather to write her love letters
on birch bark
although by the time I knew her
her hair was short and gray
and she said auburn is the best hair color.

She played with children
beckoning them through the woods
to a magic circle of peace where she would walk,
her tall sturdy frame leading the way around the path,
and if you followed her, you knew you were safe.

Then one day in my pockets I found judgments about
her judging me.
Now, I ask, how many times have fear and judgment broken
the spell of love?

If there is a lesson here
it’s that I wish I had struggled
through the currents of white faced fear
to get to the other side
Just so I could have loved in time.

©Carole Fults