Summoned

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

Coyote Wind

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

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

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

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

Prayer Takes Flight – Sunrise

sunrise

Prayer Takes Flight (An Artist’s Statement)
This morning poems and prayers appeared in the paint
as I smudged colors on an unfolding canvas.
Verses of joy, gratitude and aspirations for truth and life
jumped from the luminous hues
and when I chased after them
I saw yearnings, previously snared in drying pigments,
rushing freely upward on beams of rainbow suns
shimmering in the snow.

All today I searched to see where my fleeing hopes had gone
and now, in the evening skyI see where they have landed.
There are the poems of my heart bouncing in the star lights
and my desires are taking voice
in the cries of the night hawk.

And my paintings have not ended with the departure of those prayers
for, no longer trapped on a canvas
the visions sparkle with renewed awareness
of their Heavenly Source
and return to rain stains and pictures of love and holy light
upon the flat cloth surfaces of artists
and the rolling skin of earth.

©Carole Fults

The Cries of WIld Things

Wild Things

The Cries of Wild Things

The hawk’s clear, shrill whistle – cry
cracked the stillness of the woods.
Jolted at first I didn’t know
what the sound was…..
It was like a great mournful shriek of pain,
but then the red tail flew from the trees
into the open air
over the golden fields
and shrieking and crying she made a graceful flight
into the open air
across the next two fields
and into the far off forest.
Her screams stirred deep compassion in my heart
although if her cries were pain or joy I never knew.

the cries of wild things
coyote yelps and howls
the ‘yikes’ of the little frogs,
unmelodious crow caws,
the peep of the hummingbird,
all add qualities of pleasure and poignancy
to this life of ours
if we but listen.

And in thankfulness for these gifts
I will raise my own voice
to cry for the sorrows grieved
and to sing praises for the joys celebrated
in the cries of wild things.

©Carole Fults