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Jodi

Jodi outside, tough as nails
Brightly colored tattoed skin
Jodi inside, soft as silk
Never nurtured by mother’s milk.

Hurt by life, this child of pain
Hurt by those whose love she’d gain.
Battered, beaten, bruised and torn
By those around her she was scorned.

She tries her best to be fierce
Her toughness hides her fragile self.
Inside her soul, the gentle fawn
Dares not be another’s pawn.

With her friends she seeks to grow
Goddess led, she now knows
That love will heal the hurt and pain
And through knowledge she will gain.

She must start her life again
As if a child in school, begin.
She must read to get ahead
And learn the rules as she’s led.

Someday she’ll see she has no need
For smoke and stuff to hide her pain
The Lady wants her pure and clean
On the Goddess she can lean.

It is not easy to learn to love
When love’s not taught.
It’s not easy to hide the dread
When lovers find new paths to tread.

I hope her teachers guide her well
And teach by doing what they say
Living smart and choosing right
Showing that the path is bright.

When Jodi learns to love herself
Then love from others will be a boon
Not a need to fill a hole
But fluffy frosting for the soul.

Deanne (who knows when – many years ago)

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Loss

the hardest part of growing older
is the loss one suffers.
it may be parents, lovers, or friends.
the deep sadness that never really goes away
the missing, the longing,
and the thinking of what could have been.
so many once known and loved
become memories instead of being there with us.
the hardest of all I am sure
is the loss of one’s own child,
the one we put our dreams into,
the one we think will carry on for us
when we are gone.
how does one ever recover from that great loss?
how does one ever smile again
or laugh again or find meaning in life?
we find comfort from our friends
told they are in a better place
but no words help, nothing consoles.
for what has been lost
are the dreams unrealized,
the potential not yet unlocked,
the future cut short,
and yet, we remain to grieve …
and go on …

Deanne Quarrie August 2009

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In the Tinne Moon – I am Holly

Holly

Holly

Holly trees are rarely allowed to grow to their full height of sixty-five feet and are instead trimmed down as hedges or ornamental bushes.

I am a Holly Tree. Many of us are Holly Trees. As strong women – women whose voices want to shout out to the world – women who have a really hard time being silent in the face of injustice – women who rebel at being the fairer sex – rebel at being trimmed down or at being ornamental bushes!

From early in life the process of being “trimmed down” begins. We are silenced – shushed – trained to be “good little girls” and not assertive – bold or daring!

I am a Holly Tree who has not been trimmed – a Holly Tree who has grown to her full height – a Holly Tree with full spiky leaves – sharp barbs – rich color – full and robust berries – a battle waging spear – who will not – can not – be silent in the face of injustice. A Holly Tree – strong and tall in service to Goddess!

Deanne

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The Salmon

The Salmon

The Salmon

salmon swims from her memory
long forgotten, never known
all she knows is she must be there.
driven to a place
returning as ancestors before
generation after generation.
called home once more
alive – alert – swift
riding on her memories
ancient as time
is this what I feel
in my yearning?
my own bones knowing
an aching at times,
a body longing for home.
am I as the salmon,
pulled by ancient memories
calling me…
calling me home?

Poetry and drawing by Deanne

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Litany of the Bones

callanish-standing-stones_tcm12-28013

Herein lie the bones of my ancestors
Even as this body grows old and changes with time.

Herein lie the bones of my ancestors
Their bones are my structure, my support and keep me going

Herein lie the bones of my ancestors
While these bones may restrict me, I choose to be flexible

Herein lie the bones of my ancestors
Their bones strengthen me and their strength becomes my own

Herein lie the bones of my ancestors
Their bones are with me still and I bless the gift.

Deanne Quarrie 2009

This poem or litany was prompted by a friend’s message on a YahooGroup when she spoke about Obon, the Japanese festival honoring the ancestors.

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Her Breath

I am a child of the Earth.
I live and breathe, walk and dance upon Her face.
She is my source and I learn from Her each day. This I know…
Life begins in the dark as Desire.
Deep in that dark place life begins to form, taking root and becoming…..

As life stirs…… deep in the Mother’s Belly,
there is a gentle quickening, movement
that alerts us to a “knowing”
of the presence of something yet to come.

As the Earth prepares Herself with warmth,
the rains and waters come and flood the land,
nourishing the soil in which She is creating new life.

Earth and Water and Fire
come together and Form continues to take shape.

One last thing is needed.
Just as new form emerges,
She breathes Air upon it.
Her Breath, giving Life to all that She has nurtured.

Earth and Water and Fire and Air

Her Breath ~ https://herbreath.com

breathing life into all, we open to Her gift ~ a partnership in co-creating all that you can be ~
spiritual mentoring and wellness coaching

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A Change in the Air

Lying in the cool, green grass, I feel it thick beneath me.
I gaze at the clouds in the sky and my mind wanders,
drifting out to times remembered and times yet to come.
I feel close to the Earth, immanently connected and
embraced by the unknown universe above.

I have sought to learn the secrets of both
and the more I think I know
the more I realize how much there is yet to learn.
They keep their secrets guarded from inquisitive minds
giving a bit at a time, just enough to tempt
a hungry mind to search for more.

I remember when I used to take a nice thick blade of grass
between my two thumbs and raise it to my lips
squealing  a sound out into the wind.
I try it now and there it is,
that old familiar sound still there, even now.

I see the geese flying overhead
the cool air of autumn blew in on the wind today.
They are honking their way south.
As I think about this time of calm and stillness
summer’s end and just now feeling the change
moving toward winter, but first a time to watch
all the colors change from green to yellows and browns.

Trees know that it is time to rest and close down.
A time to prepare for the inward journey of the dark.
I think I’ll lie here in the grass for a while longer
taking in the autumn day and feeling the Earth
rich and warm beneath me while my mind wanders
with pleasant thoughts that drift
and spiral with no purpose but to just be.

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Old Tattooed Woman

031 Old Woman, you stand with your feet at the water’s edge,
Your old skin gnarled and rough,
With heavy thighs marked by signs that people left.
What was their need that they left their names
And jagged hearts for me to see?

It must have been hard for you
Feeling the sharp point of the knife
Making cuts on your skin.
But in your most holy sacred place
You embraced their gifts and made them a part of you.

Arm Old Tattooed Woman, your bark
Holds memories of those who were here before me
Their names marking your skin.
See? Your arms are wide and strong
Offering shade for those held in your embrace.

I wish to be like you and take in what hurts
And weather the pain by toughening up
Like you, I will be made strong by life’s pointed edges,
Made wiser by honoring what is,
And made holy by embracing what comes.