Sink
Sink,
like the last breath of consciousness
before death,
before birth,
Sink,
like stone in the wooden bucket
dips for renewal,
dips for healing
in Brigid’s well.
~Pamela V Jones ©2017
This is my 8th year contributing to the Silent Poetry Festival which has been going on since 2006, and has become a wonderful, international event, with people posting poems in honor of Brigid on their blogs, Facebook, Twitters, Tumblrs, and other such devices.
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About the author:
The Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers (GLAHW) is an organization of like-minded writers, artists and enthusiasts based in the Great Lakes Region, but with fingers that extend around the world. It is a collective and compendiums of writers, artists, and fans exploring the genre of horror, science fiction, fantasy, and true crime. Ghostlight, The Magazine of TerrorAuthored by Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers The Fall Edition of the bi-annual digest presented by the Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers (GLAHW). Horror and dark fiction and poetry by Laroo Jack, Edward Ahern, John Grey, and others, with artwork by Paul Paul Lubaczewski and Pamela V Jones.
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Silver-brown rusted teeth,
alluring are the scars,
removing desire of extrication;
your addiction to hurt.
©Pamela V Jones/Boneweaver 2016
I want to see monstrous Medusa.
I want to see her as Gorgon.
I want to see her full-lipped and full-hipped.
I want to see her,
I want to see Her!
I search for her.
Images, renderings, and statues abound,
What I see is Barbie™ Medusa,
I see how the patriarchy sees.
Even a goddess,
in order to be seen!
to be worshipped!
to have place on the altar!
Must look Just So.
Body of Hollywood beauty,
Fair of face,
where only the hair can be writhing,
Reminiscent of orgasmic tussle to succumbing.
I want to see Medusa of olde!
I want her face large!
unbecoming!
Twisted in rage!
I want full mouth keening with despair,
as distorted eyes pop her stony gaze.
I want Medusa,
in all her monstrous glory.
I want Medusa as is.
When I do glimpse her monstrous –
Gorgon face contorted,
full of power
and blazing eyes –
Her bloody head hangs from Perseus’ hand.
Message received.
I want to see Medusa!
Repulsed and repulsive!
Raw power of monster
In modern day.
I honour unsightly Medusa!
Not Disney™ Medusa,
Not Medusa thru the male gaze.
I want to see Medusa!
In all her monstrosity…
So I may be seen in all of mine.
~Boneweaver/Pamela V Jones ©2016
Brigid of Endless Waters
Kneeling at Her well
With unflinching eyes
I see reflection of my sharpened parts.
I wish for rounded edges
to my tongue,
a softening of the word-blows
I know myself
to land on others’ ears.
I seek healing of long held,
long protected lesions.
I note the slivered pieces,
guarded by thorny bits
wrapped ‘round wounded spaces.
Some thorns point inward,
the wounding freshened by me.
I dip my cup and drink,
dip and drink.
Water smoothing
and quenching,
still feeding the thorns,
more growth.
I dip and drink one long drink,
allowing the water
to sate and soothe,
to polish and nurture all,
even the rough thirsty places.
I dip my cup and carry some home.
~Pamela V Jones Feb 2016
This is my 7th year contributing to the Silent Poetry Festival which has been going on since2006, and has become a wonderful, international event, with people posting poems in honor of Brigid on their blogs, Facebook, Twitters, Tumblrs, and other such devices.
The Journey
“One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognised as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.”
Mary Oliver
The world returns to routine today, the Monday after the holiday. Even if you work retail or health care where the places never close, energy moves underneath on the first workday back. Even for me, stretching through retirement.
I have PLANS for this year! I have repurposed a journal, I have committed to a thing, and an other thing. I have a loose list of more other things (because tight makes me procrastinate). Already, in day four, I feel the lightness in my body of returning to Joy.
I’m not going to write all of my plans. I’m keeping ego in check and not seeking outside affirmation, therefore I am not listing All The Things in one public post. Because when I listened to the impulse to do so, it was all about ego and not about accountability. Other folks will hold themselves accountable by public proclamations – my history suggests it doesn’t work that way for me. Heh.
Depending on where we are connected, you will see evidence of the things. If we’re deeply connected, you will know of all of the things. If we’re not deeply connected I am guessing it is safe to say you don’t give a hoot about all of my things and that is a-ok and as it should be.
Next topic:
Winter came today. I am not a fan. I get cold easily. Even with the hot flashes – irony to the 10th power, as bodies are weird and live on a scale of “1 to neener-neener” – I get very chilled. And yet!! When I saw the snow lying on the ground and felt the snap of cold air as I let the dog out this morning, something in me shifted and sighed “at last”. Having lived my life thus far in a place with 4 very distinct seasons, my soul has arranged itself to know things according these seasonal shifts.
I arose 1-2 hours earlier than I have for the last month. This is good. This is how I want it to be. I want my days to stretch with possibilities. I desire length to linger in them.
Hail winter! Welcome back.
Wk 3- Apr. 20 – Deity and the Divine – This will be the third week’s topic every month and an opportunity for you to share with everyone those who guide, inspire and inform you.
Sometimes the Divine that we touch is the piece inside of us that reaches to and connects with the All That Is. Five years ago I wrote a short poem about my place of power that I land in when in trance. There I touch with my divinity the All That Is. Slightly modified here:
ocean – forest – sand – and – sun, cauldron centered, fire begun.
Finger tips pull the flames, dancing light of Spirit games;
Feel power tall and strong, taking flight in sacred song;
dancing feet, pounding heart, all the veils now do part.
draw the Love, breathe it in, soul to soul and kin to kin.
push the fire to the ground, grind it out, not a sound.
as it was, so shall it be, as I will, so mote it be.
©2010 2015 Pamela V Jones
On Being Fragile
I stand on the edge of the cliff,
look down at the waters who,
dare me,
will me to come to them,
I know I will land safely,
wrapped as a newborn in a mother’s loving arms
Still I hesitate
It is such a long way down,
Up on toes I go
arms stretch above my head,
thumbs almost touching,
slight bend forms in my knees and
in the pause between heartbeats,
I push off and reach for the sky.
©Pamela V Jones 2011
LEAN IN TO JOY with BONEWEAVER 