Sparks and Snowflakes

Both land on my skin and
Sear this outer layer of mine.
The spark smoulders for a second and
I can smell my flesh burn
Before I feel the prick of pain.
Blood drowns the spark as
I carelessly wipe it away.
A snowflake settles on my skin
And the little bit of soot and blood smear
Across the soft hollow of my hand.
I watch the melted flake run black and red,
A tear dripping from the tiny wound.

Another snowflake, I watch it glitter,
Settled in stillness before it moves again
And gently turns, transforms to water,
A clear drop now, then another.
I’ll pick the scab off my hand, I know,
And have a little scar of pink and tender skin,
More fragile and exposed than the rest of me.
When my hot balm is pressed into the soft snow
It will cool it, strengthen it, and form another
Layer of protection, one grown from ice and fire.

©jsmorgane Nov 2017

Published in: on November 26, 2017 at 3:11 pm  Comments (1)  
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Conversation on the 57

The uplifting prospect of easy bonding,
Food for my outgoing nature.
Just a bit of fun in the evening
I thought when I joined the group.
A bit of company away from the rest of it all.

The trepidations of a new beginning.
The chance for something new,
To be found and to find my set of people,
A preference of character and disposition
And the hint of ripples under the surface.
The human condition as a collective –
Fuel for our creative output.

It was alright at first.
It was fun, indulge my dramatic side,
And some time to myself on the bus home.
But then a couple of bad evenings
And it just got out of hand.
I thought I’d cope.

Then that nudge of responsibility,
A helping hand, an easy thing to do,
A gesture of good will,
Bad day today, I see.
Then an open word, an unguarded look,
And all caution thrown to the wind,
That sense of foreboding ignored
Just to get more of that naked soul I glimpsed.
My broad shoulders can carry it,
Never notice the added weight.

I don’t remember, probably never even noticed.
You were just present and I thought
I’d let you worship at my altar.
Mostly, I was looking inside, at myself –
This deep-set disappointment in myself,
The golden child that failed,
Failed to deliver the golden fruit.
The lack of outlet though I’m brimful of love,
So much to give, I thought, it starts eating away at you,
Until I am all hollowed out and
Only occasionally it oozes out as self-loathing,
The love for life turned sour with nowhere to direct
My force other than against myself.

That time I saw it clearly,
A self-destructive streak,
Not obvious at first.
That time I played along,
Kept it at bay, and
Please, I hope you see
I need to take control.
Already started shielding you.
I can contain excess,
I can hold it all in place for you,
I can stem the flow of outrageous,
Overblown beauty of fragile self-esteem.

I have no answers. There are no answers.
But somewhere down the line it must make sense.

The lucid moments when it will all work out –
Keep your goal clearly staked as claim.

Then off again into the shadowland,
Of keeping things muted,
Too tired to take it all on.
So get through the routine
And make it to the weekend,
The get-away, the one-way flight.
A half-life of demon-dodging.
Demons mostly in female shape –
I don’t do friendship.
Too close, too much,
I moved away to get away,
Got hurt too deep and can’t invest again.
I need you – well, I need some friends
But I don’t know, I’m too involved
With my own messed-up life
To reach out and hold on.

I saw your acts for what they were
And tried to answer all your needs.
I’m holding on for you,
A balancing act to keep from falling too.
The wet stains on my cheek are
Footprints of your soul.

That’s my stop now…

I wonder should I get off, too.

©jsmorgane (Sept 2017)


Published in: on September 17, 2017 at 8:15 pm  Leave a Comment  
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How to charm a storm

On a day I chanced to sit
Under Hornbeam in my mitts,
Looking out across the vale,
Sheltering from the howling gale,
Tightly wrapped in scarf and cloak,
Listening to English Oak
Who was humming merrily.

Hornbeam said: ‘Does that a lot,
I fear he might have lost the plot.’
Me (in Tree):
‘But don’t I hear a tuneless,
Yet somehow catching sound,
Rasping, crashing noises,
Swishing whispers, cymbals, gong?’
A strange duet it was,
As storm and tree began
To tell of holding close and letting go,
Their voices joined in song.

English Oak made our day,
Deftly managed to allay,
To befriend the fearsome gale
Who presently began to play
Tag up there in the branches
Leading Dragon merry dances,
Who by then had left his home
Under Hornbeam’s root,
Having, frankly, quite a hoot
Chasing wayward waftings.

English Oak shook with laughter:
‘Oh it tickles! How delightful.’
Hornbeam (to me):
‘Now, what do you say to that?
I think we are duty-bound to add
Singing Wind to our odd
Language catalogue.’


Published in: on June 28, 2017 at 8:13 pm  Comments (2)  
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The rock soaks into me,
And the winds,
And the thundering waves
Trying to climb up towards me.
And the little yellow flowers,
Not clinging to the cliff
But thriving in adversity.

They soak and sink and change my flesh and bones,
Make my blood sing of a beginning almost remembered.
They starve my past and future, and feed the moment.
They silence, soothe and calm everything that isn’t Now.

Sept 2016 ©jsmorgane

Published in: on September 14, 2016 at 7:57 pm  Comments (2)  
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The Passion: Stations of the Cross


I Grove of Night


There is a bigger plan. I am a part of it,

Though I do not know the way.

I’d gladly pass on this cup but

I take it up and drink deeply.

Yet it be poison to my blood,

I thirst for change.


II Betrayal


You, too, thirst for change.

What is left of my drink I leave

For you, my friend. My judge.

I hope you know, when

It is your turn to drink, that

I could not have played my part

Without you playing yours.


III Denied


We are weakest

When the cock crows.

My foundations shake as

I wait in darkness

To be denied.

Once, twice.

A third time:

My friend?

No, you mistake me.


IV The Mob


I thought I was wise,

Letting them choose.

But when they pass the blame,

The masses know no mercy.


V King of Thorns


Biting into his brow,

They whisper, hissing.

The thorns are like caresses,

Their mockery like prayers.

A king of fools, they think.

The thorns will bloom,

Though nobody expects them to.


VI Eating Dust


Now every step is pain,

And every breath is laboured.

Take up thy cross.

I said I would.

I have, and try,

And fail. Now my mouth is

Full of dust but I hunger for

Sustenance of a different kind.


VII When all other lights go out


I have promised,

I am the promise.

Don’t cry for me,

I fulfil my purpose

To feed your hunger.

I am tended to:

A cool cloth to wipe

My face shines a light

In the darkest of places.


VIII The Gardener


Man from the country,

Takes up my burden.

See the world transform

Before your eyes,

A garden, green and tended.

With care he goes about his duty.

What he does for me,

He does for all of you.

Mention him in your stories,

His line will carry on

And see the world whole.


IX The Tree


Now here I am, nailed,

Strung, hung on the tree of life.

Wounded by the spear,

Dripping drops of wisdom

To fructify the parched earth.

Sacrificed to Myself,

Becoming more Myself

With every trickling tear

My estranged body cries.


X Repentant Thief


I am flowing out of my body.

After the purging fire,

Be the river with me.

Let me guide you

Towards the Ocean

To mingle and

Be part of

The Great Joining.


XI Heirs


I leave my heirs to tell my story.

One unto the other I bind you,

To live in this world

That by my passing I save for you.

A new age dawns without My miracles.

Make me a place in it by sharing

My inheritance.


XII My work is done


My purpose is fulfilled.

My work is done.

I have rewritten what will be

And made the promised future

An eternal Now.




Out of a moment of terror, doubt,

Pain, and darkness I journey on.

I would have warned you, did warn you,

That I won’t share in this new age.

I take with me the Queen of Stars and

Join the prophets in their retreat.

Stay with you? I do, I am.

The Western shores, your paradise,

Is my heaven everywhere.


XIV The West


I stand staring at emptiness.

Where have you gone that I cannot follow?

Will not you let me come, won’t anybody answer?

Almost I think I hear silver voices singing,

Weaving miracles into the fabric of the world,

Parting the greying mists for me to understand.

And I return to say there is

No ending for this story.

Only a continuous beginning,

Where we know You

Now and now and now.


©jsmorgane Ostara 2016

I am your way

Under a tree, an olive tree methinks,
Pan bent down and whispered to the nymph
Live with me and be my love.
But she replied Marlowe isn’t good enough.
Pan tried some Shakespeare, to no avail,
Then asked his father how to appeal
To this fair nymph and make her his.
Zeus pointed at the eternal scroll:
She is your way. That made Pan laugh –
And find the words to sway his love.

Let me be reason to smooth your frowning brow.
Let me fill your empty places, make them overflow.
Let me be the smile that tickles your dimples to deepen.
Let me let you win the bet that makes us even.
Let me be the light that casts your shadow at all hours
Let my unbound shadow dance with yours,
And make them ours.

See, I run like gold through your veins,
I make your skin glow.
Hear your heart drum my name,
Make your life’s rhythm flow.
Listen to your name on my lips
When you touch them with your fingertips.
Feel me, the wind that tousles your hair,
Lift it up for me to kiss it fair.
Hear my voice echo in the hollows of your heart,
I am your light, I am your love.
Hear my Yea end all Nay
And you will know I am your way.

Ready to profess, the nymph sighed softly

©jsmorgane (August 2015)

Published in: on September 4, 2015 at 6:03 pm  Comments (6)  
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Morning Meditation

I was out walking in the morning

When the heavens opened above me

And I heard a voice

Whisper in the trees:

“Lay down your strife and be joyful.

I am here and I am always.

I am everywhere.”

Then the first raindrops fell

And as I lifted my face

Each drop on my skin sang softly

I am!


© jsmorgane (Nov 2014)

Published in: on January 19, 2015 at 7:45 pm  Comments (2)  
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And Matthew said to me:

‘He is a god of new beginnings

And taught me how to garner mercies.’

Then he turned and followed his king

To rest in Our Mother’s arms.


©jsmorgane (Sept 2014)

Published in: on September 21, 2014 at 8:00 pm  Comments (6)  
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Spring equinox in my back garden

In the middle of my back garden
Blooms the magnolia, riotous at the moment.
Birds flock to it, so many different kinds.
Tits love it best, Great tit and Blue tit,
All happily hopping up and down the branches.
Between the magnolia’s roots the soil is soft and moist
And amidst the creamy petals are the blackbirds,
Sending Robin flying to join the greenfinch higher up.
The woodpecker only rests awhile,
Preferring my neighbour’s poplar tree
From where he adds rhythm to the cacophony of sound.
The stock doves – a couple – doze amongst the buds,
Eyes half-closed in the sunlight.
The wren – so small I almost miss her –
Looks like she could snuggle up
In one of the large open buds for a slumber.
The magpie, surely it is always the same one,
Does not cause a disturbance but stays in the pine tree,
Obviously displeased with this merry gathering.
The jay, rare visitor, streaks through the garden
With a warning cry: all hush up as the crow flies overhead.
But on a day like this he stays high up,
Glistening while swirling in the bright skies and
Throws no shadow on the tree and the birds it shelters.

©jsmorgane (March 2014)

Published in: on March 21, 2014 at 9:59 pm  Comments (1)  
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A New Beginning

The bumblebee outside my window
Beckoned me to join him,
And so I lay myself down
Under the magnolia tree,
The sun warm on my face,
The cool, damp ground cradling me.

The unsuspecting robin
Stirs the air above my face
As I watch the creamy buds
Open joyously in welcome.
Breathing deeply, I flow out of
Myself and join in this
Eternal moment of spring.

©jsmorgane (March 2014)

Published in: on March 12, 2014 at 6:48 pm  Comments (4)  
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