A Poem a Day (551): Messengers

 
Messengers
 
The things that are said to the moon and stars
when everything else is lost fall silent by day,
a low sun circling the murmurations of birds,
sky-high and moon-bound. We count mother runes
written in stone, dew-flecked fields worn down by man,
the indentations of fingers remembered by stern trunks,
wiry leaves sending messages throughout the air.
 
Below ground, creeping roots create wonders,
penetrate mud and dirt, deepest down, endless
thoughts passing from tree to tree, green messengers
spreading the secrets of the forest, the things the fae
have known for centuries. Above, we walk tall,
unheard of, unheeded, and we are powerless to know
the maze of communications right beneath our feet.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 25, 2023

A Poem a Day (550): Morning Star

 
Morning Star
 
We row up The Isis in a wooden boat
far too skinny for the wealth of us,
pearl drops sparkling in the curve of
the Horned Moon, heavens darkening.
It averts its eyes. The Queen of Hearts
sleeps, her cards no longer keeping guard,
and the Cheshire Cat has found his head,
is grinning away by this swanless stream.
Born from lava, obsidian waters swirl,
this lunar world silent on a silent breeze.
 
Waves of endless time carry us forth,
and we ignore the languid inauspicious moon,
banking on the Morning Star to be our guide,
the anchor of the northern sky, daydreamer
of the Celestial Sphere. While every other star
turns, it stands still, steadfast, staring down,
an unwavering sky marker for those who follow,
a tiny beacon in the perilous dark.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 22, 2023
 

A Poem a Day (549): Hyde Park

A poem about a pretty awesome day last year. 
 
Hyde Park
 
There’s sand in the hourglass,
but we choose to ignore it,
shaking our ass in a London field
booming with the mellow sounds
of Pearl Jam jamming in the breeze.
 
A cacophony of sound, layers upon
layers, our voices humming like bees,
faces grinning, bodies swaying,
heads dipping. Like birds of paradise,
our little feet stomp out a tune.
 
We embrace a precious moment
in time, step into it, feel it wash
over us, a warm shower of notes,
and we live it full-out for an hour or two,
all the stories inside these songs,
at one with the people we know,
the people who know us,
and we’re connected in this dance,
in the pure joy of it. A shared
emotion. And we forget the hourglass
and the sand shaking inside.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 18, 2023

A Poem a Day (548): Trance

 
Trance 

We seek what we can,
in turning find ourselves in essence,
scraped clean from steamed windows,
the wide-set eyes of the soul.
Squat houses dot the backbone
of this skinny strip, pearl sand sinking out;
chill waters echo the mountain colours
rising like dripping paint on canvas.
A blue arc of tears. Purple sounds.
You can count a hundred breaths here
in the stillness of a pale pink dawn,
this transparent streak of morning
echoing light.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 15, 2023

A Poem a Day (547): The tree of knowledge

 
The tree of knowledge
 
Slide sideways in the sinking mud,
cascading rain creating a flume
to carry you fast through the forest
floor to the greatest of the wilding trees,
its foreboding largesse spread out,
trunk opening to reveal a way inside.
 
Crawl into its waiting womb,
a tomb for all those who came before,
and tread the scrawled roots down
beyond the region we call ground,
into softest earth, this endless dearth,
all sinking, all knowing, down
 
into the dampness, its secret depths,
the source of being, past burrows
and the scurrying lives of others,
into the sacred pumping heart
of the world’s being, this opening
up of knowledge, devouring you
 
as you walk this spiral, living footway
into a fairyland of endless green,
of arching branches seldom seen,
where dizzying pathways curve
and shadowy figures flick and pass,
glistening leaves whispering the way.
 
Seeking truth, you answer the trees,
understanding their many mysteries
as you step beneath the shining boughs,
translucent butterflies on the wing
adding a shimmer as bluebirds sing,
into the halls of the faery king.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 7, 2023

A Poem a Day (546): Frost

 
Frost
 
Winter’s harshness wanders in,
mist and rain and restless doubt.
Snow courses through the kitchen,
smothering idle clove and cinnamon,
emptying its hands in the corners.
An icy gail blows down quiet corridors
to batter upon the chill windowpanes
where the frost posts its fingerprints.
 
Even the trees are gathering in,
creeping closer from the forest heart,
uprooting, dragging so many histories
on spiky branches through the hall,
broken twigs walking the twisted staircase
like abandoned breadcrumbs.
 
The eyes of this house watch the flow
of night, chimney sending up smoke signals
to the new year, emptying itself out,
memories speckling the walls like powder.
Ghosts wander the rooms looking for insight
and someone to whisper their stories to,
but only the trees can hear. Outside, the forest
vibrates with the echo of nature’s hum.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 3, 2023
 

A Poem a Day (545): White light

 
White light
 
We light the day,
light the way,
light the way in and out,
count the roots leaving
Earth’s cruel soil
to breathe in oxygen
and the salt of the stars.
 
We greet the night,
nightshade and glade,
night finds its way in and out,
competes with the fireflies
and their neon trails
lighting a faery route
through the sense-blessed green.
 
We follow the light,
day’s breaking might,
night’s awe-inspiring foe,
for in the midst of darkness
we will turn to the light,
the purest white, deepest sight,
to wash negativity away.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 1, 2023