I used to hold
shells to my ear,
hoping to hear
ocean music.
Now, I go
into the open
pink spirals
twisting a trail
for the mystic
in me.
I follow
this invitation
to its middle
where new tears drip
ointment, tending
old wounds.
This place
welcomes me,
the-being-still-me,
making it easy
to choose
the good part.
Wooed and won,
I’m content to stay
cradled this way,
living inside a song.
Click here to watch Kathy Hastings conch spiral series. I saw them as I wrote.
Click here to watch Kathy Hastings conch spiral series. I saw them as I wrote.
~To my beloved rabbi, who pointed the way~
7 comments:
This is beautiful, Kathleen. The going deep into the song.
Ah, "the-being-still me" and the "wooed and won" me settled into your words with deep content.
Beautiful, Kathleen. What a privilege to read this poem of yours!
hi kathleen :-)
nice poem.
Really lovely, Kathleen. And what wonderful images of conch shells. They're safes for the ocean's secrets.
I like that, 'safes for the ocean's secrets'....almost another prompt for a poem. :) Thanks girls.
it's always a gift to find your words ...
I love how you weave yourself into the song and become it.
Beautiful poem -- you've opened my morning to lyrical thoughts of seashells and seashores and 'new tears' healing old wounds. -- lovely!
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