A tribute to the sisterhood, of all you provide and do.
To nurture and to nourish us, from the many to the few. To welcome us in bucket loads, allowing us such peace and rest. Where we drop into to your comfort zone, and feel so ever blessed. Your support is such a treasure, it touches us so deep. Our hearts are opened ever wide, to which phoenix tears do seep. We know you have our back you see, to you we can so trust. To keep us in the here and now, to boom and not go bust. You have become dear family, in the journey to return us home. To an ancient knowing, healing quest, one of lifelong roam. In housing squirrel, shaman of our forest, gatherer of our nut. You lift our spirits soaring high, pulling us out of our deepest rut. The seed pods that you have given us, such inspiration they do bring. Of all the gifts we have to give, of all the songs we have to sing. Deep breaths we sigh within your presence, as we sink into your wood. To dream of projects still to come, to realise if we could. With red ribbon we do honour you, with our life we do so pledge. We give you all of our waters, harmonised with love, in wedge. We glorify you with our urine, we sanctify you with our piss. Because without you in the forest, we’d never rescue our remiss. We witness nuthatch upon your branch, swallow upon your twig. We appreciate the marriage we have, of a commitment oh so big. Of the deepest, sincerest feminine, where even sun can come and bask. Where fire and water do so meld, all contained within one nature’s flask. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below.
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In one I was wounded, brittle with fright.
In two I joined rank, for my life I would fight. In camp, on rota, I dedicated my might. In session, in fun, my poet-tree would delight. In three I found me, antler, horn and bite. Now towards the end, the reason is in sight. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below. What Effect Our Outer And Inner Critic Can Have On Our Physical Health. Many of you may well know by now that I have lived a large portion of my life being bullied, living under the influence of one oppressor or another, in a criticised or controlled environment.
Little did I realise that in subjecting myself to this sustained conditioning, that it could in fact be detrimental to my physical health in the long term, as much as it had contributed to my poor mental health from the outset. This was despite the amount of personal development that I had done over my lifetime to try to counteract it. Over the past couple of years I have become more aware of a stiffness appearing in my lower limbs, in my forearms and in my shins. I also had a similar feeling appearing in my back which was accompanied, on occasion, by a more nagging pain. I intuitively diagnosed for myself that what I was feeling was something spiritual in nature. This was most likely induced by a fear based trauma, connected to my bullying story. I felt that if I could only, in one way shape or form, find my way to infusing myself with love, or being able to love myself more, I might be able to shift this deadness within to feel far more lively again. Then I could free myself of this residual cobweb, these sticky silken strands about me, that were still remaining from the chrysalis shell I was trying to get out of, and my former caterpillar life. There are techniques to shift this type of pain within shamanic practice, trauma and addiction type work, which I can administer to my clients but it can be a far more difficult task to treat oneself, beyond ingesting flower essences, unless you can find another shamanic practitioner or complimentary therapist to help you. Fortunately for myself spirit seemingly wished to guide me towards experiencing three different therapists in the course of two years who all seem, in combination, to have initiated the shift needed within me, for me to begin to liberate myself. First of all I visited a lady called Kate Maryon, who synchronistically lives in a house called Walnut Barn. When engaging in her therapy sessions it soon became obvious to me that the symptoms that I was experiencing, all aligned together when I folded myself into the shape of a Walnut! When I cowered myself up into a fetal position the pain in my forearms sat right alongside the pain in my shins. Once more immediately opposite lay a hinge in the small of my back that carried pain also, these were my stress points. Small is the operative word here I feel. For when we play small and go into our shell throughout our life, subconsciously at some point our soul realises that this doesn't really suit us anymore, even if the ego has depicted this should be a survival technique for us to adopt up to now. We naturally want to be bigger, to unfold, to move from the caterpillar we have always been, to becoming the butterfly we were meant to be. Our Walnut therefore wishes to be cracked open. Also through Kate's work I came up with a fairly comic, but affectionate name for my inner critic, the aspect of ourselves that wants to keep us small. I nicknamed him 'The Nutcracker'. This rather poignantly relates to a sketch from the Blackadder series in the 1980's where Lord Edmund Blackadder asks Baldrick, his faithful servant, 'Where is the Nutcracker?' and Baldrick replies to him 'Oh it's his day off!'. Although we may smirk and laugh at this statement, this program was aired in my early teens, whilst attending secondary school. This was one of the heights of the bullying periods experienced within my life. I lived in a house with my parents across the street from my first obvious foe who existed outside of my own immediate household. Seemingly envious of a loving family and a privately owned house it was put forward that I lived in a stately home, compared to him, with servants, a butler and therefore a 'Nutcracker' that existed in human form that was at my service. I became the butt of all of his and my traitorous friend's jokes. 'The Nutcracker' however when manifesting as the inner critic doesn't aim to crack the hardshell that protects the tasty kernel of goodness that lies within, it just aims to hold it in its grip with a pincer like movement, a vice, that restricts movement of the Walnut to zero. Over time this creates heavy energy that is absorbed into the body and deep energy work is needed in order to be able to shift this fear based phenomenon into a more dispersive loving feeling. Some months after Kate's awareness raising sessions and workshops I serendipitously came into contact with another woman called Sarah Jennings and her Visibility Gateway course. I felt I needed to engage in this training because something was holding me back from being the person I really wanted to be. There was a mask, or veil, hiding my true light. Again this was most likely caused by the bullying scenario I had encountered in the past and the critical, controlling behaviour that I was still experiencing in my life. Sarah uses LEAP Kinesiology in an absolutely amazing fashion that connects us to our meridians, amongst other things, throughout our body. By massaging these sacred spots within our make up, we begin to free up this stuck, fear based energy and start to feel an element of freedom within. The rigid deadness that accompanies our everyday existence begins to loosen, and a tingle of energy connected to our life force starts to shift and shake about us. This type of therapy began to give me relief, with a feeling that the key was beginning to turn and I was starting to unlock myself. However on completing her course I still felt that even though the energy was now shifting I hadn't really cracked the Walnut. So, I was eventually steered by spirit into the path of Michaela Williams. Michaela practices a Superconscious Trance Healing technique by way of her QRISTA Method that when combined with a certain energy frequency meditation track compiled by shamanic practitioner Richard Down really cuts to the chase. In listening to Michaela's recording of the session, not once, or twice, but three times I had the feeling of stiffness within me disappear. I am now 100% better, I am not noticing the stiffness anymore, which I am absolutely thrilled about, as now I feel free to do the work I am meant to be doing on the planet. When we begin to work with spirit in this way and connect more so with our internal, intuitive guide system we can be led to the practices and practitioners that we need to encounter in order to be able to heal ourselves of the conditioning, bullying and trauma that we have experienced up to present day. I cannot tell you how liberated I feel now, but I have an incredibly strong spiritual resonance emitting from me as I write this post to you today that would explain to me that actually I am writing about a sacred truth that is coming from deep within me. A special gift that I have to give to the world where I can assist you in finding this spiritual truth for yourself, when you connect with it internally too. It is only though experiencing these type of practices and wider shamanic healing, flower essences and life coaching or similar complimentary modalities that we can move beyond fear and return to love, transforming our 'Nutcrackers' and 'Walnuts' into nutritious kernels of food for our souls. If I can't help you myself with my shamanic practice I will refer you to any complimentary therapist I care to recommend for your own healing benefit of which any of these three ladies above come very firmly into that reckoning. If you care to comment on this blog with regards to any issues or feelings it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below. Each day, I stand upon the circle.
With gratitude, forever present. No thought, to yesterday or morrow. Just here, to witness lunar crescent. With orange, the dawn has broken. There’s dew, upon this carpet green. Sprinkled webs, still in the making. Spirit’s here, it already seems. On bended knee, a prayer is started. A prompt, once more to dance. Tobacco pouch, at the ready. To greet this day, with pure romance. Mayflies, hover on warm updraft. Wren, hops upon the fence. Blue Tits, in and out of boxes. Bees, buzz towards the scent. Golden shafts, draw me in connection. Stretching up, I peer to see. Beyond, I sense the black sun. My heart beats, to infinity. I call, upon the warrior. The nurturer and the child. Some days, it’s ever so stormy. Others, more benign and mild. There’s no change however, to this ritual. For I’m committed, to this path. A joy to perform, this spiral. With mirth and mirk, I bath. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below. I look, into the eyes of the sheep.
She encourages me, to dive down deep. She chews the cud, and stamps her feet. Wanting me to announce myself, with my own rhythm beat. I wake in the night, and stare outside. The rain has gone, but the stars not quite. A veil there is, across the sky. But a twinkle still pierces, my own unique eye. For a portal has opened, and I can clearly see. A clarity through a window, all the constellations and me. All that I am is hear, near and far. If affirmation was needed, there’s a shooting star. I long for the sun, and the warmth to come. So I can honour myself, and all with the drum. To create a spark, and light a fire. In each direction of course, rekindling my desire. Gold and black, the totems are many. Butterfly, hover fly, caterpillar, two a penny. The star birds have come, and my spirits soar. There are crosses upon the sky, my heart begins to roar. Shapes in the cloud, to the East are seen. A crescent, a horn, a stag’s head I would deem. Back to the tent, there are musings a plenty. A standing stone is born, and incense very scenty. I sit, my back upon the tree. Such a beauty from a distance, just thee and me. In twig, in branch, in trunk, I love. Placing my arms around you, I feel supported from above. The daddy long legs is here, a symbol from another quest. Like thistle, foxglove, slug, panther and the rest. But to the golden orb, is where I must look. To a huge swallow on the wing, a herald of the book. I journey to the centre, to birth pleasure from the pain. And yet another message comes, in the lining there again. This time, fast fuelled fighter jet. Not like passenger this morn, that’s another set. There’s a goat-man on the hillside, smiling this way. A buzzard flies South to North, to him I must pray. His screeches, rise upon the upward draught. Where raven’s realm croaks, like a spiritual raft. The next sign that comes, is a bloody big splodge. In humour I laugh, joy in my lodge. Those black birds are at it, continuing with the climb. To the pen I must drop, until another rich time. Ash, rowan, sycamore, willow. Thoughts drift to me, from my altar and pillow. That orange great E, upon the white fleece. Won’t leave me alone, or give me much peace. Calling the shots, they dictate my next plan. A baa from the bracken, walk, stomp or just pan. There’s a rainbow where dawn breaks, and yet it’s still eve. Swifts dart along valley floor, so close I barely believe. A little bird comes, and tweets from the bush. A flaxen gleam upon the hillside, as night starts to hush. Bright satsuma against the blue sky, a chill wind doth blow. Lifting my wings, I fly, and go with the flow. My hairy friend is back, now silver and bronze. I almost stepped on him, bringing down my tonnes. All wriggled up in a spiral, he stopped me in my track. Unfurling form his curl, he’s off to hit the sack. An eerie cry rings out, from a circling bird up high. Not one but there’s two now, of the same flock or herd in sky. Masters of the hunt, when looking for their prey. It’s time to snuggle up, and bring an end to this day. Yet still there’s a heron now, rising form the river.. A full moon is on the up, all bar a sliver Winking at me from the canopy, inviting me into the mystery. Less questions in my mind, of my own forgotten history. In the last throws of the light. A moth bursts forth a-flight. Dancing upon the thistle spike. To a melodic thump of might. My paper now, is all a glow. Luminescent, to the backward throw. A distant torch, is seen a part. Of the heavenly body, tugging with my hart. The wild wind has come, disturbing me with hurt. Like the Hayoka at work, down in the yurt. I dream of a horse race, where the leader is well clear. But there is trouble on the course, he is thwarted, oh dear! The buffeting of the tent poles, entices me outside. Where Orion and King Cepheus rule, no-one else beside. They call upon the warrior, the mighty king himself. Guardian, protector, hunter, chief of animal health. More visions come of Great Dane, and a flighty Jacob flock. On rising in the morning, the ovine have run amok. Sheep have come and eaten, my centre and my South. Scoffing all the berries, bar 1 or 2 escaping mouth. It is clear where the work is needed, for the freedom to come. In flexibility of emotion, curiosity, adventure, awe-some. Immediately there is a Lepidoptera, basking next to my chair. An opportunity for me to look a while, and just simply stare. For there he sits, wings open, soaking the warmth of the sun. I can park right next to him, and energise all for fun. Adorned he is in umber, burnt sienna, sunshine yellow. For me it is just a pleasure, to be with this little fellow. And then there is this tiny fly, of similar colour and nature. Pitching upon my written prose, aware of the bigger picture. In sunlight too is where he finds his natural home. Crouched small and humble, a new place to come and roam. Sat looking East we are together, like much of this journey’s core. Praying for the clouds to break, to be bathed again once more. And in a moment he is gone, one spring, one jump, one leap. To another place he’s alighted, but his memory I will keep. And so it is to all fours, down amongst the shit. Just like my woollen friend, who dumped at night, one hit. But now my attention’s drawn, to every blade of grass there is. To every barb and seed I see, every insect in green mist. For here there is an unnoticed sight, minuscule red eggs. Lined out across a very fine leaf, as if attached with pegs. And then there is this blue-bell, or lilac to be true. Ever the beauty in my space, adding yet another hue. Raven comes to call me, from the place of North and West. So near he is this time, I honour him with my best. Then settles wasp and fly, emblazoned with the noir et jaune. Colours that are ever coming to me, midnight, noon or dawn. I meditate upon my shield, my monarch of the glen. Images come to me of royalty, of women and of men. My flowers rock and sway, to a wind that blasts with might. But I stand tall with trust, for now I have more fight. Now to whittle a few hours away, upon the fallen wood. Twirl the talking stick, walk reverse, do you think I should? There’s freedom in this other way, something quite contrary. And there within the stalks, lies black and scarlet fairy. I watch her use the stems as roads, alternative tiny highways. I realise now I must tread this path, as my own soul bi-way. For here I am the man I wish to be, to do what I flippin want. This is my space, my life, my water from the open font. But here there is a thunder crack, the rain begins to lash. Have I upset the code, taboo, behaving rather rash? There’s a leak now in my lodge, a splish, a splash or two. I decide to take a leak myself, and hope no need to poo. But if I were to do so, I’m sure the fly of horse would come. As he has done this alvo, when pitched upon my tum. The underworld is opening up to me, down amongst the mirth. My spirit begins to speak with me, not heard since kin or birth. A shepherd gathers flock together, one man and faithful dog. I spot a sign upon the mountain, lifting all the fog. Tonight I heard a fable, of hunter, king and queen. And there within the gorse lies Cassiopaea, clearly to be seen. The unmistakeable W, courts marriage of boy and girl. Sheep upon the landscape, giving me the very pearl. And now the lunar skyline, is ablaze with peachy globe. Whispers in the breeze come to me, caressing me at the lobe. For here there is a peace within, of sun replaced by moon. Both apparent in the East and South, giving me of their boon. Tis the masculine and the feminine, where I seek balance at my core. The physical and the spiritual, to which I both must enter door. At night I dream again of marriage, 25 years to be exact. Hardly seeming credible, for partners 21 and 22, a fact. Written in silver bubble, upon the greying cloud. The message is barely visible, let alone to be read out loud. I ask the man called Beckham, a celebrity in his own right. If he knows the meaning of this invitation, this very night. There is a celebration to be had, as there’s an 18th birthday too. Two events at the same time, it could be a hell of a do. I also dream of three women, involved in a marathon race. Two out in front and one behind, but she’s got the devastating pace. Tis the third girl that is the winner, to ring the homeward bell. To scorch up the opposition, and give out triumphant yell. The night is framed with calling, of feral fox and chorus crow. Let alone the bloody sheep, getting ever closer now. Tis time to rise and see what’s next, upon the coming day. To once more go to well, and see what nature’s got to say. In morn I have this question, of what reverse C means to me. Evident in threaded bag, and pube upon my pee. Tis an emblem that has been here, from very origin and start. From sunshine in the sky, of ear, amulet or looping part. And so the answers come, with horseshoe on the tree. And the sheep that are ever present, not one or two but three. There’s a star within the crescent moon, upon my beloved ash. And a sea of flowers apparent, upon the hide I have as sash. Thoughts rise upon the Turkish flag, of dream centres I have seen. Of Islam, Appaloosian, and all the spirit plants it seems. For rose, and foxglove and thistle too, they create this very shape. To compliment my stag and sun, to be worn upon my cape. I delve upon the deer, I can see he starts to eat. All the medicinal plants, he stumbles on to meet. To the flowers I must go, and learn of this very art. As a buzzing bee insists, injecting ear with potent dart. And then amid dew drop belles, where thistle seed is strewn. I’m reminded of my fertility, and my own authentic tune. There’s magenta in the knapweed, and sandy coloured flies to find. There’s a boat upon my East, and happy times to mind. On back I sink to ground, and to whispy clouds I look. I see hoof prints in the cumulus, and ideas begin to cook. Another horn is there now, and face of billy goat. And then the copter comes, a great dragonfly of note. He disturbs me in my reading, visiting time and time again. The shamanic way being made known to me, upon the dale and fen. I wonder what can possibly, bring this story to a close. A thought constantly with me, one the universe does pose. Once more round the circle, where black slug is met and seen. Patience is the message, before a great stag has come and been. And then there is this gigantic cross, made up of trails of vapour. And perhaps another sheep or goat, just adding to this caper. When finally the clarity comes, it hits me in the iris. Stood upon a shoulder bag, of a fellow seeker and aspirist. There it is the stag I seek, stood amongst the flowers. Of pink and gold in crescent shape, a man at the height of his powers. And yet there’s still one more, awesome, mesmeric sight. Of swallow and that of house martin, swirling in full flight. Dance and dance and dance they do, in spectacular display. Round and round and round they go, at frolic and of play. And then the heron flies back in, landing plumb South West. What a quest I’ve had, surely its been the best. And if my name weren’t Running Deer, I’d have to have a think. It could be that of Swallowtail, I’d better have a drink. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below. She is in the moment, when the clock strikes three.
She is in the nighttime, when there's only loneliness and me. She is in the shadows, of the day long stress I find. She is in the emptiness, in the splinters of my mind. She is in the circle, of where it all began. She is in the landscape, walking hand in hand. She is in the weekends, in a past life full of joy. She is in the morrow, more authentic and less coy. She is in the fragrance, of a scent flirting with my nose. She is in the flowers, of honeysuckle and of rose. She is in the deerskin, a treasure to the touch. She is in the cards and gifts, that promised all too much. She is in the memory, of fun times often shared. She is in the heartbeat, of lovers who once cared. She is in the albums, of snap shots time's forgot. She is in the flame, that tries to burn the flipping lot. She is in the beach, where I go and sit and think. She is in the shoreline, as the sun turns clouds to pink. She is in the driftwood, washed up on the coming tide. She is in the reality, of a light that’s gone and died. She is in the body, of someone I don’t know. She is in the doorway, not sure to stay or go. She is in the onward, our destiny entwined as one. She is in the reason, for the journey still to come. She is in the necklace, of a new recruit. She is in the wood, in twig and branch and root. She is in the breeze, that caresses all the trees. She is in the spirit, that comes to set me free. She is in the counsel, of many a true friend. She is in the healing, of a human on the mend. She is in the woman, who I have not yet met. She is in the future, to settle an old debt. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2021 If you care to comment on this poem at all and the emotions that it brings up for you then please feel free to do so below. A pheasant breaks cover, just above my head.
A clapping of wings, stopping me dead. Like an arrow he flies, to the other wood bank. I'm distracted, I pause, to him I must thank. For now I've switched over, into the mystery I sink. As the elements conspire, to make me just think. The sunshine emblazons, autumn's fiery red hues. No wind in this valley, to disrupt the clear views. The earth starts to sing to me, its melodic song. The water in front of me, a mirror, where I belong. I'm in awe and in wonder, of the path of liquid gold. Moving incrementally down river, the story unfolds. Two swans glide so serenely, across the mill pond. Creating ripples of silver, to which I'm most fond. My breath is now taken, my heart in my mouth. My chest gripped in tension, my soul shifts South. I'm encouraged to release, to let my spirit drop. To dive into the deep, let my thoughts go plop. There's just me and this stillness, not to be afraid. Just to witness the telling, the act to be played. For now in the emptiness, a brilliance is filled. A flash of orange and turquoise, my whole being is thrilled. For there in the moment, a kingfisher flies forth. Not one but there's two now, connection true North. I'm in rapture, enthralled, in bliss, pure joy. At one with my surroundings, in heaven, oh boy! By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. Our Personality Types Can Take Over Our Mind For a couple of weeks up to the end of August and the start of September my mind was not my own, it had been taken over by what I call the Caterpillar Mind.
The Caterpillar Mind is made up of eight different personality types, what I have learnt in my shamanic training to be known as the 'Robes Of Distortion'. They come to distort the mind from what really lies at the very heart of us all, our true nature. These personality types have been employed over the years to safeguard ourselves from the conditions that we regularly encounter in our lives as we grow up, to make us appear small, to get us to disappear or to fit in, none of these behaviours however serve us very well in the long term in fulfilling our true potential. I know these different personality types to be the judge, the superior mind, the indulgent mind, the drama queen, the brain mind, the victim, the ramrod and the workhorse. Respectively, they seek to criticise us, make us believe we are above all of the circumstances that we encounter, distract us into doing things as addictive pleasures (indulgences), make everything we do into a drama, be constantly over analysing things, bring us sadness as we adopt a poor me attitude, become impatient and frustrated with the way things are turning out and also make us appear to be busy, whilst engaging with all the wrong things in order to do so. These personality types work to distract us, to side track us away form our purpose, sometimes they work alone and other times they all gang up to join the same shenanigans. Recently I have encountered both the judge and the indulgent mind in my own life. The judge is one of the most powerful of the personality types sometimes called the inner critic. I have been guilty most recently of going on to social media sites both Facebook and LinkedIn and doing what I call 'compare and despair', comparing my progress through life and my business to that of others and basically doing myself down as a result in my progression. This is the judge at work being critical of my endeavours, this can lead to both depression and sadness. With the indulgent mind too, we are led into temptation, often as a result of the above. We are distracted away from our purpose by sometimes some very attractive propositions but that which take us away from what perhaps we need to be concentrating or focusing on. Our job when we experience these personality types is to start to question what is happening and indeed sit down with that personality type and get to know it better, what it is called, when it appeared in our life, what function it is here to perform, what is its belief, when does it get triggered, and what would make it feel more whole etc. That way we can start to ascertain what it is about and how we can perhaps redeploy it if we wish to, to perform another task for us and make it work for us as a friend or ally rather than a foe. That is basically what I did two weeks ago I sat down with both the judge and the indulgent mind and got to to know them better, their reason for appearing and their purpose and since that time I have started to rediscover what has been going on at the very core of me and, through meditation, discover where it has wanted to take me. I can't describe it really but I feel a lot more peace about me now and have a realisation about just what has been going on with me internally and now have a real idea as to what is going to work for me going forward, where I can get both the judge and the superior mind to start to perform new tasks for me. When we truly get in touch with our 'Diamond Of Consciousness', what is going on at our very centre, our Butterfly Mind, we are able to replace all the fear generated by the robes and the Caterpillar Mind and are able to transform ourselves into pure love, thus our individual essence begins to shine through. If you wish to start to investigate your own Caterpillar Mind and Robes Of Distortion why not contact me and we can set up an introduction into my work, by witnessing 'The Call To Adventure' and begin to discover for yourself where you are at on The Butterfly Journey metamorphosing towards a far brighter future, from caterpillar, to wandering, to chrysalis, to emergence and eventually finding yourself as the imago you were always meant to be. I look forward to hearing from you today. If you care to comment on this blog with regards to any issues or feelings it brings up for you please feel free to do so below. The shaman stands a warrior, bandana on his head.
Knowing just what’s needed, no words are to be said. His drum now does his talking, a beat that echoes voice. Hide stretched taut with sinew, red stag pelt of choice. Air quite thick and smudge filled, pungent from the sage. Gratitude placed in abundance, tobacco off the gauge. Ground is splashed with water, holy from the well. Sacred space is granted, healing awaits the bell. Body draped in blanket, turned to face the altar. Sprit guide and panther, strain upon the halter. Feathers from the condor quiver, soar round wounded being. Sifting life from death, bad energy gone a-fleeing. Persistent blocks and leakages, require needle and the thread. Plus deft touch of a surgeon, bringing addict off the med. Cock pheasant and rabbit paw, grace wand of shining gleam. The shake and shake of rattle, brings patient back from dream. Chief rises proud completed, hand gripped upon his staff. A crook of finest heritage, adorned with peacock laugh. His shield of sun and swallows, of pink and purple flowers. The essence that of which, just heighten all his powers. These skills of his fine tuned, to that of soul intention. All fuel to the fire of his, too many tools to mention. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. Running about the garden, with my little yellow net.
Tottering in and out of borders, wondering what life I’d met. Chasing fellow brethren, through flowers and the veg. Pulling wings off Cabbage White, avenging atrocities of the dead. Then one moment that did change, you appeared above the hedge. A power came to greet me, placing love in heart, in wedge. So vibrant in your colour, yellow, magenta, cyan, black. Shining well beyond that of mine, I could never now look back. What pleasure had you brought to me, in one mere fleeting glimpse. Little did I know then, how long before meeting hence. Three decades flew by, plus a year or two besides. Travel needed to foreign lands, different times and tides. But there again you were, in garden, bobbing through the bush. My pulse began a racing, to a beat I could hardly hush. For here you brought an energy, like which I had never felt. Throbbing up my vertebrae, my body began to melt. A tingle and a rush of blood, my head was all a swoon. Giddy with delight on seeing you, one moment not too soon. All ablaze in sunshine, of daffodil in hue. A dream to be together again, just that of me and you. But what about the purpose, connection thirty years apart. A thought I must just ponder on, not knowing where to start. And so a journey then began, of peak and then of trough. Of looking for my life and path, before spirit cried enough. A dozen dances of the wheel, had come and gone by then. Camped within Druid valley, awash with poetry and of pen. Nights spent under canvas, daytime in and out of lodge. A training in completion, no false identity to dodge. Here I was in element, to nature in just keeping. Touched so deeply by the land, tears continued on the weeping. And so it was upon the vale, where swallows kept a coming. Swooping low and fast, bringing messages of becoming. Darting here and darting there, a gilding and a sail. A flish, a flash, a loop or two, one glorious coloured tail. Whispering ever so quietly, each one they said the same. My mirror that of Swallowtail, I’d found my medicine name. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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