Day Nine – Dryad
Polar bear as the ice is melting:
So, maybe I’m the bear,
and the fear I see is my fear,
and the bewilderment is mine.,
as if I’m swimming hard
in a dissolving world, where all
those age-old certainties are melting –
that the world is ours,
that I am good,
that this place is bountiful,
and beautiful, and bottomless.
Maybe we’re all the bear,
realising that our home is shrinking
to a small space that can’t support
our weight, can’t feed us,
but we can’t step on
and the world is screaming.
The truth is that
the bear is the bear.
She swims on. I don’t know
if she feels hope, or fear,
and I can’t claim her
as a metaphor. She’s flesh and blood
and bones protruding,
and the ice is melting.
Posted on December 2, 2019
Sometimes I think the orchard
holds a spirit. Her bright presence
moving between the trees:
in spring, she brings the scent
of apple blossom, almost there,
and then in autumn she quickens
each fruit, makes it sweeter.
I’m fanciful. That’s my defence.
De (Whimsygizmo) is tending the bar tonight. It’s quadrille night at the dVerse poets’ pub, and we are using the word “spirit”.
Blithe spirit https://fmmewritespoems.wordpress.com/2019/12/02/blithe-spirit/ via
Every Woman Needs To Be A Dryad
I am all my tree, and my tree is me.
Cut my bark, and I bleed. I float on leaves.
Lay your back against my skin, tell story
after story. Words are my memories.
I asked to be a tree when He refused
to leave me alone. Endlessly chased.
I got tired of always being abused.
He says my sexiness makes him sex crazed.
As if it is my fault He feels like that.
Told Him I don’t make Him do anything.
He’s responsible, His choice how He acts.
As a tree I hide, watch all happenings.
Every women needs a secret place.
A place where she has no fear to face.