Prayer

A Prayer In The Gazebo

A prayer for the well-being and peace of my Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and all the Mothers we are descended from.

A prayer for my Daughter, and your daughter, and her daughter, and their daughters, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Feminine, without which we are lost.

A prayer for my Sons, and your sons, and their sons, and their sons, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Masculine, without which they are lost.

A prayer for our world, for everything in it, for the peace and well-being of all its peoples and all its animals,  birds, plants, trees,  rocks, mountains, rivers and seas and all the fish therein.

May we live in peace, love and harmony with gratitude to the Creator of our universe, and all its suns and moons, stars and planets

and for all those gone before us, all those with us and all those yet to come, may all be blessed in this prayer.

(‘Prayer’ by Teri Flynn)

Donegal

Folding mist,

blurred edge of land and sky.

Roads twisting, turning, falling, rising, 

each curve a poem.

Where are you leading me, I asked?

Just keep walking came the reply.

 

Wavelets bright as stars in a night sky

flashed around a large, grey rock,

grounded in shallow water.

What holds you so still I asked?

Contemplation, came the reply. 

 

The bright river flowed swift and sure, 

singing to low-lying fields swamped 

in quiet pools, to stones on the river-bed and

under the hump-back bridge in answer to

the distant call of the wild Atlantic Ocean, 

its song familiar somewhere in my heart.

A scattering of cottages dotted hillsides, 

wandering sheep grazed, their wool

snatched on brambles and littered on 

muddy ground like dirty snow.

Curiosity brought them running to the gate,

allowing my brief human touch before retreating,

like goats, scrambling over hillocks and in-between

thorny bushes to watch from a safe distance.

 

Where do you belong, they asked?

The answer came in a light-filled puddle ,

with my reflection, held, in water, rocks and stones,

mountains, fields, sheep and roads that bind and lead.

A Delirium Of Wildness

 

 

 

 

A Delirium Of Wildness

In an unruly, extravagant wild,

weathered golden rocks crown a precious land.

Bluebells burst through scrub, moss and brambles.

Nests are built and slept in, 

oft times disturbed by approaching footsteps.

The occupants rise up in startled flight,

Roots stir, a greening bud opens and

you are held in awe of a tiny flower, 

unaware of its presence

until it comes upon its beauty

with the connection felt.

 

Photo taken on Great Saltee Island, Wexford –  by Teri Flynn (MaskedNative)

Wind Of Change

In this wind,
Estuary waves crash like surfers on the sand.
What news do they bring from far-away lands

(from my notebook – May 13th)

beach notes 13th may '15

beach notes 2 & sketchI’m sitting on a rock below the Power’s place where tumbled rocks, heaped upon each other, stay the land-slip for a while. A fallen tree branch lies horizontal, fresh green sprouting to the sun.

Something stirs in my heart. I seek its message.

Be like a rock, it says. This wind brings change. Build solid foundations. Let roots settle, contained in fertile ground to flower as all things should.

Wind-swept clouds streak like feathers across the sky.

Oyster shells gleam like little silver plates. The tide rushes in.

Field Notes By The Sea

 

Listen with the sea, curling over rocks,

Field notes for MN1

oyster, laid open with razor, and clusters of pink and bone white shells.

field notes for MN2

Listen with the Gulls, see them swiftly rise and fall, hear their call of freedom over footprints.

field notes for MN3

 

Sit upon a warming rock,

field notes for MN4

 listen to the tide, fill your spirit with the  lullaby,

 the heaving sigh.

Third Anniversary

Rocks & sea 2

4th February 2015
A bright winter sun, cut through with North wind chill.
I sit with some discomfort below the wall made from  rocks and stones.
The tide is out. I feel it has taken you with it but I am here, honouring the memory of you.
Three years since that night,
listening with J & S to the gentle music and chanting of Tibetan Meditation.
We lit candles in the Gazebo at the end of the garden.
We were with you, waiting for midnight, to coincide with your leaving on the other side of the world.
When the music ended, we opened a bottle of Champagne
and laughing through tears, we shared anecdotes of your past presence in our lives,
but in a breath of wind, the cry of gulls, a whispering sea, you are always here.