Renew my eyes that I may see the Fae Renew my ears that I may hear the music of the trees Renew my heart that I may feel the pulse and rhythms of the earth Renew my feet that I may step softer and walk further Renew my guidance that I may always find home Renew my voice that I may share these adventures with others Renew my instincts and discretion that I may avoid the garbage cans of life and always find the path to the woods And renew my spirit so I may dance in the moonlight with Merlin
Dandelions, violets and butterflies have come to mark winters end as if to say You’ve been a dear friend but now its our time to shine and tho it be brief we come and go without grief for summer is round the bend with bright shinning days and late evening haze filling the fields with fireflies and crickets and wee creatures with offspring nestling in thickets I wander in wonder amongst them all heeding the call to be near them to hear them and see them to hold them in my heart as a better part of me
and falling flowers
counting the hours to Beltane
and fanning the flame
of Solstice coming
There is a humming of bees
and a groaning of trees
as they stretch for the sun
the one that gives them happy
and the green
after a weird and wondrous winter
where something seemed to splinter
and fall away
leaving fresh fodder
for beetles and worms
all has turned again (and again)
always the same
yet ever changing
rearranging the pieces of its heart
so all can be a part of this
rambling rolling land
the two legged
the four legged
the infinitesimal and the grand
the water bound and winged
and those hidden or unseen
I bow to your bidding
and come out to scrunch my toes
in your dirt
The “Sweet Hours” (Diary of a Mad Hatter) by P. R. Lowe copyright Nov 30, 2020 The “sweet hours” … between 6 -9…when day time is only a thought between worlds … unformed and beautiful in its infancy. I stretch, I roll over, I feel the warmth and soft texture of lovely covers …I am taken aback to a cozy te-pee. The noise of the outer world has yet to reach me … I am still afloat in a delicious place of peace and calm and cozy comfort… no mad dash to anywhere… physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually. Here in the bosom of twilight I rest easy and free… I am the me of all my beginnings and endings…. here, and in other worlds, places, and times. I sink deeper into my bedding, allowing my head and my heart to be in complete accord before I rise to meet the birthing of a new day …where the last leaves of autumn, still wet with midnight rain, drift down into their rightful place upon this earth. The Christmas crazies and the pandemic panic are a trillion miles away dragging with them all the ugly voices, and contorted faces, and meaningless opinions.
By P. R. Lowe October’s wood is wet with leaves and the forest floor grieves for the warm noons of June and the fickle flies of July There is a glint in the squirrel’s eye bordering on a bit of madness that he may not find a nut and a hint of sadness as the stag disappears into rut and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again and a little pang in the gut as the voice repeats itself let go let go let go and as summer retreats into darkness to begin creating the cold and the snow I snuggle into a different rhythm and begin to sew a new cloak of being of seeing and hearing. Breaking the bonds of time and space and stepping into a new place releasing the cottles and shackles of what the old me was wearing
A reckoning of fall
when all comes under the spell
of winter’s waxing
and summer splinters,
relaxing into crystal shards –
humming chords of coolness coming –
drifting and landing on small spaces,
where dragonfly faces
linger in the light
in spite of it.
We gather up the harvest –
be it real or imagined
in great skirts and aprons
of grape and saffron and green
and glean from our missteps
those things that serve
and swerve away from
those things that harm –
the alarm softly sounding in our heart,
time to part the chaff from the wheat.
We retreat again into the night
to birth the new, the good and the light.
There in peace may we be
bringing in the sun
the moon and the stars
to nourish the limbs of our tree.
Woke up around 4:00 AM the other night and wrote all this down…..
Sometimes I feel as though I am a comet, hurtling through space with its tail on fire… and the best I can do is bring my knees in closer like a ball, fold both arms over my head and shield myself as best I can from the burn and flying debris.
Other times I feel like I am walking on the bottom of the ocean in slow-mo, like a ghost- sailor in Pirates of the Caribbean, with barely no life or breath left in me. Sometimes I feel as though I care far too much… other times I don’t seem to care at all. Sometimes I feel like the last one of my kind left on the planet and all I want to do is run and hide in a hole in a tree.
Sometimes I feel like just another bubble in someone else’s dirty, soapy dishwater. Other times I feel as though I need a degree in rocket science just to fart without blowing my head off. As George Harrison once said, “It’s all too much.” but then again perhaps it’s just enough…
Sometimes when I have finally cozied up, peacefully rubbing my cat… I feel like Nero fiddling while Rome burns.
But….then… I go into the woods with the dancing trees and I feel perfectly sane.
Lost in My Own Bones
by P R Lowe
June 27, 2020
Show me something beautiful
tell me something good
for I am feeling lost in my own bones
and cannot seem to get home
to somewhere I should be
melancholy waves of song
of somewhere I belong
pour out from the tree of my heart
and ride the tide from the vast ocean inside
where I am part of something grand
I feel it, hear it, and know it
yet cannot seem to speak it or show it
so others might understand
Diary of a Mad Hatter
The Eye of The Storm
By P R Lowe
June 23, 2020
Enough is enough is enough…..
some times, in these times, I feel as though I am standing still in the middle of a hellacious f***ing storm that is whirring wildly around me….I find myself telling myself, “Don’t listen to it, don’t watch it, and definitely stay out of it.” A tornado comes to mind….and the stillness in the eye of the storm. Am I in the eye of the storm???? Perhaps that is not such a bad place to be? The storm will surely wear itself out, the whirring will stop, the dust will settle and I will find myself in a different place than where it all began. Maybe there will even be a yellow brick road to follow and “ding dong” the wicked will be dead………