Six Ways to Kneel and Kiss the Ground

September, and the promise of routine. Days in my own home. A sunday morning with my laptop (which is functioning, just at the moment, reasonably well!), and a prompt from Inner Artist, a lovely blogger, new to me, to dig out one of my own poems. Jo uses a line from Rumi as a quote on her blog - a line that caught my heart and prompted a poem quite a few years ago. The Rumi line, known to many of you, perhaps, is:

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground....

My poem....


Six Ways to Kneel and Kiss the Ground

Stand stock-still, watch a red admiral sail
beyond your garden and your neighbours.
....
Place your palm on the warm bark of a maple,
pat it, pet if. If you're brave, put your face
against the smooth grain of it; wrap your arms
tight around the trunk. Hug.
...
Brush your nose in the shampooed silk
of a three-year-old's storytime head.
...
Breathe air flowing in from the sea.
...
Breathe air flowing down from the mountain.
...
Lie on summer grass; roll over;
feel the blades on your cheek;
place your lips on the earth;
kiss


,,,,

Poetry on Thursday.

Delia, who is hosting the Travelling Poetry Show this week, suggested that we take this week to do anything that struck our fancy, to be free. The poem I've chosen to post is appearing in part , though, because of next week's prompt. When I read the suggestion that we face our poetry fears, I decided that this week I would post a poem that I feel some trepidation about posting, and during the week, I'll write something I wouldn't have really tried before (not sure yet just what).

Ruminating about Poetry Thursday and its impact, I realised that at the beginning, I posted favourite poems by other poets, and then within a few weeks, I began to think about the copyright issue, and decided to link to other poets rather than post their poems in full. This was the shift that led to me posting so many of my own poems. I'd intended originally to alternate perhaps, between my poems and other poets, but think I have neglected to share much over the past few months, so I'm inviting any of you who would like to to pop over to Poetry Ireland's media archive, to go and watch a few video clips of some Irish poets reading from and celebrating Thomas Kinsella. What they have to say in their introductions (especially Eilean Ni Chuilleanain) says much about the imortance of poetry and connections between poets. I hope you will go and visit.

In the meantime, here is my own offering this week:

Triptych

I

My childhood kingdom
was my grandmother’s garden.
From my front-step throne,
I commanded armies,
marshalling troops of ants
and woodlice.
I wielded benevolent power,
a cherry-blossom twig sceptre,
until a horrified aunt found me,
brought me in for tea,
and suitable play
with a colouring-book.


II

I am not the goose bloodied in the fox’s mouth.
I am not the fox.
If I am not the wielder of this magic tree,
nor the tree itself,
maybe I am one of the three geese
sweeping above the lake,
winging towards a distant indigo mountain.


III

Before I started to wait for the world to fill me up,
before I became the hollow girl,
I was the child in charge of a world,
I was the queen on the front-step,
directing the path of woodlouse and ant.
When I held out my hand I could see
in my palm the thorn-tree that one day
might grow there.
I could see colours: vivid green
and red. Bright, blood red.

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You will find more thursday poets in the comments on This Post, HERE