by Rebecca Cavender | intuitive poetry, poetry
The dawn of winter spreads its long light-wings to the aching meadow, illuminating Frost’s kiss —a coy remnant from last night. You think Summer’s grasses are now stoic, silent with cold: But they linger, blushing frozen white, renewed with glistening diamonds of...
by Rebecca Cavender | intuitive poetry, poetry
There’s a wild in the river’s rush: crystal ice melted from hard-working glaciers, stone and dust. They’re in a hurry to meet the fjords: the howling wind welcomes them home. ©Rebeca Cavender
by Rebecca Cavender | intuitive poetry, poetry |
Find the center of mourning. Gently press your palm upon it. Hear its sharp rhythm, its slicing moan, its cry of release —Even when you feel the scrape of humanity etching hurt across division lines —Even when your body reveals fallow aches, secrets buried in plain...
by Rebecca Cavender | intuitive poetry, poetry
And this earth aches more today. And this land shakes more today. And this eruption of chaos /of undulating pain/ screeches a little more loudly today. And this, each day. Each day: Tremors. Shaking. The fallen ice of children’s tears. And I want to caress the bruised...
by Rebecca Cavender | intuitive poetry, poetry
This is not the kind of love borne from cedar-ocean-moss or the scent of rain kissing your cheek. This is not lost in soft tides ebbing-flowing emotional currents changed by the hour, traveling outside territories searching searching searching. No. This love swallows...
