Gifts From The Sea

If it comes from the ocean, I give thanks unconditionally. Blood, guts, bleached bones, hungry gulls. It's not always pretty but it is always beautiful.

If I am not at the ocean and a gift of grace comes my way, I can only hope that some residue of the sea renders me worthy and humble enough to receive the gift.

My $10 Poem, written by Abigale Mott.

Inspired by pain,
it unexpectedly pokes at that pain by suggesting
these are questions I should,
perhaps,
be asking
of myself.
  It unexpectedly eases that pain by suggesting
 the answers lie
within.
In other words, 

attainable.

Thank you, Abigail.

Betrayal

My gut has thrown up

Questions - -

They run basic & deep:

"Why did you do this?"

"Why force this loss?"

I am unnerved,

regarding my emotions,

Trying to find a still,

quiet place

in myself - -

A warm, comforting

fire

where I am fine,

Where I can ease

the trouble of forgiving you.

Abigail Mott

Hood River, OR

11/10/13
Abigail Mott. 
A Place of Truth.

New Moon

This poem was inspired by Mary Oliver's powerful 'Strawberry Moon' in the collection "Twelve Moons"   It is stormy and violent and dark at the beach this weekend; outside as well. 

New Moon, All-Hallow's Eve, Samhain and Dia de Los Muertos blessings to you all.

New moon.

We must mark it.

Always.

If we don’t who will?

Delicate as a sliver of ice;

Sickly sharp even as it melts to nothing.

Do not be fooled by

The remains.

The remains of the moon.

The remains you thought you left behind.

Is it any wonder you burned us?

We who were not witches at all;

We who were a living breathing Holy testament to

Your utter unholiness.

Of course that’s what you had to do.

Fucking cowards.

And in that

We can find compassion.

But only the disinterested compassion of the hunter

Who can’t be bothered with such puny kill.

Our delicate sickly sharp sliverness . . .

Do not be fooled.