Sunday, 4 December 2022

Five Poems by Karen A VandenBos

 



We Wanted for Nothing

 

We lived like Goddesses bathing

naked in the lakes, swimming with

the turtles and singing with the loons.

We ate succulent berries, the juice

staining our lips a luscious red.

Stories were shared by the fire under

the shooting stars where we gathered

and braided each other's hair.

Our slumbers carried us to the chamber

of dreams where we dared to believe

all we wished for would be ours.

We rose with the rising light of the sun

and we retired when we called down

the protection of the moon.

The mists parted as we wandered the

woodland paths without fear.

Our hearts and our bellies were full.

We were wild women, a sisterhood

and we wanted for nothing.

 

 

Born of Many Mothers

 

I am the daughter of many mothers,

some village midwives whose

husbands mined for diamonds and

stardust in Africa.

 

I was birthed by many mothers

who cured warts with soft whispers

and conjured healing sprung from

superstitions.

 

I come from many mothers of

royal bloodlines who wrote poetry

and know what it means to worship

the moon.

 

 

Sing the Stars Home

 

The moon will rise and she

will enter the woods to forage

for the mushrooms that glow

only at night.

 

Unbraiding her hair she will

stand at the edge of the river

and listen to the marsh realm

breathe.

 

In the still hours between the

screech of the owl and the howl

of the wolf she will offer acorns

and twigs to the fire and watch

the shadows dance.

 

Before the break of dawn she

will cast her nets wide searching

for the poems just beginning to

rise on the mists and she will

sing the stars home.

 

 

Running For Too Long

 

As she leaned against the

window frame of metal

she felt the vibration of

thundering hooves.

 

Without a safe harbour or

an anchor to ground her,

she accepted she had been

running for too long.

 

Her thoughts tilted towards

steaming and disorderly.

It was hard to believe she

would find answers in silence.

 

 

Of Wool & Waves

 

Tis spring and the sheep are heavy

in their woollen coats, ready to be shorn.

 

The fleece holds the scent of the hills

where the sheep have grazed and now

the delicate strands are dipped into

vats of indigo dye as deep blue as the

ocean.

 

Like the mariners called to sea, we

women are called to gather and knit

the sweaters, their stories becoming

mythical with the passing of time.

 

We take our needles, our fingers dancing

with a cohesive rhythm of knit and purl,

a steady movement like oars across the

blue water or hands united in prayer.

 

We tighten the cables as if ropes on the

ships or the lines on the fishermen's

faces, our hands moving together like

the wind and the waves.

 

Instilling whispers of love and protection

into every stitch we set our own course

across the sea of blue as the ancestors

have done before us.

 

As the grey clouds part for the weakened

sun, the sailors cast off and the maidens,

mothers and crones stand together on shore

and shout their love and goodbyes.

 

We hold hands and form a circle, singing

lullabies to the mermaids to calm their

desires.

 

As one we bow to the beacon shining from

the lighthouse to carry the mariners safely

home, our blue stained fingers touched by

the mists of salt and yarns spinning thru

the threads of time.

 

(This poem is dedicated to the sea captains

and their kin in my maternal ancestry.)

 

 



 

Karen A VandenBos - Once upon a time, Karen A VandenBos was born on a warm July morn in Kalamazoo, MI. Her youth was nourished by books and writing. When adulthood opened the door, she was detoured to working in health care for 30+ years and obtained her PhD in Holistic Health. She tumbled into the realm of retirement landing on her feet and was reunited with her creative spark. She is an active contributor in three online writing groups where she unleashes her imagination and trusts her pen to take her where she needs to go. Her writing has been published in The Ekphrastic Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Verse-Virtual, The Rye Whiskey Review, Blue Heron Review and others.

2 comments:

Four Poems by Ed Lyons

  Running Free in Free Derry     This Hallowed Ground Free Derry is Where once the martyrs bled. It’s such a merry merry place, Yet full of ...