oathing
stone
I kneel to rest my
hand upon this stone
from below it the
earth pulses and pulls
offering to me an
awareness of yesterday
a sense of
belonging to those I cannot know
the ones who would
never know me
other than through
their confidence
that the stones of
their land
would always mark
its borders
and remain for
those who follow
I cup my hand over
the stone
just as they did
when making their vows
swearing loyalty
by the constancy of place
and the certainty
of bloodlines
the stone is warm
and dry in the sun’s heat
today my hand
absorbs this warmth
while they who
once set it in place
feel only the
coolness of their eternal rest
on the other side
of the oathing stone
poet review
for Thomas Lynch and Christine
Valters Paintner
an odd event, this dialogue between poets
but I sat with pen in hand, wanting to glean from
The
Wisdom of Wild Grace and to offer
understanding for The
Sin-Eater: a Breviary
these seemingly
disparate and distanced works
words are her
brush and canvas, used to create
provocative works of beauty: a vine-laden
forest
thick with leaf on
paths trod by saints
here she traces
their steps, finds their markers
and contemplates
the significance of their message
his thoughts,
though fresh from his pen,
are like ancient
quarried stones bearing scars
and carvings from
incessant rains,
hinting at the
dark secrets of the bog
disclosing a
sin-eater in his private dwelling
the greyness of
the sin-eater’s grim reality
juxtaposed with
her colourful word-portraits
of saints in the
wild is oddly exquisite
an unlikely
pairing yet the conversation is rich
full of parallels
and congruencies
with her reverent
recounting of their hagiographies
she suggests the
peace felt by the saints
as they lingered
in the mossy wood
while he tells of
the sin-eater’s struggle to find peace
through momentary
lapses into cleanliness and rare laughter
homage to the
poets who help us to see
the full spectrum
of a meaningful life
the universality
underlying all things
the beauty of
flower-lined forest paths
the magnificence
of grey stones carved by the rain
some poems
some
poems are gauze wrapped gently around a life
assuming
all secrets will be hidden from sight
a
weave of words to bind a wound
and
offer healing or clarity
some
poems are gauze wrapped gently
how
open the weave, how obvious the heart
luminescent
luminescent
we were
froth
of seafoam
in
our laughter
dainty
lace peeking from cuffs
welcoming
always
welcoming
smiles
and kisses
lingering
touch
foxfire
foxfire
we were
glow
after dark
light
in the wine
mystery
promise
lady’s
slipper dripping dew
enchanter’s
nightshade
fire
pinks
fire
pinks we were
and
luminescent
Nancy
Tinnell lives and writes in Louisville, KY. She has published two chapbooks: murmurs
(2020), followed by the sum of all my parts in 2023. She enjoys
reading poetry aloud and has organized several events of readings and music,
such as Irish Poets and Celtic Saints, The Ragamuffin Readings: a Tribute to
Brennan Manning, and Uncommon Attitudes. Her poem Nell’s house was
shortlisted in the spring 2023 poetry contest sponsored by The Poetry Kit
(United Kingdom). When she is not writing, you may find her in the kitchen,
experimenting with new recipes.
Enjoyable verses Nancy.More please.
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