Poetry

The following poem just won first place in the Writer’s Workshop Poetry Contest

Soul Mate

by

Georganne Spruce

 

*The Grandmothers were hot,

Glowing in the dusky light

Like globes of gold hung by firelight.

No one dared speak,

Even the children, awed,

Mouths open halfway between

Fear and delight, waiting…

Our hands, feet and body shook

Impaled upon hooks of vibration

We could not escape

As we lost all consciousness,

Awakening in the other land.

 

What would we have wanted

The sphere of Oneness to look like?

A cloud of blue perhaps

Silhouetted against fading pink light

In the west or crisp and white

Like first morning light washed clean

By dark night.

But it is a meadow of tulips

Where wise women sleep

Among the grassy knolls

And dream of the next earthly life.

 

We were infused with light

As we passed through the portal

Created by the Grandmothers,

Floating through what is no longer time.

Now weary from this wisdom journey

We find paths to take us

Into the forest of this other world

Where all we’ve known resides.

And he will be there—

The one I’ve loved through all time,

He will be there glowing like gold

In the dusky light,

Waiting to follow me

Wherever I go.

 *The Grandmothers refers to the Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers who came together in 2004 to save Mother Earth.

 

MYSTERIES

by

Georganne Spruce

Published in Western North Carolina Woman, September 2005

Women

Strong as mountains made me,

Carrying bushels of corn

Up the steep path

From the truck garden

Near the river,

Sitting on their front porches

Shucking the ears,

Balanced in the cradle

Of their cotton dresses.

Their voices, like birdsong,

Entwining melodies

With the autumn breeze.

Sitting beside them,

I touched the corn silk gently,

Wishing my hair

Were that shining golden color

Like a vision of forest faeries

Dancing beneath our chinaberry tree.

Holding the corn in my hands,

Feeling it was still alive

Though common sense told me

It couldn’t be,

Plucked from the stalk that way.

Gently, I peeled the outer skins away

Exposing the naked corn.

At night when the moon was full

I would lie awake

Floating in its light

As if balanced on the water

Of a cool mountain stream.

I had no questions formed to ask

But knew there were mysteries

Pulling at me in that cool light.

I knew my grandmother,

My mother too,

Knew the wisdom of the mountains

And the mysteries of the moon,

Though we never spoke of them.