‘This umbrella tires of holding up the rain’

A beautifully written poem by S.Francis.

sailorpoet

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain
Her water proof nylon grown thin, ribs
Starting to bend to the wind. A tired
Whisper: “let the rain drench you.”
Wind blown sideways, like the sky
Asking for directions, falling
To earth looking for suture to heal
Us: our stars and their stories.

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain.
It beseeches me to close it and look up
At the patterns raindrops make falling
Like a web of stars torn apart,
Looking for a new storyteller
To mix the tonic God pours down on us.
“Wrap your arms around me,” she says,
“Let the story fall on its own.”

Umbrella, I tire of holding back rain.
Open me up and let me catch it.
This mystery falling I can no longer solve,
So choose, instead, to break the patterns
Allowing the water to resolve its story
In rivers tumbling…

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Sandcastles — kashiana

sandcastles in the sun are you willing to call it fun? sandcastles with a moat does creativity flourish by rote? sandcastles that glisten pride may i match the depth of your stride? sandcastles sculpted with bare handed care will you knead my heart with similar flare? sandcastles that repair and replenish can the aquamarine mirror my tears with similar flourish? […]

via sandcastles — kashiana

Blood Into Ink: Your Writing Wanted — Brave and Reckless

The curators of Blood Into Ink are seeking guest writers to share their stories about the struggles and triumphs faced by trauma survivors. We welcome the writing of women and men who have lived through sexual abuse, rape, physical abuse, emotional abuse, child neglect, emotional abuse, domestic violence and other forms of trauma. We believe […]

via Blood Into Ink: Your Writing Wanted — Brave and Reckless

Sexual Orientation in Astrology – Podcast

This podcast was really interesting because it delves into the physical limits of biological gender, astrological and societal challenges/phobias that the LGBTQ community currently faces and how the masculine/feminine principle has undergone radical changes in the cultural and linguistic context. What does it mean to actually be male or female? What does it mean to be maybe even be neither, or somewhere in between? Is our sexuality a conscious choice, or a state of being?

http://theastrologypodcast.com/2016/06/06/sexual-and-orientation-astrology/

Christine Ray (Brave And Reckless) – Moon Ate The Dark Writing Prompt Challenge

There are five more days to submit to Brave and Reckless’ Moon Ate the Dark Writing Prompt Challenge! Writing Prompt: “Moon ate the Dark” Using the writing prompt above, write a 100 to 750 word original piece that integrates the writing prompt. The prompt can used as the title, you can use the phrase intact or break it […]

via There is still time to submit to Brave and Reckless’s “Moon Ate the Dark” Writing Prompt Challenge!! — Brave and Reckless

A Desperate Bid – Ayoka

This is where you may go This is what you may grow This is where you may drink This is when you may wink This is what you can wear This is what you may bare This is who you may love This is how you stay above This is what you must pay This […]

via A Desperate Bid — aYoKa

Prose – Terry Tempest Williams, “When Women Were Birds: Fifty Four Variations On Voice”

Photo by Biel Morro

“Why this relationship to Mother and water?

Breaking waters. We are born from what is fluid, not fixed. Water is essential. A mother is essential. The ocean as a mother is mesmerizing in her power, a creative force that can both comfort and destroy. My mother and I came to trust each other on the beach where we sat. Between the silences, we played together. We entertained ourselves. On the edge of the continent, looking west, we came to an understanding of the peace and violence around us. Power is the sea’s thundering voice, the curling and crashing of waves. Water is not nothing if not ingemination, an encore to the tenacity of life. And life held in the sea is surface and depth, what we see and what we imagine.
We cast a line, we throw out a net, what emerges is religion in the form of fish.

My mother’s trangression was hunger. She passed her hunger on to me without ever speaking a word. Solitude is a memory of water. I live in the desert. And everyday I am thirsty.

When I opened my mother’s journals and read emptiness, it translated to longing, that same hunger and thirst Mother translated to me. I will rewrite this story, create my own story on the pages of my mother’s journals.”

– Terry Tempest Williams