perhaps you channeled this poem through me?

My favorite writing is that which bubbles up (or down?) out of some unknown wellspring — perhaps the collective unconscious that Carl Jung spoke of. How else do I explain this bit of poetry that spilled out of me as I sat in the sunshine watching rabbits cavort in my yard in the landlocked American Southwest? For a short time, I felt myself at sea, perhaps in the British Isles or along the Ivory Coast in days gone by — even then expounding the virtues of self-examination and the integration of head and heart.
Perhaps some things never change after all.

Avast, me boys! The trumpets sound
The message quiet, yet profound:

If all who wander are not lost
And life’s a sea, a tempest tossed
Then who doth feign to know of truth
To stand above, aloft, aloof?
And which may summon forth frail glory?
To whose voice falls the ancient story?

I cannot but ask this query meek
For what do you quest and who do you seek?
There’s much of you that refuses to unfold
It lies inside like unmined gold
Would thou dare ponder; pray, contemplate
What rests beyond yon twisted gate?

Which notions give you puzzle gaily
Of all life’s riddles, which plague you daily?
Does wonderment ooze from thoughts mundane?
The bread, the mead, the loss, the gain?

Or have you trod on richer loam
Tromped peated bogs in search of home?
The heather calls your one true name,
Refocus your gaze – naught is ever the same.

Avast, me boys! We’ve sighted land!
Unshroud your hearts, unbind your hands.

6 comments

  1. Kari Dilda

    Oh yes, that was me you channeled. :^)
    At least that is what I would say about the energy of the day if I had the gift of a wordsmith! But I don’t, so you give your gift, and I give mine in a different form, a different arena, all responding to the ONE.

    Like

    • @Kari Dilda,

      Thank you for ‘fessing up. (-:

      I’m wondering if anyone else also feels that I was bringing forth these words from their version of the ONE.

      Like

      • Bethany

        Absolutely! I feel these words could be framed in mist-cloaked hills and hung comfortably on my heart’s hearth for awhile. :)
        I can’t help being reminded of the Sons of Somerled when I read them.

        Like

  2. Nora

    I liked this one very much, Rachel…..the title is? I clicked on rhyme of the ancient mariner. I like that it was set at stone’s base….the mists may make the ink run? Were there pix of Ireland? saw boxes, but did not open up.

    Like

    • Nora, the title actually is “Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.” Each of the 12 poems in the Words Divinely Wrought Global Poetry-Share are packaged in clear plastic for protection. On the other hand, I think there’s something poignant about a poem that is slightly crumpled, stained, or waterlogged. Gives it gravitas, no? Pictures of the Ireland poetry-plantings are found in this post.

      Like

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