An Evening Meditation (Poem for World Poetry)

Evening Meditation (Sun Holds Moon)

In the day observe your distance, keep apart,

but swaddle life as a precious child, and nature

as kindred, the solitary tree, a long-lost friend.

Now more than ever the earth is your home,

its sure ground the centre of your being,

its heart within your heart, footfall beating

a steady path along the rhythm of breath.

Gather armfuls of flowers to make bouquets

of the coming months, April and May.

Observe the silence of the half-light of dawn,

the twilight of evening and listen, to chirping birds,

the trilled echoes of memory barely vibrating

on the surface of the mind, calm water,

the reservoir of the self to be drawn upon,

a renewable, replenished well, an ocean.

Drink deeply from its star-filled source

brim-full of knowledge, heed the spirit’s whispering

of the inward opening door,

the realm within realm, gaze once more

on a cosmic tenderness, magnificence, beauty,

hold court with true love, a conscious union.

Orla Fay

Pluto's Hidden Stars

I'm back to you today blog for a wee check-in. Trim Poetry Festival was cancelled due to the pandemic. Well done to Patrick Lodge who won the poetry competition and to Maeve McKenna and Matt Hohner who were joint runners-up. Patrick's poem can be read here. Boyne Berries 27 has also been released and can be purchased via PayPal here.

I was delighted to have my debut poetry collection accepted by Jessie Lendennie of Salmon Poetry. It will be published in spring 2023. This is something I've been working towards for a long time.

Recently I had a poem published in Tales from the Forest, issue 11, Lore. I have poems forthcoming in Crannóg 52, Impossible Archetype and The Lake at the end of the month and early April. More news to follow of a possible reading in the summer and other things.

Yesterday I admired the buds growing on the trees, the daffodils and the first of the primroses. I've included a very old poem below in honour of the daffodils. I'm always struck by how luminous they can seem in the twilight, or the early morning light. Their trumpets really do herald the end of wintertime, the beginning of spring. The photo is my own, just taken in the garden.

Pluto’s Hidden Stars

All is silent

in the countryside

in anticipation,

where a watching child

holds her breath.

Alone in the frosted night

his mindset is fogged and closing.

Between the villages

cars travel, their headlights

search through thick air.

Wipers swish moisture.

Behind trees there is a bogeyman.

Dogs bark.

Pluto has taken all the stars

and hidden the moon

in the loneliness of falling to sleep.

In the morning ridden away

my cold dawn wakes.

In his trail a scattering

of daffodil heads;

unfound hidden stars.

Orla Fay