this is just a short ramble my train of thought coming off the tracks nobody runs a tight shipwreck except it is very much expected with unemployment and four walls closing in with face masks and "working remotely" (remote, definition: "having very little connection with or relationship to") and the toddler's melting down knocking on... Continue Reading →
Crooked by Amoret BriarRose My serpentine spine did not gift Eve with the apple; good posture is not magic is not a cure-all is not integrity made flesh. Featured Image: Mariana in the South, 1897, John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Ehwaz/The Horse by Amoret BriarRose I approach her slowly, bit of apple in my hand, hoping to coax her? Befriend her? I'm not sure either is truly possible. I know in my heart: she is a wild thing though the path near the fence is deep and worn and her warm breath fogs the air... Continue Reading →
The Risk by Amoret BriarRose They say that a bridge is no country and thus I wonder, when I reach out, extend toward another, do I then lose sovereignty to gain connection, risk self to touch other... or do we blend together, boundaries wavering as watercolors, soaking up the pigment of what we become together?
I am ready to meet the autumn, picked for a twilight brew ready to know the tastes so bitter on Her tongue. Not all mothers birth.
Never grow a wishbone where your backbone ought to be. ~Clementine Padford A Spine For All Seasons by Amoret BriarRose And if your spine was a sword, what then? Could it bear the weight of all seasons, cutting when necessary blessing when necessary knowing hearts are both stones and feathers?
We Are the Ones by Amoret BriarRose Don't despair! We are indeed made for these times, born for this dying empire breathing tired air and drinking troubled waters, rising from so many fires, exactly what is needed. Image: Need and Joy by Amoret
I have my copy of Three Drops from a Cauldron's Lughnasadh 2016 anthology in hand! Get yours here! Featured Image: Mushrooms by Amoret
Reciprocity by Amoret BriarRose The Ancestors call. I pour the water, light the candles, sing the songs and suddenly legions are behind me, washing me forward on waves of blood memory. Image: Birth the Dream by Amoret