Eliza Daley ~ Wordcraft & Musing on Home & Hope
Born Again (Nacer de Nuevo) by Remedios Varo (1960) she is breaching reaching through rent flesh for hearth sense brushing past grasping cilia and bleached branches deserting the void-dark garden of ghosts coming into the clotted intimacy of small spaces penetrating deep the root-riddled walls of womanhood she is suffused with maiden’s hopeful lust one… Continue reading coming through wisdom
I closed the shop early. No point to staying open in this storm. If anyone were foolhardy enough to venture out, I’d not want to sell books that would likely only get ruined on the walk back home. But there were no people, nobody dashing from one shop to the next, nobody walking the dog… Continue reading The Man in the Moon
The seventh moon of the year is the Flower Moon, or the Faerie Moon. It is new between 23 April and 21 May. It is full between 7 May and 4 June. This is the burgeoning time. Bulbs are flowering. Forsythia is a wash of gold. Lilacs are sending scent out on the breeze. Bees… Continue reading Flower Moon in Eclipse
i came across a forgotten sugar bush craggy boles as wide as doors to another time bark cracking and sap-dampened with abandoned tap-holes writing jagged lines layers of leaf mould counted more than my years and heartwood ringed older than human endeavors on this inhospitable hillside primordial mother trees these and all about each grand… Continue reading the lesser species
Come, now a roundel by Arthur Rackham (1908) she made her feathered nest in the tangled boughs of oak, ash, thorn and found mushroom echoes of moonbeams she delved for essence among the hawthorn roots and brought woven certainty to light she entered the ring where faeries are dancing and knew the wheel’s ceaseless turning… Continue reading the thorn path
the thorn queen she waxes full in fertile grace queen of quick and fay, she reigns in mantle green and seemly face quelling fear and mortal pains eternal mother, ever maid undying wisdom in her glance deathless weird is on her laid to spin th' unceasing wheel of chance again, she comes in crown of… Continue reading Bealtaine
we are the bonfire on the mountain the light in the waning days we are the chthonic mothers the crones singing lullabies under dark moons we are the eyes on trespass the elder judges, pockets brimming with vindication we are the keepers of truth the guardians on the gates of futures unbroken we are the… Continue reading balefire
We have a fraught relationship with trees. To mask our utter dependence on the green world and to justify taking whatever we desire from the planet, we have stripped even the possibility of consciousness from other life forms, woody ones in particular. We name them resources, so that the value of trees is determined only… Continue reading Arbor Day
to be a flower is profound responsibility — emily dickinson we are atrophied arrested in infancy lapped in trifling concerns want, desire, lust all trivial, all meaningless bounded by self in isolation yielding naught but wasted precious time we pursue this void aimlessly assiduously avoiding essence because truth is written materially plain to see in… Continue reading floralia
take this ring compound with stardust and time dancing bright alchemy into tomorrows with yesterdays to grace the maypole i give thee being where was none your hand in mine and round again believe you this we are together one Written for my son's wedding... ©Elizabeth Anker 2022
By My Solitary Hearth 