Frogs Into Princes

 

The Vulnerable Man

Who? Who is

to turn this frog into a prince?

Who is to wake the one asleep

inside the virescent, damp skin?

I see him glimpse out

into this cast spelling world . . .

Who? Who is to release the Divine, hidden in

the heart of the exiled Beast?

Beauty me?

Beauty you?

Beauty before, behind, below?

Who? Who cast the spell?

drove the beast into exhile?

made thorns on roses?

Who?

Not me!

Have the Maker kiss the emerald frog,

break the wet skin that holds the inner man

Have the Maker and Caster of Spells

release the beauty from the beast

stored there for ancient and forgotten reasons.

Have the Caster of Spells

Maker of Potions

The Diviner

The Story Maker

the one who sparked me

and gave the world a frog-prince…

break the spell,

and give me a taste of His love potion,

(that’s all I need) to

bring the Beast in me to Light

so I

can love

again.

–(Written for my Bad Girl’s Book Club)

On (this) FRIDAY September 25th I am offering the fifth of this year’s (free) WRITERS DAY RETREAT at our home and retreat center: Thundering Clouds Center for Creative Living, LLC. Begins at 10:00 am and goes till 4:00. Bring own lunch. Write, walk the labyrinth spiral in the restored prairie, stalk the woods, visit with the horses. Enjoy the awakening inside and out. We have 40 acres to explore. Or, sit comfortably in the Writer’s gazebo. At 3:00 we have a sharing circle.This is an opportunity too to meet up with other poets and writers.  I offer these days in remembrance, and as a way to honor the poet and essayist, William Stafford. He knew how valuable the written word is to our humanity and felt it worthwhile to support other writers and poets. He lived an open life. Please email for directions and to register: julie@julietallardjohnson.com

Ask Me

Some time when the river is ice ask me

mistakes I have made. Ask me whether

what I have done is my life. Others

have come in their slow way into

my thought, and some have tried to help

or to hurt: ask me what difference

their strongest love or hate has made.

 

I will listen to what you say.

You and I can turn and look

at the silent river and wait. We know

the current is there, hidden: and there

are comings and goings from miles away

that hold the stillness exactly before us.

What the river says, that is what I say.

–William Stafford, The Way It Is: New & Selected Poems, Graywolf Press   (A b00k every writer should have!)night’s

 

 

spacious, still air
lets tightbound words uncurl from sidelines, to spread
outward freely over open trails, once crowded
in day’s stampede      –a verse from Rebecca Cecchini (for more: Stone Skipper blog)