Thursday, July 28, 2011

Sliver Moon

Image: origin unknown

Sliver Moon awakens me at 4:00am.

“What is it?” I ask.

She says, “Rise.”

That’s all, just “rise.”

I walk out the door and into the stickiness of night.

She’s in the East,
reclining on the horizon line,
skinny, even waif-like.

You can tell that she has the capacity
for voluptuousness,
a saucy fullness,
but she’s not embodying it,
not now,
not at this moment.

But, how she illuminates!

This fascinates me.

I could walk the mountain trails
without so much as a stumble
for the guidance she provides,

Yet so little of her is visibly present.

She has a good laugh
at my bewilderment,
remarking with an erudite chortle:

“As long as I claim
everything in Shadow,"
she says, "I am whole.”


And I claim the Sacred Fool of me,
with a giggle.

Suddenly, I’m brighter.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (published by Hiraeth Press;

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Summer Rain

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

You came like a long absent lover
at the end of a parched day,

gentle at first –

Fully present, I thought,
this will last the night.

Oh Welcome!

But then,

Such fervor!

I wondered in that moment if
it was our desperately
wanting you
that had unbridled your thunderous passions.

It seemed as if even you longed
to surrender to the Other’s
most deeply sculpted longing.

But then,

How could you?

So soon you departed!

We are left feeling unquenched.

Do you hear?

Lips merely brushing past each other
can say nothing
of a kiss.

© 2011-2012/Jamie K. Reaser
From "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" to be published by Hiraeth Press in August 2012

Thursday, July 21, 2011

The Primary Drought

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The water lilies
can’t explain
why they lie in a crispy heap
on a bed of crackled red clay,

or where the frogs
have gone.

It’s early in the season.

But, when the rain stops
a silence sets in.

Those who have not
yet given up their bodies,
pray that Death is so otherwise
occupied that he doesn’t notice
they still swill the firebrand air.

I walk through tinder fields
of tall chicory,
blue flowers closed off
to a nauseous sun.

Interesting isn’t it,
how so many people
stop to talk about
the drought?

“Tragic,” they say.

And I wonder about hearts folded
up tight against the light

and what it would take to saturate
the human spirit with a love
for this world.

Could our full presence
float flowers?

I’m open to the possibility.

Fear is a stingy master though,
and we in-habit the primary drought,
I think.

The torment of this craving landscape
is a merciless repercussion.

“Tragic,” I say.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Hermit Thrushes in the Morning

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

On an overcast morning in July,
hermit thrushes
ping-pong snippets of their
liquid melody between
north and south ridges.

I don’t understand
the loquacious banter
and I think this tragic.

If a pair of angels stood
in my midst,
would I just carry on,
neglecting to surrender my being
to the symphony of their
holy language?

Intimacy is the turnkey to the soul.

Unbearable passion is what births
everyday miracles.

Why choose to explain a cloud
rather than lie on your back
in tall grasses
and watch a menagerie
shapeshift as it passes?

I don’t claim to have any answers,

But I know this world wasn’t made
to entertain the diminutive thoughts
of reasonable people.

This world was made for those
whose heart breaks
for want of a grand romance
in which they can
never fully partake.

© 2011-2019/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" and "Wild Life: New and Selected Poems" 

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Wednesday, July 13, 2011


Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The curanderos have shed
their last underworldly skin
and taken to the trees.

Chakapa wings drone icaros,
incanting me into my
animal nature
and beyond all hope
of aloneness.

Since my very first summer,
this has been
what a million essential insects
have asked of me.

Today I heard them.


When I was a young girl
I’d pluck cicada exoskeletons
off tree trunks and fence posts.

Bronze and sun-crisped,
I’d delight in the concept that
form can be outgrown.

I adorned my ear lobes with them,
and my fingers –
Like priceless jewels,
the riches of the wooed and betrothed.

Little then did I know
that it was this child’s play
that would teach me
how to fall in love.


I said, “Yes!”
and became a bride
to the world.

© 2011-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Berry Picking

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Right arm outstretched.
Thumb and forefinger
poised for delicate

Memory and anticipation
rise and spiral
like two strands of DNA
in a rambunctious act of creation.

Herbaceous nibbles,
red and robust,
are offered in abundance
at the sky-cast perk
of bramble tangle

not by accident.

Summer’s succulence
is juicy bait for the soul.

Court it,

And eventually you’ll learn
that every thorn in life
is an invitation to
slow down
and be attentive.

It’s the only way
to harvest fruits.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" 

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