Sliver Moon

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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.”

Huh.

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; www.hiraethpress.com)

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.

~ Jamie K. Reaser

Published in  "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" 

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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.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life"

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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.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" and 
"Wild Life: New and Selected Poems" 

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Cicadas

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.

! Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" (www.hiraethpress.com)

Berry Picking

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

Right arm outstretched.

Thumb and forefinger

poised for delicate

pluck.

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" 

Feel free to share