Wild Woman
She lives within me
this heathen of long ago-
bare feet tramping the lush forest floor of my mindeyes darting, ever aware
as she hunts, gathers, communes-
her tree gods all around.
She breathes within
hearing nature's call
in the sweetness of the night air
the heady scent of the bush park
and the cockatoos in the trees
just up the road
from my tarmac and tile life.
And every now and then
this wild child
who longs for her village
her clean earth
her crystal streams-
is set free.
Upon a wave she rides
or amongst the scattered leaves, sits
in a moonlit moment
or tends the soil with her bare hands
solitary
bless-ed
loving the earth and its comfort
more than her own life.
The wild memories of long ago
the rituals and spirit songs
often spill free upon her voice
and clumsy guitar accompaniment,
or during a yogic moment,
or upon a dance-floor
in ecstatic release.
She is real
this wild woman-
she walks amongst us all
and she reminds us of the places
that we need to be-
of the places
that we need to treasure.
Above all, she reminds us
to be free.
Image is from here.
Wild Woman
She lives within me
this heathen of long ago-
bare feet tramping the lush forest floor of my mindeyes darting, ever aware
as she hunts, gathers, communes-
her tree gods all around.
She breathes within
hearing nature's call
in the sweetness of the night air
the heady scent of the bush park
and the cockatoos in the trees
just up the road
from my tarmac and tile life.
And every now and then
this wild child
who longs for her village
her clean earth
her crystal streams-
is set free.
Upon a wave she rides
or amongst the scattered leaves, sits
in a moonlit moment
or tends the soil with her bare hands
solitary
bless-ed
loving the earth and its comfort
more than her own life.
The wild memories of long ago
the rituals and spirit songs
often spill free upon her voice
and clumsy guitar accompaniment,
or during a yogic moment,
or upon a dance-floor
in ecstatic release.
She is real
this wild woman-
she walks amongst us all
and she reminds us of the places
that we need to be-
of the places
that we need to treasure.
Above all, she reminds us
to be free.
She lives within me
this heathen of long ago-
bare feet tramping the lush forest floor of my mindeyes darting, ever aware
as she hunts, gathers, communes-
her tree gods all around.
She breathes within
hearing nature's call
in the sweetness of the night air
the heady scent of the bush park
and the cockatoos in the trees
just up the road
from my tarmac and tile life.
And every now and then
this wild child
who longs for her village
her clean earth
her crystal streams-
is set free.
Upon a wave she rides
or amongst the scattered leaves, sits
in a moonlit moment
or tends the soil with her bare hands
solitary
bless-ed
loving the earth and its comfort
more than her own life.
The wild memories of long ago
the rituals and spirit songs
often spill free upon her voice
and clumsy guitar accompaniment,
or during a yogic moment,
or upon a dance-floor
in ecstatic release.
She is real
this wild woman-
she walks amongst us all
and she reminds us of the places
that we need to be-
of the places
that we need to treasure.
Above all, she reminds us
to be free.
Image is from here.
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