Poems from Primal Nudgings

Recently I had the privilege of working with a group of women in the Primal Nudgings program. Some of them agreed to have their poems published in the Shen. These poems were written in a period of about 15 minutes, following an exercise with their masks. As you can see from the words, although the exercise is the same, the experience is as different and unique as the individual women.

I feel warm and full as I witness what happens when, given the opportunity to slow down and quiet the mind we allow the intuitive, creative aspect of the self to blossom. And blossom it did in the days and evenings as we worked with clay, masks and owning forgotten aspects of the self. The heartfelt words of their poems … Marlyn Farrell

Marlyn is offering Primal Whisperings at The Haven November 6-9. The next Primal Nudgings is in 2010.

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Bow-legged like a bulldog
I march down the street and into the past
Contemplating the peasant farmers
Among my ancestors.
How they must have enjoyed the sun
How their ghosts must be amused at
Our modern silly lives
So lacking in the serenity of silence
I imagine them impishly plotting
Planting ideas of getting back-to-the-land
Among us modern folk
And playfully joking at our ineptness and softness.
Yes wisely, sadly,
Watching us reconnect.

Rita Arterio

Embracing

She wore her ancestry
Once hidden
In shadow
Cast into a smiling light
Where child met
Grandfather
And acceptance grew
As sure as the Italian
Nose upon her face.
Trickster, sour, stubborn,
Happy
Assuredly sharing space
In the contented smile
Of a graceful woman
Who had finally come of age,
Embracing her crone
At last.

Sandra Simms

Let us Play!

I smile. I’m alive. The day is filled with beauty. I walk peacefully to the sea.
When no one is looking, the Trickster, spirit-like, starts to play. He looks to start the mirth then run and hide.
I worry. I feel prickly. I forget to breathe. Anxiety washes over me and the Trickster disappears – far, far away.
I breathe deeply and wisdom and peaceful beauty return. Bliss is mine. I smile. I’m alive and
my friend the Trickster is at my side again.
Let us play!

Kim Lintott

Gratitude Abounding

hidden behind the playful pout
that stylishly garnishes her face
the long sadness
unassumingly lurks
hinting gently around the eyes
the edge of a bud that awaits
a suggestion, an inference
a long wait without water
If paused in a moment
a fleeting view
another look prepares for harvest
ire, the pinched companion
and the grinding lilt
of an hour’s frustration
yields another crop of expression
another hidden self
that one
the other
one without care or waste
the evil queen
manipulative
stubborn
regal
yet
secreted
behind a stiff unyielding
stand of robes
and protected by the strength
of the regent’s
fierceness
and fondly caressed status
so, slow and deliciously round
lingers the child
who peeks out
with one shy eye
to view the folly
of unclaimed
and unnamed creatures
from a distance peered at
the wee one
cupped within the sleeve
of the queen
both necessary beings
harbored
in a single body
structured, strong and safe
to dance
circular
each in orbit
one round the other
making a grateful whole
powered, almost entirely
by passion and primitive wings