Category Archives: Poetry

by

Mother Earth


She is vast, beautiful like a constellation.
She and I are made up of the same stars.

If you could search her eyes
you would see a whole universe swirling there.

Being a part of her is like riding on a spaceship,
watching as the moon shines like a disco light.

Don’t try to harm her. She’ll become destructive.
Her storms are wild and restless.
Inside she is a fragile chemistry set.

I wish to hug her to me, keep her safe,
but she’s too big to wrap my arms across.

Her seas are endless. She holds life in a pulsating fist.
Her secrets carry on the wind. Her breath is my breath.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

A belated Earth Day poem :)

by

And the purpose of art is...?

Reblogged from Amanda Banks:

Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post

"Sometimes, without darkness, riches will never be revealed. We need patience and faith to wait for things to unfold out of that deep valley between the two worlds…" Melanie Doherty, Bookish Nature

What is art? What is dance? What is their purpose...? I remember having heated discussions in years long gone, debating what art is, attempting to define its parameters, establish what makes 'good' art.

Read more… 973 more words

I'm proud and humbled that my words were picked for this production :)
by

The Woman

I know there is grey in the sky at dawn
for how otherwise could the mountain stream

run so pure and the gardens of suburbia
remain so green? I look up and see a woman

looking out, lost, a lot like me, a girl
clinging to the space between two breaths

where flesh meets air, air with indigo, rainbows
ending in the sea. Yet how the waters

run so dark now, from the fracking stations
and factories. They blame global warming

for all this water but the clouds are angry;
they throw their fists at mankind’s disregard.

The woman must find comfort where she can
and trembles, gazing up at the moon and stars.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

 

by

Warm Currents

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

When I woke this morning,
not really awake,
paddling along the surface
of a dream like a swan,

I thought this must be
what a soul is like,
always there
but hidden on the other side of dark.

I could be the wind or trees
or a bird under starlight
or the ripples on the lake,

but I’m not me
until your currents lift me
and I rise into air.

©2013 Louise Hastings

by

The Shape of a Soul

dark_red_moon_wallpaper-other
On the night of her death
you looked down and watched
as she left like a wisp of smoke
by the hole in her head,
floating up through her half
of the purple nocturne sky.

And as she lies fragile like a bird
soft light filters through her paper skin;
the moon turns red,
a scarlet surge spilling a waterfall.

And what is the shape of a soul?
Is a woman’s the same as a man’s?
All she wanted
was what we all want -
a chance to live, to learn, to love.

But I hear no response, no reply,
just your mocking laughter
as she lies bleeding there in the dark.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings