Pagan Village News

Sleeplessness
Written by Rosemarie

i couldn't sleep for three nights
much to my dismay
partly its this heatwave
but mostly its my brain
it just refuses to quit when my body aches to take a break
so i stare into shadows 
and i wait...


my eyes and ears remain alert to all that moves and whispers
in the dawn's early light
nightbirds give their last encore
while conversations from the day before
echo through my mind
as morning breaks wide open in the sky


another sleepless night....


this bitter morning caffiene can't seem to wash away 
the stinging reality of the day
as FOX, CNN and the radio in my car
shriek of warnings and statistics of victims in the latest war
this supposed fight for "freedom everywhere" is a joke
no one speaks it, but deep down inside we all know...
and they are teaching our kids evolution is just a theory
they are rewriting history books so stories will remain untold
and Jesus Christ has more soundbites on the evening news now,
lets all pray to the one Right god and save our souls...


another sleepless night....


moving through the long days reacting automatically
twilight's blue-ish violet landscape
encompassing everything around me
its a deceiving time
though i rather like it, in spite of myself
those noisy Junebugs
drown out the lies we all tell
and our minds will believe the stories we repeat
before long, the osmosis will be complete


another sleepless night...


its time to go home so at the end of this day
i reflect on what I did, and reflect on what i said
did i make a difference or did i just "go along"?
these are my questions as the pillow meets my head


another sleepless night....


*******************************************


Archaeology of a Garden
Written by Rosemarie

digging out weeds with my bare hands

feeling the earth 
slip rapidly through my fingers
like brown sand
i like the way the dirt
embeds itself underneath my nails
staining my skin
allowing me to keep its remnants
for a while
along with the thinly lined scratches
sketched lightly along my arms
from those gnarled brittle branches
twisting in and out of the flower beds
 
the wise crone who lived here before me
must have pushed her hands
through these same patches of soil
time and time again
sometimes i feel her essence lingering
and quite possibly i hear the sound
of her faint exasperation
as she shakes her head at my "knack" for horticulture
 
but i respect this place
and these roots planted here long ago
each twig, each bloom, each dried-out leaf
missing their former caretaker's adept and knowing ways
my hands reach out earnestly
perhaps not quite with the same sense of empathy or ease
though i am committed to learning
how to cultivate life,
nurture growth and wait 
with positive uncertainty
and i like the way i feel
when i'm out here
smelling the fresh earth
patiently waiting for the lessons
digging out weeds
with my bare hands.


Rosemarie's Bio:


I'm 33 years old and I live in western New York with my husband

 and our three cats. I recently completed a joint BA in Sociology

and Anthropology after a 10 year hiatus from school.  I now work

 part time in a nursing home as a social worker and currently am

planning on graduate school at some point in the next year. I am

passionate about social and political science, healthcare/eldercare,

music of all kinds, and enjoy singing, drumming, reading anything I

can get my hands on, creative writing, gardening, yoga and cooking.

Submission Guidelines

More Poetry

Wonder

One Voice From The Wars Dead

Fortunate Souls

Archeology of a Garden

Sleeplessness