I started writing poetry spontaneously when I was 29 (Saturn Return) Poetry started to flow through me and it was my delight and privilege to sit and listen and receive it. The poems didn’t seem to come from me but from a wiser voice and I was in awe. As soon as I’d written one I wanted to run around sharing it with whoever would listen. I feel the same today – each new poem is a miracle to me.
This particular poem, My Love Song for Gaia, is a fruit from a year-long group I’ve been holding, called The Final Year. Nine women have met every two weeks over a year to explore together – if this were our final year, what do we need to grieve, to complete, to celebrate. It’s been powerful and touching for me to watch all the women blossoming. The commitment to meet together over a year has created deep trust and holding which has enabled vulnerability, risk-taking and the revelation of strengths and dreams. This has inspired me to offer more similar opportunities for deep discovery through the new Tribe in Transition Transformational Practice Community, which I will be sharing with you soon.
But, for now, the poem. We are very near the end of The Final Year group and, as a last hurrah, I suggested we each write a love song to the Earth. I’ve written mine this weekend, uplifted by the powerful energies of the Full Moon and lunar eclipse. It’s been a sacred few days. I’ve recorded the poem and you may want to be somewhere quiet to listen. (5.30 minutes)
And here’s the written poem:
My Love Song for Gaia
Rose Diamond
Morning
The morning light, sharp as a lemon, springs bright from the East
and the air is alive with small birds chattering.
A cool breath descends from the mountain and caresses my cheek
while nearby a dove calls and is answered by another.
In the garden, where I sit, a Buddha presides over the awakening earth,
surrounded by daffodils, bowing their heads, and the cheerful golden praise of primroses.
Elsewhere, different scenes of the Earth’s dreaming arise,
as she revolves through her shadows and her grief,
clinging to the mane of her night mare she rides on courageously.
In the North, icebergs are dripping, creaking and crashing,
change is in the wind and in the waters, food sources ebb and flow.
To the South, more mighty forests are ravaged every day
and the trees that remain are crying and trembling.
Somewhere, another city is destroyed by greed and hatred
and people, made of flesh and blood and bonds, run screaming
or lie in the dust keening for their dead.
But here, a blackbird with a bright eye
is hopping across the damp grass
searching for worms in the last of the winter’s mud, leaves of crocosmia, translucent and lime-green point towards a clear blue sky.
And I sit sipping bittersweet coffee from my favourite blue mug,
held by this miraculous chemistry of air, water, fire and earth
we are blessed to call life.
And I’m asking again, how I got to be so lucky.
Noon
Noon, and the tide is riding high and slapping the harbour wall.
Along the headland, smatterings of yellow gorse, shiny celandines and the first dandelion.
and, here, beside this wooden bench,
bequeathed by people who’ve loved this place,
someone has planted daffodils,
so that tired old-timers like me, my man, and our beloved elderly dog,
can stop and rest and take in the view.
Who would have thought I’d end up here, living close to this ancient pilgrim’s path,
always a restless pilgrim, searching and questing, content now to amble and sit.
More than content, I’ve put down roots in this unexpected place
and my roots are spreading deep into the damp, dark earth
reaching for an anchor in the bedrock
so that I can play my part in raising our new barn
and bringing in the harvest
And what a harvest it shall be.
My roots are reaching down to the centre of the Earth,
Beyond the rare minerals, to the core, where all the records of life are kept
and all the keys for regeneration are waiting.
I stand here with my feet firmly planted on this Earth,
at the edge of the cliff, looking out to sea, with my head pointing to the sky
and I’m calling home all the last lost pieces of my soul
As I stretch into the destiny of a spiritual being, learning what it means to be human,
here on Earth at this time of great change and death and opportunity
Oh what a harvest it will be.
Late Afternoon
The sun is moving West, and I am still,
like a flower of the garden, my face turns gratefully
towards the sun’s warmth,
offering up the simple beauty of my colours
for no reason, other than because I can, and this is who I am.
All reasons fall away
and there is only this stillness, this simplicity,
this breathing together as One.
Night
For many nights now, the sky has been soft and still and gently beckoning
the full moon glows serenely, suspended in space, her back towards the infinite unknown mystery of cosmos
and she appears to be dispensing blessings, a long-lost goddess, returning to her true place
while a few whispy clouds pull veils across her face
and trail glimmering rainbows before disappearing back into the ether.
Planets and stars shine bright,
they have been here all along, hidden by thick clouds and the rain that has been falling and falling.
They’re aligned now in some unusually powerful configuration
as Gaia turns on her long-haul flight
dreaming of a soft landing at the end of the Kali Yuga,
while the ever-generous Universe gets ready to birth a new day from its brimming heart.
Rose Diamond
16/3/25
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