Category: spiritual

animals, poetry, shamanism, spiritual, wolves

Memories of Wolves – Initiation

by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment on Memories of Wolves – Initiation
Memories of Wolves – Initiation

Devour and savour the ‘Memories of Wolves: Wolf Rain – Shamanic Initiation’. A deep and vivid poem that leads you into the memories of the wild wolf. Read and enjoy.

Love, Katy.

Memories of Wolves

Wolf Rain – Shamanic Initiation

My muzzle scents rushing blood,
Carpeting the snow red,
Fangs of the Puma.
Tore me apart seeking my heart.
 
Wolves snarling circling,
My brothers howl at Mother Moon,
To light the forest's dark tomb,
Ragged wounds pump scarlet terror.
 
They lay their teeth on my flesh,
Lifting me in soft jaws,
Clawed paws crunch through stars,
To the lair of Grandfather Bear.
 
Mother nuzzles, prods me
Into a nest of rancid hide,
Her muzzle snuffles death-filled slashes,
Pale eyes in white fur stare into my heart.
Black lips part and her tongue
Staunches blood, from torn side,
Ripping off rotting flesh,
Sisters join her. washing, healing,
Cooling my dream-filled fever.
 
They nestle around, beside, above me,
Not one inch of my flesh is left alone.
In delirium I groan and sleep to the beat
Of their protective hearts.
 
Three days pass full of pain,
Brothers, sisters, cubs and love.
I arise healthy again, strong,
But long for my own.
 
I leave their care, their safety
Travelling to the clearing by the lake.
There my brothers shake in horror, and relief,
I smile with black painted lips.
Showing sharp pointed teeth.
 
‘I return from the Dream Quest,
Blessed by the Great Ancestor.
Brother Puma tore apart my ignorant heart,
Sister Wolf sucked it whole again
Filling my new body
With Grandfather Wisdom.
 
Now I return as the Shaman, Wolf Rain.
Tonight around the fire
I will tell you of my terror,
I will tell you of my
Memories of Wolves

Copyright: Katy Walters
Wolf mother and cub
meditation, poetry, reading, spiritual, Writing

My Study: A Poem

by katywaltersreviewsLeave a Comment on My Study: A Poem
My Study: A Poem

My lounge is a place of the heart. I think of carpets, sofas, the comfort of elderly visits. the surprise and birth of children. I remember family birthday parties with cake, blowing out candles and wishing. Spring with French doors open to roses, and horsechesnut trees. In whispers, I recall funereal buffets with soft weeping.

My study, however, is the silent home of my soul; of thoughts unspoken, turning into novels and poetry tapped out onto a plastic keyboard.

My Study

A sunlit room of oaken beams where dreams
Stream flowing through fresh windows,
Searching scarred shadows, papers shown, reams,
Of prose, doomed epitaphs, mellow.
Pastel portraits of animals long dead,
Haunting, dog running, flowers, fields,
The spring of adolescence, blossoms fed
On a winter of shattered innocence, concealed.
 
Figurines from ancient dynasties,
Pagan, Hindu, Buddhist, and Abrahamic,
hover in the mist of lost loyalties,
Whilst the Virgin steps on the serpent's hiss,
Outside the dark Cathedral of Trees,
Inspires, bringing sorrow to its knees.

Copyright: Katy Walters