Earth Pathways Showcase

Scarlet splashes into pale yellow,
forming a mellow rose-golden glow
over a glimmer of green.

Soft sea of blue
reddens to a purple hue
like a field of violets.

Sunlight shines through
droplets of rain, reflecting
the painters palette
onto a grim, grey sky.

Rainbow © Mary Chapman 2018

When leaves leave branches bare
and birds depart to a warmer world.
Sky's colour fades from glorious to grey,
turning turquoise to black pearl.
Trees, silhouetted, seen at dusk,
as I walk the woodland way
through the dewy, damp, gangling grass
on this dimly dying day.

Autumn © Mary Chapman 2012

The Rowan tree in my garden marks the seasons for me. The springtime symmetry of its leaves furnish a feathery-fresh coating of green. Sweetly scented summer blossom brings a buzzing of bees to the scene. Berries, bright red, with their small pentagram; fruit for birds, jelly, wine and jam. The fiery flames of autumn leaves fall; the fire tree fades to winter’s silvery pall.

The Lady of the mountain symbolises courage, wisdom, protection. Rowan tree, the tree of life, is a source of inspiration.

The Rowan Tree © Mary Chapman

He rises at dawn to drive his chariot
through gold streaked, shimmering sky.
Onwards and upwards - direct;
Radiating splendour, demanding respect.

She shelters in shadows, concealed and circumspect,
awaiting the Sun King’s retreat.
When gold secedes to orange- red
before turning to darkness,
she rises to take her seat on a starry platform.

In the stillness of night, Apollo’s light
Is reflected in Luna’s form.

The Lights © Mary Chapman

I have no roots;
I am a once beautiful flower
turned to seed,
a white weed
blown by the wind
and scattered.

I am a boat
without anchor, afloat
on summer seas.
Weathered by winter storms
until broken
and fragmented.

I was once a slave,
who was brave
enough to fight for freedom.
Now I run with the deer
and travel without fear
of recapture.

I am the voice,
sharing sentiments
with those whose choice
is to listen.
Wise words,
aimed to stimulate thought;
not leave the mind maimed
and wounded.

Mutability © Mary Chapman

The dream weaver waits for me.
He sits beneath the willow tree, painted black as night.
The new moon, too slim to cast light,
hides behind dark shadows.
The whoosh of the wind turns to a whisper,
While the hoot of the owl becomes mooted.
I am no longer aware of the cool air that once made me shiver.
My senses blur when I enter the lair of the strange revelations giver.
The dream weaver waits for me;
he weaves together strands of dreams.
The dream weaver waits for me
to dream his different reality.

The Dream Weaver © Mary Chapman

Persephone, harvest maiden,
from Earth’s mother taken
into Hades domain…to begin her reign.

Chorus:-
Harvest fruit stolen away,
Mother’s grief, harsh winter’s day.
Queen of darkness, child of plenty,
She walks between two worlds.

She wondered the land, heart torn,
searching for the child she’d borne.
Demeter cried; the earth died.

Chorus…

“Let her return”, Hermes pleads.
Persephone ate four pomegranate seeds;
now she’s bound to winter underground.

Chorus…

Demeter’s daughter, death defying,
Hades bride, dark realm denying
as she marches into spring

Chorus…

Persephone © Mary Chapman

I am planet Earth, supplier of the sustenance you need;
a reluctant resource to be plundered, to satisfy human greed.
I am the vast ocean, flooded with tears of grief
for the many lives taken by each thoughtless, thankless thief.
I am the sun that warms and burns bright.
My sister is the tranquil moon, reflecting a gentler light.
I am the air; I am the breath of life;
I am the wild wind that cuts like a knife.
I am a woman; I am not divine,
I am not an angel, just one of human- kind.
I am a living being, with the right to be;
I am a living being with the right to be me.

Life © Mary Chapman

She lives in a snowflake patterned lair, sleeping.
Icicles drip, dripping; her silver-dyed hair weeping.
A snowy owl stays silent, a new day has begun;
Sounds of night-time ended with the rising of the sun.
Frosted fingers fasten the winter-woven cloak.
Leaving snail trails in her wake,
Lady Winter takes her walk.

Lady Winter © Mary Chapman

Lady of the sea,
who will dry your blue-green eyes?
Who will silence the storm that rages in your ears,
or calm the waves that wash over your fears?

In the stillness of the night,
The light of the moon shimmers softly on your skin.
The life hidden within
awakens, and begins
to savour your rosmarine smile;
your sweet, salted smile.

Lady of the sea © Mary Chapman

Black bud burnt.
Dark, dark rose,
whose petals never opened.
A red rose; never perfected,
never seen in full beauty,
awaits its fall to earth.
Awaits its time of rebirth.

Fragility's Falling © Mary Chapman

The green youth springs across barren land,
pastel- covering the wilderness of woodland.
He places a brush into her hand
to paint petals a deep shade of red;
to change lemon into gold, pale lilac to bright blue.
When light begins to fade, vibrant hues become sepia.
This is the turning point of the year.

She carries bright bone whiteness in both hands;
dropping it, dripping it onto once more barren lands.
The photograph shot in sepia becomes one of monochrome -
diamond white frosting on coal black;
carbon sparkle on carbon rock.
The harshness of perpetual gloom
endures until youth begins to bloom.

(Seasonal) Turning Points © Mary Chapman 2016