by Ian G Graham

(image source: Pinterest)


Muted gold, crimson

rusty leaves

sever the bonds

of bark and bow.


In warm light drifting

towards a silent soft bed

they brush my damp face

seeking permission

to find another embrace.


The arms of Gaea spin, till,

stirring in the earth deep

awakenings, closures,

births, deaths, rebirths.


Rich dark loam

is the moist bed she offers

a patient forgiving lover

she welcomes back

what she once set free.


Orpheus strums his golden Lyre,

floating coercive harmonies building building –

dynamic rhythms tonal textures –

chime with simple resonance –

unions seeded entranced –

earth’s fertile womb –

an organic trust.


Behind the veil of the dreamer in nature’s dome…

Conception bares, shoots, thrives…

A balanced performance of seasonal rotation.

 A maintenance of constant wakefulness.


Some lulled lovers fail

matted with loss in the undergrowth

I hear their faint echoes

drift and flow in rust and waste.


Our primal mother weeps with love,

for each newborn she spins milky threads secure

stitched in thicket brushwood and tree.


Green leaves sprout moist with dew

bathed in natural gracefulness

soft, abundant born babes

on old gnarled branches

and new trees green.


The mother is our surrogate

of the eternal dream

the dream of the dreamer –

the dreamer that seeds all potentiality –

a dream of love within its mandala of imperfections.


Hers is to conceive…

answer the silken call…

that return eternal…



7 thoughts on “Wakefulness”

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