healingwords: poetry for the soul

Spring is finally arriving in our corner of Spain, the breeze has changed from bracing to warm and birdsong and the buzzing of insects can be heard from the patios and rooftops. The ‘campo’ is greening and wild spring flowers colour the hillsides and olive and almond groves after the winter drought was broken with a few weeks of welcome rain. I appreciate being able to walk out and be amongst this natural beauty but find as so often my mind is drawn back to Warwickshire and my childhood haunts. I love the litany of flower names, recited on country walks with my mother. She loved flowers, both wild and in her garden and they live on in my memories.     FLOWERS - WALKING WITH MY MOTHER Buttercups held under chin, gold reflecting love of butter, melting on Sunday’s marmite toast. Puckered face concentrates as pearl nails pinch daisy stems, crowned on child’s tossed curls. Jump over marsh marigolds lining damp ditches, sticklebacks in jam jars ...

This poem celebrates my father’s birthday and the coming of Spring in the garden of my old family home. The garden saw many lives, a children’s playground, a mini allotment bringing vegetables and fruits to the table, a cottage garden with flowers, fishponds and dove cote, a mature garden loved by my parents who planted trees, grasses, shrubs and flowers to make a home for birds and wildlife. As they became elderly and less able the garden evolved once more, growing wild, a riotous overgrown jumble as nature took over, a space of wooded beauty in the middle of the city. I loved the garden, for its spirit and my memories and now my parents and the house are gone it lives on as part of me. It seems apt that the greening of Spring coincides with the day my father came into this world. SPRING GARDEN A year since I walked the cobbled path, winding from house to garden’s end, felt Winter loosening ice chains in season’s yearly dance. The great Oak bestrides the gar...

I recently spent a weekend in the Spanish city of Elche. I always knew Elche was famous for its palm groves but I had not imagined the trees being such an integral and visible part of the city landscape. Dating back to Moorish development of the city in the 7 th century when dates were an important food source for humans and livestock, there are now estimated to be up to 200,000 date palms in 97 orchards, protected as a world heritage site. From the 14 th century the palm leaves have been used to weave Palm Sunday decorations, an industry that still exists today. This poem was inspired by one of the hundreds of amazing trees I encountered in my visit to Elche, a beautiful city with a magical green heart. PALM HAND Elx palm stands among us, tree growth so unhurried we barely see the transformation, fixated as we are on the passing of our own youth. Silently, imperceptibly, elephant feet stabalise, deep roots penetrate dry earth, sap...

Today is International Women’s Day where in Spain women across the country are striking for our rights, the right to equal pay, to equal opportunities, to freedom from violence and harassment,  to equal sharing of childcare and domestic tasks. It is inspiring to see such solidarity from young to old, with the support of men who recognise that it is in all our interests that women’s rights are recognised. ‘HUELGA’ – INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY Black iron curls like eyelashes adorning railings once designed to keep the raider out and the hidden women in. Now we claim the streets, our rightful place beside the suits and overalls, from factories to boardrooms. Progress made but not enough, still we fight for equal rights, still work more, earn less, still fear more than men. Today our labour is withdrawn, women absent from their posts, journalists silent, cleaners at rest, shops unmanned, Town Hall closed. ‘Huelga’ fuelled as pati...

Today I am posting a poem written for those of us who search for peace of mind in the midst of the storm. With love and gratitude to my dear friends. BECALMED In the eye of the storm, wearied by frenzied winds, tossed into quiet calm, momentary peace descends. Heavy lids close as head dips, hands unclench, fingers release, weight sinks into soft welcome, breath slows as soul is freed. Flying high over mountains, skimming spiked pine tops, swoop low over olive groves, gnarled gnomes trimmed with silver. Carried on citric valley breeze, funneled floating between sleeping giants guarding  passage  to bay curved in sand smile. Catch a rising warmth, sky flyer soaring, dazzled by healing light, sun mirrored on gilded sea. In flight find freedom, sea charge, strength renewed, mind calmed in balance, as voice carries and spirit flows. © 2018 Jacqueline Claire Knight.  All rights reserved. ...