healingwords: poetry for the soul

These beautiful pink flowers appear in small clusters scattered over the banks and paths through the wooded areas on our hillsides. Their vibrant colour lights up the dull earth and fallen pine needles as if they have been scattered like seeds sown from a farmer's apron. 

It is indeed a strange time when bars in Spain and pubs in Ireland are closed. They are the hub of the community, popular with locals and visitors. I miss my evening drink with friends in our local Cooperativa bar, or morning coffee in Siremar. This photograph is from a pub in Galway where we stopped for a Guinness and a rest from a morning's wandering the town. It was welcoming to us as strangers but also had a familiar, local atmosphere with people in for lunch and a lively chat. The food looked as good as the Guinness.  It is a popular venue for arts and music and I hope to go back one day, when Ireland and Spain's bars and pubs are buzzing with life, noise and chatter again.  Here is a link to Tigh Neachtain for if you ever find yourself in Galway.  https://www.tighneachtain.com/ © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I took this photograph in February at the Marjal near Pego. The rice paddies were flooded and birds dotted the waters in a feeding frenzy. I imagine the rice growing will go ahead as it as an essential food resource however the walkers, dog walkers, bird watchers and nature lovers will not be there to see  the weekly change in the habitat as the wild flowers cover the canal banks and the rice plants start to green the paddies.                                                      © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

On my last walk before being stuck indoors 10 days ago I came across an enclosure of goats and kids on a terrace in the 'campo'. They had grazed the ground inside bare and it must have been close to feeding time as they all scampered to the fence to see us, clattering up the wire, poking their heads out as far as possible. The kids were able to get there head and neck out enough to graze the remaining green shoots outside the fence. Some years ago herds of goats and sheep were more commonplace in the countryside, shepherded from field to field and goats milk and cheese was made locally.  I was surprised to see a herd a few weeks ago, spreading out under olive and almond trees, eating the shrubby new growth.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

During a difficult time of recovery and uncertainty, a walk in the trees on 'El Carrascal' helped me to see my path ahead.  THE PATH REVEALED Confusion clouds my thinking like the mist rolling in over the ridged ‘Carrascal’, damp seeping through towering pines, lacing spiked holly oak like cobwebs traced in drops of early morning dew. Crunch layered carpet of dried needles, dotted with gnawed innards of fallen cones, winter feast of leaping squirrels, I weave through trees, elder trunks cragged with reptile scales, circled by whippy stands of pale saplings. I break free of brambled wood as a fresh wind funnels down the valley, whipping white haze, wisps curling, clouds scurrying towards the sea, revealing hidden sun whose shining glow drips golden through the parasol of waxed green. Ahead lies my path, bordered by sweet thyme, a symphony of birdsong and whispering leaves, carob arm points the way as I walk bathed in light,...

From my roof terrace I look over the valley pinked with almond blossom. It has been a warm dry January with crisp mornings but no frost, perfect weather for the nuts to set so we should see a good harvest this August, when the nuts are knocked with canes onto waiting nets, exhausting work in Summer heat. The village once hummed with shelling machines, as nuts were bagged for storage, ground for cakes and pastries. Sadly with an aging population and a younger generation who can not make money from agriculture, almond production is in decline, the supermarkets selling cheaper Californian almonds, exploiting their water table in a sad example of the environmental damage of global food production.  This poem describes the 'almendros' particular cycle, leafless in Summer, blooming in Winter when their blossom delights the senses.  WINTER BLOSSOM The ‘almendro’ keeps its own cadence, waxed feather leaves burst emerald green whilst Winter trees sleep through valle...

I have been writing Haiku whilst in hospital, taking my mind back to nature. Here are a selection of both Spanish and English nature haiku.  rest by sacred Oak soul eased by tree energy at home in green woods velvet night, silence cloaks village, jabali roam, root buried almonds eagle loops earthward casts wingspan on roof terrace soars to dot in sky stalking hunter pads blood oozes on virgin snow cat licks crimson paw in stillness spot red robins hop, blue tits hover, coal blackbirds squabble golondrinas swoop in mudspit caves under eaves, hungry heads peak out garden birds flutter to hedgerows, wiry squirrel, brush curled, raids the nuts creep along marsh dyke snow feathered egrets arise cloud fans aqua sky marsh egret escapes black reed sticks hop the shore line saffron feet dance the waves salt flats shimmer pink flamingos strut, loop bowed necks jet dipped bills sift shrimp ...

             I am saddened to hear of the death of Mary Oliver. Her poetry bought inspiration, solace, wisdom to the dark places and over all hope in the transformative power of nature to heal our souls and bring us closer to the divine nature in all things.  I am writing daily Haiku, this is my distilled response to her death, I will spend my day reading her wonderful poetry. MARY OLIVER Mary Oliver walking in woods, poetry healing heart and soul. Words copyright  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill. All rights reserved.                                                                  

A poem inspired by Autumn, here at home in Spain and my nostalgia for northern woods.  AT HOME IN THE WOODS Threading through dark pines, resin fresh on air chilled in mountain’s shade, misting incense of crushed thyme; gaze past tree line to stoned terraces, hillside striped with Levante greens, sage silvered, olive bearing, verdant beryl of ripening ‘mandarinas’ Christmas teasing, yellow flushed fennel sway on blowsy stretched stems, gnomed vines bruised like fallen grapes fermenting on red clay. Living sense of Spanish presence while loosened mind wanders back to cool Northern woods; jewelled moss slipping, squelch of mushrooms hidden in leaf fall freeing spores of fungal decay, air ripe with cyclical change as damp earth exudes richness of summer humus, decomposing, nurturing woodland as it sleeps; think of lost ones who loved these woods, permeating subsoil, resting deep under oak trees. © 2018 Jacqu...

I came across this old tree trunk on a walk near my home. It reminded me of the 'night drives' of my childhood. After waiting for my baby brother to see a train pass at the level crossing, we would drive round the lanes spotting night creatures in the headlights before stopping to see the faery tables, a field of old tree stumps where the woodland folk would eat and dance. This poem is a homage to my parents who gave me a lifelong love of all things dancing at the edge of our imagination.  FAERY SEAT Abandoned grove reclaimed as hand of man retreats, Garroba limbs twined with over grown olives, silver blades flashing as wood chimes with birdsong. Old Garroba, hollowed by years of fruitful giving, sweet smell of carob mingles with pine scent, tree perfume wafting on freshening night air. Sculptured wood cave, cragged bark lined with woven cushion, sharp needles softened as green fades to shades of autumnal decay. The...

 I wrote this poem with love and thanks, in celebration of friendship.  ANAM CARA Blessed I am to have shared my life with others. Friends who crossed my path when most needed. Some to stay for all time, quietly there, in my heart, others dipping in and out as years move our lives together and apart, gone when others’ needs were greater. Blessed I am to have friends who know me better than I know myself. Soul friends, teachers, wise ones, healers, forgiving, giving, sharing their best with me, finding the best in me, uplifting my spirit when darkness surrounds. Blessed I am to share friends ’ lives, the circle expanding as our children grow in harmony. Walking in cool woods, by flowing rivers, discovering new places, laughing round a table of food cooked with love, lying together under the stars. © 2018 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

San Juan is celebrated in Spain with bonfires on the beach. People take a picnic, eat together and then jump over the flames and splash in the waves. Your troubles are said to be consumed by the fire, some people write down what they wish to leave behind and throw the paper in the flames.  Bathing in the sea is to drive away evil, bringing good luck for the rest of the year. Many people make a wish as they jump the waves.  The date is closely linked to the Summer solstice, San Juan also being a celebration of Summer. The Pagan and Christian rituals both emphasise renewal with the combination of fire and water. This poem describes a special evening of San Juan on a beach near Denia when the weather played its part in the magic.  NIGHT OF SAN JUAN Sifting sand through fingers, mind floating, evening sun warms milk pale legs, summers first unveiling. Propped on boned elbow, watch busy children splashing, castles raising, wet skin glistening. ...

On every   visit back to my Coventry home I would find time to walk around Kenilworth Castle. I cycled there with my childhood friends, a daring 5 miles for today's children but it seemed normal then. I ran free in the Castle's shadow with my parents and brothers, enacting mock battles as imaginary Knights. In later years it was a more leisurely stroll, arm in arm with my mother. My own children joined me on our visits back from Spain, keen to share both the historical treasure and my memories and it was always a favourite walk with beloved friends, usually ending in the nearby cafe for tea and cake. I hope it will not be too long now before I return. CASTLE WALK Long have I walked the Castle walls, biking the lanes to picnic on damp grass,  arms though my mothers like linking chain,  returning from exile with my growing flock, an abiding place of peaceful pilgrimage. Crisscrossing the marsh, boots sucked mud wards, retreating to the high...

Last winter I spent some weeks in Coventry emptying and selling our family home. This was a difficult time, saying goodbye not only to my parents but to my childhood and my link to England. This house remained my home, it was where we all returned to, where my own children and even my tiny grandchild stayed and visited, a special place for us all. Being at the house without my father, sorting through my parents belongings, knowing I would soon not be able to return, already missing the garden, I was overwhelmed with sadness.     This poem recalls the day I tried and failed to be cheerful, leaving my friends after helping to decorate the party room, knowing I was still set apart from normal life. Without thinking I stopped at the woods, alone in the dusk and after time with the trees and the silence, felt some sadness lift and float away into the night sky. I returned home lighter, with oak leaves in my pocket.   Grief is a process, there are days when I am still hit h...

On 1 st February the European Parliament held a hearing into citizen’s rights after Brexit where representatives of the 3 million EU citizens living in UK and the million UK residents of European member states gave evidence along with many others involved in the debate including MEPs and Commission representatives.  I was sorry not to be able to attend this hearing and am grateful to all who spoke of the disenfranchisement of UK citizens living in Europe (and beyond) who lose their vote after 15 years and thus had no vote in the referendum or the General Election. Despite years of promises neither the Government or opposition have put forward any new proposals to remedy this situation which is now even more urgent as the calls for a referendum on the final Brexit deal or the possibility of another General Election grow every day. In a situation where we are facing being stripped of our rights as European citizens it is even more unjust that we were given no say in ...

The idea of the written word as therapy is gaining popularity with the recognition that both the writing process and the reading of poetry and prose that resonates with our personal experience can be therapeutic.  I have always been able to lose myself in writing, the deep thought and concentration takes me away from the world and my daily routine. Reading fulfils the same function, a good story able to transport me away into another life for a while. Where reading becomes healing is when we find writers whose words help us to access our own emotions, remind us of events in our lives, struggles we have lived and survived, joys we have shared. Sometimes just a single line of poetry can move me and provoke a memory and a release of emotion that I had buried and forgotten, a smile of recognition, a tear of understanding, a flash of righteous anger. The debate about whether such poetry is art or merely fulfilling a 21 st century need to share our emotions is one I reject. Ther...