Standing on the Shoulders of Time

This is what we were created for, Crones!

Children grown, society and workplace duties

all behind us. Sterling wisdom—awake!

Our world needs us to stand tall as Sequoia, to remember

and strive for justice, to fight for critical change.

To heal.

Let us claim our wisdom, turn loose our Kraken-powers

against the assault of Mother Earth.   We all know

what is wrong.  Everything we do matters.

Everything.

Raise our collective voices!  Come Crones and Spinsters,

come Grandmothers and Hags!  This is our moment,

this is our planet: caring together with purpose.

The shoulders of time are calling us to stand upon their height--

This is what we were made for, Sisters!

J. Pratt-Walter, ©  2024 

Photo by JPW, Pride Parade

little gray kitten

i know how the lost hurt kitten of your heart feels.

you have carried her softness so carefully, but she broke out

of a secret flaw inside, a fault line that

fractured your tiny kitten-bones to needles –

how they bent and wept!

 

come to me, and my womanhood

will gather in and bless what you cannot

seek or speak.

 

come, i will be a sustaining flower

for the fainting bee of your lost hopes.

i won’t ask why; i’ll simply do what must be done,

gather you into the medicine of my arms,

stitch the jaws of your injury closed, kiss your cold paws,

stroke that gray kitten back into her wholeness

bones and all.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2022

 

The All-Miracle Church of Earth

 In our curve of time the framework of Love

is still being dreamt open –

Love seeps and strokes into the wounds of the spirit

like silk blessing the first leaf born of the first bud,

unrolled atop the first root, enshrined from the first Source.

 

Beloved ones precious as air lace our seconds and days together,

a vivid shawl sewn in the cadence of our kaleidoscope souls.

 

The slow streams preach their smooth water-truths,

the snow is its refrain: “Shhh love now, shhh love often”

they whisper to us like salamanders in the shape-shift moments.

 

Love weaves through the gills of our being

alive together on this All-Miracle Church of Earth,

of everything hallowed, brokenly true,

of all things Yes, igniting us while capturing fallen sparks

chimed from the ecstatic tongues of stars.

  

 J. Pratt-Walter, © 2021

Opening Pandora's Box

Justice for Women

is Justice for Mother Earth,

and too great for mere words,

but our XX

Chromosome power

has been fallowing

for generations.

 

We are the lips to

Pandora’s riotous box.

We are stretching up

and primed

to spear her light

 

scribing it into our

collective mythology

for healing,

our dazzling souls

unleashed, flung

wide open with the lightning

of our XX convictions.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2021

In Silence

It is ok to love quietly

like air loves a secret scent,

like a bud breaks out in stillness,

like a starfish sings to god.

In silence is healing--

cells rebuild in tenderness,

soundless as the moon,

as silent as the pen

trailing these words behind,

quietly loving.

J. Pratt-Walter

copyright 2020

Holding Water with Open Fingers NaPoWriMo #15

To the Maker:

Send us your mercy.

We desperately seek that place

where awareness lives.  We

need each other beneath your blanket of sky.


We need you, Plant and Animal People,

we need you, living Air and Water,

 we need you, Soil that cups our feet.

we need you, Fire of justice.

Roll healing down like sun after thunder,

like rain in the dry-blind desert.


We try to hold love to ourselves like a

possession.  But it’s grasping moonlight,

it’s trying to hold water with open fingers.

Let us feel the rainwater as it dances upon us.

Let us drink, share and savor the taste,

knowing we taste the tip of heaven.

J. Pratt-Walter 4/14/2020

Healing River

this journey is a

mystery but still, I will

bravely take it

I don’t know the

destination     but someday

I will cross that

blessed river of Love

and drink, deep as the sea

my garments are worn out

by my      imperfections

sometimes my cup is     broken

but still I will gather 

talking handfuls

of healing waters

and carry them like a

newborn sparrow

right to you

j. pratt-walter

(c) 2019, Latourelle Falls

Heart, Wings and Song

The first poem of the year

Loneliness

is the keening tundra swan

lost on migration

with a broken

wing…  Just the creak

of snow over snow and sadness, no wind

singing through her feathers.

Will you be the Healer

by just being present, listening to the redness

of her heart a few more

minutes?

The secret is, heart and wings are mended

by love,

just enough love to give her back

to the flowering sky-path

of her own ways,

heart, wings and song.

J. Pratt-Walter, (c) 1/1/2018