Thursday, August 6, 2009

New Poem

WITHOUT CEREMONIES     MariJo Moore © August 5, 2009

The Spirits are restless.
Smoldering fog skipping across the water
they taste the earth
they smell the sky.

The earth tastes bitter
we have not honored her.
The sky smells acrid
we have poured anger into him.

The Spirits are restless.
The masks we don to become them
have grown stale and salty with blood
of those who wore them before.

Our blood doesn't run.
Our blood doesn't mingle.
Our blood is stagnated 
to the point of becoming toxic.

The Spirits are restless
and we are to blame.


  1. Beautiful! Powerful wake up call... I think we all have the feeling that we have a lot of work to do...

  2. I really love this poem, it speaks a deep truth to me.