Yael Nehama

The Village Wise Woman The words of Wisdom are on her tongue The law of Kindness flows from her mouth Dressed in her finery, clothed in the past Eyes turned to the future, her heart ever present in the here and now She walks between the worlds. Calico apron draped across her tie dyed skirts Lace handkerchief tucked up her tunic sleeve Her head is wrapped in a cotton crown, leather sandals on her feet Close to the earth, she listens Close to the heavens, she soars! Lavender and dandelion speak of their magic Yarrow and plantain teach her of love Owl and chickadee are her friends Hawk and crow her guides Butterfly her comfort Dancing through hoops, spinning with fire, living beneath the cottonwood trees She weaves her crystal ball through the loom of her life And though she walks in harmony with all Her sword is in it's sheath, her hand upon it's hilt Warrior she is, when it is necessary. By: The Village Wise woman's not so distant manifestation

Just to see you smile, My joy is there flitting around your up turned lips My happiness dancing at the song of your laughter Just to see you smile, My fears and worries are allayed My heart is filled with peace Just to see you smile Your joy is my joy Your laughter, my song. Just to see you smile My life is whole My happiness complete. Just to see you smile Noting exists but that moment And your beautiful, wondrous smile.

I have some pretty awesome friends, of which I am most grateful. One particularly special lady stepped out of her "No Poetry" zone and wrote this for me. Strangely enough it came after I had seen her and said nothing in particular, but obviously my heart and soul spoke volumes to hers. Words from her heart spoke to mine and, I believe, offered me some healing. Gentle waves start from her heart Flowing down her arms Twisting wrists and flicking off fingers Beckoning you to come, warning you to stay Her heart pulses, lifting her breasts Chest fills with desire And collapses, coated with pain Loneliness washes down her belly Her body remembers fullness Ecstasy and conception The undulation of birth Dancing children out of her womb Her empty hands wait Anxious for the next baby to catch The next tuft to spin The next florio to circle Hips twist, thighs pump Knees flex, calves tighten She pushes against the ground Feeling, needing the ground to push back Spirit demands her bo...

This is a beautiful poem by someone I count as one of my mentors, Jesse Wolf Hardin, of the Anima Lifeways and Herbal School . The Face of Turbulence – a poem by Jesse Wolf Hardin And the monsoons continue, their swelling dark promise bursting forth as searing lightning and crashing thunder, setting an example some afternoons by pouring their stormy hearts out. Pouring down the cliff sides, and deepening the river. Pouring down our cabin roofs, and overflowing the gutters. Overflowing our barrels with a deafening din, overflowing the carefully dug ditches that like many projects and missions in life, we know must be dug again and again, and again. Pouring down on us as we rush to tend what needs tending and covering, rivulets down our faces indistinguishable from life’s clearly unavoidable tears. Pouring rain, and then pouring hard and unforgiving hail. I look straight up into the blinding white face of turbulence, squint and then smile… remembering well what it’s like to be dry and th...

I come across a parched and weed filled garden. Planted with love, tended with devotion the day to day stealing the time away from the Beloved. My eyes become heavy and my heart feels a hole as I bend down to look closer. I reach out and touch the now dry and withered plants. One there was medicine here. Once there was peace. Once there was healing. Once there was growth. I begin to trim away the dry stems and pull out the excessive clover. I find the earth is crying from thirst, the clover has prevented the rain from even reaching the soil. As if in answer to a prayer, the rain begins to fall. I feel the drops falling on my back and with gratitude, ignore the dampness. This garden needs me. I continue to pull, small plants which I think should come out with ease have sent their roots deep into the earth. I curse the plant and begin to wonder how long has it been. I pity the once beautiful garden and get back to work. I discover lavender and yarrow, columbine and lemon balm. How could...