Desert Flowers
Desert Flowers is a sequence of ten short poems that came about as one consequence of an experiment in “past life regression”, using a method described in Dolores Ashcroft Nowicki's book The Sacred Cord Meditations. During and after these workings, I experienced a number of highly vivid dreams that formed a connected narrative over the course of several weeks. The poems written in response are an attempt to communicate the essence of the dreams, but are also intended to function as meditations and as potential doorways into an alternative perception.
Ishtar boat
DESERT FLOWERS
1. Once the fire, also,
had died, my dearest brother,
I thought I saw your arm
still reaching out, palm
raised toward me
as if merely waving
your fond farewell.
But, my brother,
which of us was leaving?
Which the longest journey?
2. Sister, Mother,
laughing by the fountain
we are twined,
we are the vines embracing.
Such a joyful wine
they will make of our fruits!
3. Dance for Her
as I have,
tasting the morsel
of the earth
that you are,
the one star
that glimmers between
your unseeing eyes.
4. Do you listen?
Do you hear the voice
risen from Her wooden mouth?
To me, she is a whisper
swimming through the pillars
of my dream,
as though emerging
from a great distance.
5. There was a beggar –
without coins,
I could give him
only my hands.
He wept –
whether from pity
or from hunger
I still cannot tell.
6. All day I have watched the ploughmen
passing back and forth,
reflecting the shuttle of my loom,
weaving a cloth of gold
to cloak the land.
How I have envied
those patient furrows,
so certain in their destiny.
7. The Moon is Her knife.
This silver blade extends
to separate the long hall
into two portions;
like the first dish of the feast,
awakening the palate
for that sombre hall
where She parts blessed from evil;
where She abides
between love and war,
between desire and knowing,
between simile and metaphor.
8. In the density of night
Her white eye finds me.
I am the moth who flew to Her
and was burned.
9. Belief is the making of truth.
The silver coin in my cup
is the Moon cast small.
The slight blade in my hand
is learning to plough the clay,
sowing prayer and memory.
Birds will take them both,
and give them wings.
10. We have walked by different paths,
brother, coming to the same place.
Seal your hand with mine.
The night is blossoming
with fires like desert flowers.
Philip Kane
By Grace Sanchez
Philip Kane is an award-winning poet, author, storyteller and artist, living in the south-eastern corner of England. He is an “Old Craft” practitioner, a supporter of Anti-Capitalist Resistance, and a founding member of the London Surrealist Group. Philip's work has been published and exhibited across Europe, in the Middle East and in the USA. He is a contributor to The Gorgon's Guide to Magical Resistance (Revelore Press, 2022).