Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Intro: This is being extracted from my archives today in honor of the “Environmental Awareness” Fairy Oracle drawn in this morning’s Daily Dose. If I’m not mistaken, I wrote this when I lived in Tulsa, so about…. 6-8 years ago or so.

“Earth Alive”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

I am alive in the winds
You hear my voice
Whisper through trees
You feel my breath
Comb through your hair
Like what? Like fingers of
The Goddess herself

I am alive in the waters
You hear my love erupting
In waves of blue
Over You
You feel me touch you
Embrace You
Envelope and nurture you
Through life’s currents

I am alive in flames
Licks of fire fueled by desire
You hear me roar
You feel my heat
You know my warmth
From the Sun
From the Power of Knowledge
Gained by mankind —
Mankind — the only life form on Earth
Aside from Mother Nature Herself
With such ability to handle and control
beauty and destruction

I am alive in the Earth —
You nurse from me daily as you
Breathe my breath
Eat from me
And as you sleep
Cradled within my womb

I am alive
And I’d like to thank you
For recognizing me
As such.

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What if?

“What if”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

What if…
the power most often referred to as “God”
were actually a pregnant woman
called “Mother Nature”,
Her womb called Earth,
the fetus – humanity

What if…
we have not yet become
what we were conceived to be –
and may,
through lack of regard for consequence,
abort ourselves
before such beauty
is ever given life?

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Intro: This story was written for my dad and my son. At the time, my son was only two and I was visiting my parents. My dad stands about 6’6 1/2, like the Jolly Green Giant (Only not green), and has an incredibly deep voice. The night I was visiting was special because it was one of those once in a lifetime opportunities where three planets align and can be seen by the naked eye. To be perfectly honest, I can’t remember which planets they were, so I used writer’s perogative in creating this story. My dad had taken my son out in the front yard, on the porch, under the stars. I stayed inside, watching through the window. My dad cradled my small son in his left arm, pointing to the sky with his right hand. My son looked up where my dad pointed, yawned… and that was it, the inspiration hit. Before they’d finished their visit outside with the planets, I had written the tale, “My Grandpa Showed Me Mars.” Now, as with my other picture books for children, now that I’m reading them more than twenty years later, I can see where they’ve lots of room for improvement and I’m not claiming it to be a masterpiece. However, it is a major part of my past, the writing of these stories, so I’m including them “as is” on The Road Home.

“My Grandpa Showed Me Mars”
Written by:
Wendi Friend
~ For Dad, and Andrew~


One night my grandpa showed me mars.
He told me to look way past the stars.
To my delight, just beneath the moon,
Was Saturn, Mars, and Neptune!
“Look very closely,” my grandpa said to me,
“this is the only time we’ll be able to see
these planets together, shining so bright.
I’m glad we could share this special night.”
I stared at the speckles in the sky
while Grandpa started singing a lullaby.
Before long, I’d fall fast asleep.
Safe in Grandpa’s arms I’d dream.
I dreamed of a flying saucer
Soaring through the stars.
I was inside, and I was going to Mars!
I pushed all the buttons and turned the controls;
I wondered if I’d see any little green trolls.
My saucer zoomed up and down,
flipping topsy-turvy way above the ground.
I passed Saturn and I passed the moon;
I was just about to pass Neptune
When suddenly, I realized I was afraid!
I couldn’t go to Mars that day!
I still had other things to do…
my mom told me earlier to clean my room.
I was just about to turn around
when the wheels of my saucer touched the ground.
It didn’t seem like I had gone that far,
But it appeared as though I had landed on Mars!
The door of my saucer opened wide.
Though still quite scared, I stepped outside.
There were many things to be seen,
But none were trolls little and green.
I wandered around and looked at the sights.
I picked up a rock and held it tight.
I carved my name in the hard, red sand
To tell other people I had reached that land.
Then I noticed I was all alone
and decided it was time for me to go home.
With my rock in my hand, I climbed back in my ship.
3…2…1, I was ready to lift.
I flew very fast through the star-filled sky,
and got home by the end of the lullaby.
Grandpa took me inside, tucked me into bed.
He gave me a kiss on the top of my head.
I told him about my special trip,
and all about my big space ship.
“You fell asleep when I started to sing
and it sounds like you had a really neat dream,
but that’s all it was.” My grandpa said.
He smiled, and then winked, patting me on the head.
He closed the door and turned out the light.
From behind the door, he yelled, “Goodnight!”
I remembered carving my name in the sand,
and to my surprise…
The rock was still in my hand!

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Intro: This is one of those pieces that was born of anger, frustration, and the anger and frustration I felt toward myself for allowing myself to get angry and frustrated *grins*. Judged harshly by a friend, I vented through poetry.

There’s a double meaning in this poem, actually. The friend who judged me, at the time, was only 22-years-old, ten years younger than me, and I felt that part of her judgment was coming from her youthfulness and lack of personal experience. At the same time, this poem formed itself around the 22 Major Arcana cards of the Tarot.

The 22 Major Arcana cards tell the story of a journey… a journey that takes place in 22 phases. This story is often referred to as, “The Fool’s Journey“. However, we don’t just move directly through those phases in chronological order… we sometimes “slip” or “skip” from one phase to another, not in chronological order. We also can repeat phases, complete the cycle, and start all over. It’s a never-ending process – we live within that realm of 22 – indefinitely. While it’s easy for us to stand on one platform and judge another, we must remember that we will also take our turn on each platform, so it’s best not to judge because we’ll each have our moments.

Written by:
Wendi Friend

Sentence me as a criminal
As you so willingly do
But remember each step you take
Is only one of twenty-two
You may think yourself righteous
And doing the will of god
I’m sure those who are like minded
Will stand up and applaud
You meant good will you say
And I believe what you say is true
But keep in mind, oh naive one
Each step is but one of twenty-two
Think me the fool if you will
And judge my light-hearted ways
Think yourself above me
In your blind-chariot driven ways
Call out for temperance or justice
Scream devil and death if you will
Nonetheless each step you take
Is one of twenty-two still
Think yourself the hierophant
Leader of spirit and education
Just be careful what you condemn
To your own eternal damnation
For what you judge will come to be
What you experience too
For every step you’re bound to take
Is yet one of twenty-two
Call out for the Empress and Emperor
The mother and father will come
But their advice will be to you
To judge and condemn none
For there never was a doubt
That what you send comes back to you
For every step you take, My Love
Is but one of twenty-two

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Intro: It began as a writing exercise and fell out in poetic form. I love when that happens! This is another oldie… written somewhere between 1998-2000, but it holds as true today as it did the day it was written!

“The Only Life”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

“Writing is the only thing that when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.” ~Gloria Steinem~


Synonyms and antonyms,

the proper noun and verb,

years spent in study,

and many lectures heard –

the do’s and don’ts of writing,

the punctuation blues,

the writer’s block and big ink blot,

and several words mis-used,

the many reams of paper,

the printer cartridge gone,

the days that seem much shorter

and nights that are twice as long –

the books that are read, the prayers said

just to find the perfect word –

only to throw out the idea,

thinking that its absurd!

Then, finally, there’s inspiration

and the words just seem to flow.

Ah, the life of a writer,

the only life I care to know.

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Moon Magick

Intro: This was written back in June of 2001 when I was just beginning to discover the world of magick, lunar influences, and the enchantments life had to offer. Not long after this piece was written, I sold everything I owned, loaded the kids and pets into a rental van, and set out on a journey to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where I’d discover true independence for the first time in my life. In Tulsa, I was able to study, explore, practice magick without anyone looking over my shoulder, ridiculing, or condemning my processes. Tulsa is where I lost myself and found myself simultaneously. This poem is sort of like the prelude to magickal change in my life.

“Moon Magick”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

Magick –
the feeling of wonder and awe,
the feeling that you can’t begin to believe
what your eyes already know they saw.

The moon was lit on the far right side,
three quarters lost in night’s cloak of black
but from that quarter of lit moon I had seen,
I knew there was no lack

of light or love or peace or hope….
despite the fears of current circumstance.
In that sliver of lunar light,
I felt, again, that there might be a chance

that magick isn’t mythical,
or illusions performed by the slight of hand
that some wonderful things actually do occur
when walking through a mystic land.

So I closed my eyes and imagined a ladder
leading directly to the moon
I started climbing, one foot at a time
knowing I’d get there soon.

There she was in her glory
all lit up and looking fine
and said, “I’ve been in your house several times.
It’s nice to have you in mine.”

I sat right there on her curled up edge
with my feet dangling off the side…
quite literally, then, on top of the word!
It was such a wild ride!

Things look a little different
from that position in the sky
and I sat there silently thinking
while the stars went twinkling by.

I thought about my children.
I thought about my parents.
I thought about how some things are learned
and some are seemingly inherent.

I thought about all the pain I’ve found
buried deep inside.
I thought about the loss in my heart,
thinking of friends, family, lovers who’ve died.

I thought about the yesterdays,
I thought about the tomorrows
I thought about my happiest times
and thought about my sorrows.

I wondered about amazing things
and simple things, and things far fetched
I pondered over all that has happened
and worried over what might happen next.

Then, I let it all go.

I slid right down in the moon’s cool slope
absorbing what I could of the night,
drinking in the lunar glow
that made everything all right.

I slept there in her cradle,
rocked by her soothing sway,
knowing that she’d be out of reach
when night turned into day.

For the moment, the moon was my moon.
It belonged to only me
and in that mystical moment of moon magick
my spirit was set free.

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Intro: Here, again, is an older piece from my archives, but one chosen specifically for this moment to be posted. I’m working on June’s Monthly Magick piece for the Enchantmonths series (tardy wench!), and in the research process, I’m discovering that June has many ties to celebrating and protecting family. My children have always been and will forever continue to be the center of my world, so I’m reposting this with thanks to the Universe for blessing me with the company of such enchanted souls.

“To the Children”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

Dear Child, (Atlas)

Life has taken me down many streets,
some were sour, some were sweet
and life has dealt me many cards,
some played well and some played hard.
Life has made me many things,
but of all the treasures life did bring
Child… you were my salvation.

Dear Child, (Rhythm)

I dreamed of a day I would know you,
a love so rich and pure and true
I dreamed of a day with you in my arms,
blessing me with all your charms
bringing me abundant laughter,
wrapped up in happily ever after
Child, you are the answer to my prayers.

Dear Child, (Stinkerbelle)

My life once felt like prison bars,
through which I’d gaze up at the stars
and wonder what just might have been
if I had it all to do over again
I thought of a beautiful innocent world
and of a beautiful innocent girl.
Child, you set me free.

Dear children,

I am nothing without you.
You are my everything.


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Intro: This is one of the older pieces from the archives, but one that’s very suited to this particular moment. I’m working on the June Monthly Magick piece for the Enchantmonths series – and by working on, I mean I’m still in the research phase – and in reading about the energy and influences of June, this piece came to mind, so I’m choosing now to post it.

Written by:
Wendi Friend

floating, swaying
left to right and forward
on the leaves

of time

drifting above
looking up, down, and sideways
at the landscape


riding upon
the currents of air
worrying not over where

I’ll go

or how

merging into
the all that is
ever has been or will be

right now

breathing in deep
exhaling full color
in ribbons of rainbows

that glow

resting within
resisting nothing
expecting nothing

eternal flow

and yet I know

it’s time to ground and center


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Intro:  What was I thinking?  I have no excuse for the poor writing presented here, other than the fact that I was a young novice and tinkering with varying writing styles.  I had developed a certain pattern in my poetry up to this point… four stanzas, every other line rhyming.  I’d read a book on writing that suggested identifying such patterns, and then trying to break the boundaries and write something in a different pattern (try it… you’ll like it!).  I had the right idea, but admitedly, didn’t pull it off with much finesse.  But, I promised myself when I created this blog that I’d include all the pieces and parts of me – the good, the bad, and the ugly – and this shows the developmental phases I went through as a writer, and as a mother, so I’m keeping it. As a sidenote, no, I had never seen Spiderman and wasn’t aware that my peanut pickin’ pal shared Spiderman’s alter-ego name. *grins*

“Hillary Penelope Plicket Plum”
Written by:
Wendi Friend

Hillary Penelope Plicket Plum,
Shorter than most, but taller than some,
Set out for a day of gardening fun.

With a heart of gold and curls to match,
She skipped down the way to the strawberry patch
And pulled the chain on the gate to unhook the latch,

That unlocks the magic that her garden keeps.
In the bushels of berries that smell so sweet,
She frolics and plays with no shoes upon her feet.

She hums a little tune, “La da da, de de dum”,
Sings Hillary Penelope Plicket Plum,
A very kind, compassionate one.

She tends to her garden come rain or shine.
Through the cold of winter and the heat of summertime,
She cares for her garden without a whimper or a whine.

She does it all – remembering just one thing:
She’ll have sweet, fat berries in the magic of spring.
Then she’ll have strawberry flavored everything!

Like strawberry shortcake and strawberry jam,
‘cause she tended to her garden with her very own hands,
Following through with her special plan.

With ingredients gathered and strawberries grown,
Hillary Penelope Plicket Plum skipped home
And bumped into a boy with a basket of his own!

He was a tall, thin boy with soft, brown hair.
Hillary looked at his basket and asked, “Whatchya got in there?”
“Peanuts,” said the boy, “why do you care?”

“Whatchya gonna do with ‘em?” She asked one question after another.
“If you must know,” replied the boy, “I’m making peanut butter.”
An idea whipped through her mind with a flicker and a flutter!

Hillary looked up at the by and asked, “Hey, there, what’s your name?”
“Peter Parker,” said the boy, “peanut butter is my game.”
“Hillary Penelope Plicket Plum is my name.

“I’ve got an idea for you to contemplate.
It’ll only work if we cooperate.
I’ve got a feeling it’ll work out great!”

As the two skipped home, Hillary shared her plan
With the boy with the basket full of peanuts in his hand,
And he took a liking to Miss Plicket Plum’s plan.

Her plan worked just fine, without one hitch,
And they shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

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Intro: This story, as with many of my early writings, was inspired by and written for my first-born son, Andrew.  Written somewhere between 1990-1991, this story was created to aid my young child with his suddenly active and sometimes frightening imagination and was designed to teach him to use the powers of his own mind to overcome the fears he faced. Although I was proud as punch of this piece when I first created it, it retrospect, I can see where it’s seriously lacking in both writing style and concept. Nonetheless, it is what it is and I’m proud to store it in my archives. Knowing what I know now, I can’t help but wonder if the boy was actually seeing dragons! *smirks*

“Drew and his Dinosaur”
Written by:
Wendi Friend
~ For Andrew ~

Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Drew.
He had an active imagination, as many three-year-olds do.
Something seemed to be bothering him
As he was eating breakfast one day;
He stopped chewing his bacon long enough to say,
“I saw a dinosaur, Mommy! It was big and blue!”
“You have an active imagination”, the mommy said to Drew.
When he finished eating breakfast, he put his plate into the sink
And said, “Mommy, guess what I saw! It was a dinosaur… big and pink!
It chased me and it grabbed me!” exclaimed a frightened little Drew.
“But, Sweetheart,” said the mom, “I thought the dinosaur was blue!”
“Mommy, guess what I saw!” An excited Drew did say.
“I saw a dinosaur; it was big and grey!”
“That’s just your imagination,” explained Drew’s mom,
“And in a day or two, the dinosaurs will be gone.
These dinosaurs aren’t real; you’ve created them with your mind –
So use your mind to make something different –
Something special, something kind.
Try to imagine something else…
Something a little more pleasant.
Imagine that the dinosaurs are giving you a present!”
Drew then imagined that the dinosaurs were his friends.
They lived happily ever after…
The end.

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