Sister Basket

for Poetess Tahirih

My sister made me a basket
Woven in a rainbow garden
Where petals soft and warm
Didn’t want to fade in the sun.

She could enchant any carpet snake
Yellow or black
They’re still swaying to her music’s tack
Forward and back, forward and back.

Light sang of colours woven into a spirit kite
Skimming the river of rainbow sisters everywhere.

Her basket of poetry was tossed
Into the centre of the sun
There it burnt strong and true
Until red flames became blue.

The Faith in her basket
Said “Send me to the sky
I’ll come back like a Phoenix just you wait”

She danced around a square and found
She couldn’t really fit.
She found a circle and could not
Disappear.

But nine doors of a temple opened out
And she found a basket woven in a daisy,
Wrapped in a rose.

It was no time to pose
No time to fade in the sun.

She sang a song that spiralled out
Into her rainbow garden
Left petals soft and warm
On the path that she first laid there.

(c) June Perkins

In Faith

one more leaf

For Tahirih the poetess

In Faith
Be a hollow reed
Waiting for melodies
And the notes that breathe skies
And the skies that breathe navy blue
And the navy blue that breathes sea
And the sea the breathes woman
And the woman that breathes of your unveiling and peeling away
That skin of your ego loosening and falling
The cocoon the morn
In Badasht last century
The morn.

(c) June Perkins

Sister Basket

basket2

Sister Basket

For Tahirih – Poetess

My sister made me a basket

Woven in a rainbow garden

Where petals soft and warm

Didn’t want to fade in the sun.

She could enchant any carpet snake

Yellow or black

They’re still swaying to her music’s tack

Forward and back, forward and back.

Light sang of colours woven into a spirit kite

Skimming the river of rainbow sisters everywhere.

Her basket of poetry was tossed

Into the centre of the sun

There it burnt strong and true

Until red flames became blue.

The Faith in her basket

Said “Send me to the sky

I’ll come back like a Phoenix just you wait”

She danced around a square and found

She couldn’t really fit.

She found a circle and could not

Disappear.

But nine doors of a temple opened out

And she found a basket woven in a daisy,

Wrapped in a rose.

It was no time to pose

No time to fade in the sun.

She sang a song that spiralled out

Into her rainbow garden

Left petals soft and warm

On the path that she first laid there.

For more information on Tahirih visit these links.

http://www.tahirih.org/tahirih/about/tahirih.html

http://www.ivanlloyd.com/publications.htm

http://www.h-net.org/~bahai/areprint/tahirih/tahirih.htm

My Medicine Bag

This was inspired by the Medicine Bag prompt 

 identity boots 2- self portrait flag and feet

My healing bag is made out of thin strands of synthetic plastic that are dyed in the traditional colours of my mother’s village in Papua New Guinea.

It is lined with silk from the kimono of a Japanese Princess. Persian Paisley Patterns adorn the silk and soften that synthetic plastic when I place my hands inside to feel what’s there. It is a healing bag that says remember Mother Theresa, Remember Tahirih, Remember all those soul women who wandered through the soul garden almost every step of their lives.

It is full of the choicest tiny strawberries to eat and smell. Another time my fingers are covered with the scent of the apricot coloured roses at my wedding. Things to remember, to savour fill the bag and in moderation they are healing.

Words waft out of the prayer book I have placed there, chants of Persian Poetess Tahirih, run through my veins and I feel the sisterhood of Faith and creativity and sacrifice. Love is a verb, prayers want to lift me to action.

The ocean cools me and now I swim with the dolphins and mermaids my girl students seem to love so much. But these mermaid girls can drive monster trucks under the sea, and the monster truck boys can learn to care for the ocean. The healing bag says humanity needs two wings, and both must be strong.

Both countries of mother and father… surround me with their love and give me gifts to tell my stories, to heal my soul, and to find that identity is what you store in your healing bag not just what you are born with.

(c) gumbootspearlz all rights reserved words and image