Intuitive artist, Wild Soul poet, edge dancer, Intentional Creativity Teacher, therapist with a deep calling to express and facilitate our soul-full wild, cosmic embodied connection with the natural world. Living in North Cornwall, loving the Land.
Grandmother Elder and Hawthorn Sage,
an arched dance through the year
of branch and leaf,
flower and berry;
deep listening and winged messengers,
creating sculptured silhouettes
against the open sky -
a marvel of wave formation,
and at the centre of this ancient tongue,
a hole, encompassing the whole!
A circular window,
a portal, if you will,
to the Otherworld.
But only if you see without eyes,
only if you come as humble apprentice,
only if you leave your comfortable stories behind,
and are willing
to peel back your civilised skin,
allowing the Wild
you have always been to step forth.
Grandmother Elder and Hawthorn Sage © Becky Mackeonis 2018
Oh... how I love these hot-cold days of autumn,
as sun and wind merrily compete, and
long shadows and gossamer clouds
bow and curtsey to each other!
How I love the softer light of these days!
No longer the harsh, no-place-to-hide light of summer,
nor yet the sorrowful, weeping light of winter,
but a gentler light,
of mystical clarity,
and deep longing.
And how I love the mellow colours of this time!
The deep greens and royal golds
that clothe the juicy body of the Earth
sensually and voluptuously,
bejewelled with the lush fruits of harvest.
How I love the melancholic bliss of these days,
ushering in the turning season.
A call to presence.
Autumn Joy © Becky Mackeonis 2018
The easterly howls through me
as I stand,
rooted in amongst long-bladed green.
Storm-wet ground gives under my toes,
moulding Herself to my shape and story,
Her initial cold greeting mellowing
into warm companionship.
My soles lean into the dark, damp invitation,
as if desiring to squirrel their way
into moist oblivion,
and I ponder whether ‘tis their pull
that calls me, or Hers.
For a time I fancy I surrender,
but She knows I have not.
Though Her siren song
rises through this vessel
as sure as tree-sap.
Siren Song © Becky Mackeonis 2017
I went into the woods to lose my mind,
and find my soul.
Little did I know that it would not
be me hunting.
Didn’t someone say
‘What you seek is seeking you’?
The mothers stood tall,
patient, loving, wise.
They opened their arms in welcome,
and enfolded me in greens
and golds and browns.
Feathered offerings cushioned my feet,
dawn light washed my face,
and a blissful chorus,
sang me into being.
Raven cawed, as if conducting
I was helpless,
caught in a magical web of my own choosing.
I had never been so lost,
and never so found.
Into The Woods © Becky Mackeonis 2017