Cathy Lotus Whitefield

Since the sixties, I have been inspired to write poetry through which to express my deepest emotions and love of nature. Now as an elder, I continue sharing my wisdom and love of Gaia through teaching and writing.

Email: Shantilotus7@gmail.com
Facebook: Cathy Lotus-petal Whitefield
Instagram: @cathylotuspetal

Diary 2023

These times of frost and ice
when winter’s silent breath
has cast the world in stillness
and a creature sleep
has fallen
on the shores of dreams
in drifts of hibernation ...

Here let me rest
as fallen leaves or silent seeds
like a hedgehog
amidst the roots of trees
beyond the scurrying summer days
to find the source of sustenance within.

Wintering © Cathy Lotus 2020

 

Diary 2022

Wild winds awake the
Wild woman in me
Running woman
of streams and seas
Woman of stones
of earth and trees
blood and bone
and distant dreams

Woman who knows
all is not what it seems
as the season turns
in a patchwork of leaves
Her eyes to the stars
her belly to breath
her feet in the ash
in the body of Earth

As Autumn falls
in darkness descending
wild woman weeps
in a shuddering world
her hope like the moon
while her heart is bleeding
for what we have done
to this dancing blue Earth

Wild Winds © Cathy Lotus 2020

 

Diary 2021

This body like a tree
Still standing through countless seasons
Autumn leaves falling red and golden
burnished burnt or rotten
Stories composted or forgotten
shoots of hopes fulfilled or broken
So rich, so ancient, so unspoken.

This body, this tree
scarred and gnarled through wearying winds
weeps sweet sap and wounds too easily
yet still returns abundant, blossoming
never felled withheld from fatal falling

This body, this tree
is held through storms of icy winters
always returning to bud and fruit
and shed the old
Sap rising renewed
with the greening of Spring.

This Body – This Tree © Cathy Lotus Whitefield 2019

Today after the rain
I saw spring yellow butterflies
with wings fringed blue
reflecting azure skies...
Like me, they emerged
from the cocoon of winter
to suck new dew-drenched nectar
and splash the stark dark hills with colour
And so I paused to breathe
and hear a blackbird’s song
to taste the sweet washed air
and gaze at blood red poppies rare,
in a sea of green.
And then, musing on
our impossible, probable futures
I meandered home
with my little blind dog
who still wags her tail
amidst the darkness.

After The Rain © Cathy Lotus Whitefield 2019