Poetry

Durga

on April 13, 2017 No comments

The thrash of the tiger
Is held so quietly within
the stillness of her striped form.
Soft muscularity,
Terrifying black, gold beauty.

Would my hand dare caress
Her silken curves,
Her pulsating chest,
The vicious magnificence of her passion,
Deadly and divine
With no transgression
Sensuous jugular enclosure
a powerful embrace,
Enters the darkness in rapture
Overpowered by grace.

Meditative feline
Stalk the deepest depths of being
Heart roars, erect claws,
Mortal flesh trembling.
Golden mirror of my soul
I know you could consume me whole
Untamed beast flying wild
She honours her nature
Like an innocent child.

What is the mirror that you hold
Hidden in your black and gold
Devoted to your enticing grace
Your ferociousness holds no distaste
You hold the power of the passion
Unashamed and unrationed.

If I am you and you are me
We are the perfect symphony.

~ Carly Mountain

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Carly MountainDurga

A Journey…

on March 17, 2017 No comments

A journey makes us vulnerable,

takes us from our more secure environments and commits us to the unknown.

Perhaps this is why the journey has so often been our basic

metaphor for life itself. Our life journey is a precarious

pilgrimage, a passage through landscapes of promise and

peril, a crossing from the darkness of the womb to the

shadows of death. We travel in the hope that the light

will not fail to guide us, that the star will not be lost,

that homecoming will be granted and love not witheld.

– Thomas Merton

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Carly MountainA Journey…

Holy Wings

on March 15, 2017 No comments

 

Holy Wings

The dark cocoon of heartbreak is vital ground.

Through that devastated shipwreck appear the wings of spirit.

The second birth canal,

whose rivers deliver us back to the heart of it all.

 

In the ruthless light of day,

One bridge burns,

And we are no longer our fathers daughters.

The stretcher we wake up on carries us through the thickets of soul towards a new beyond.

 

Heartbreak for one, becomes a grieving for the whole world.

Our embryonic heartbeats,

compel us to build new bridges,

Bridges that hum to the song.

 

We remember,

and our footsteps tough the ground tenderly in their authority.

 

The bridge to God is built through a sincere heart,

And no heart is more sincere,

than that of the unwitting warrior who has found her yes,

who cannot possibly remain folded.

 

She who being broken in two is delivered back into one with everything.

– Carly Mountain

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Carly MountainHoly Wings

Butterfly Course Taster Day 16th October 2016

on September 6, 2016 No comments

IMG_7769

Would you like a flavour of what the Butterfly Course offers? Then come and join me for this taster day in October. The taster will include yoga based movement, creative enquiry, time to chat and ask questions on the course starting next February and a yummy vegetarian lunch.

Date: Sunday 16th October

Time: 10.45-5.45pm

Where: Instinctive Health, Sheffield

Cost: £40 full/ £35 concessions lunch included

For more information and to book please visit the Instinctive Health Website places limited so please book early to avoid disappointment.

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Carly MountainButterfly Course Taster Day 16th October 2016

I want to give myself utterly….

on February 18, 2016 No comments

Lake and Maple

I want to give myself utterly
as this maple
that burned and burned
for three days without stinting
and then in two more
dropped off every leaf;
as this lake that,

no matter what comes

to its green-blue depths,

both takes and returns it.

In the still heart,

that refuses nothing,

the world is twice-born–

two earths wheeling,

two heavens,

two egrets reaching

down into subtraction;

even the fish 
for an instant doubled,

before it is gone.

I want the fish.

I want the losing it all

when it rains and I want

the returning transparence.

I want the place

by the edge-flowers where

the shallow sand is deceptive,

where whatever

steps in must plunge,

and I want that plunging.

I want the ones

who come in secret to drink

only in early darkness,

and I want the ones

who are swallowed.

I want the way

the water sees without eyes,

hears without ears,

shivers without will or fear

at the gentlest touch.

I want the way it

accepts the cold moonlight

and lets it pass,

the way it lets

all of it pass

without judgment or comment.

There is a lake,

Lalla Dad sang, no larger

than one seed of mustard,

that all things return to.

O heart, if you
will not, cannot,
give me the lake

then give me the song.

Jane Hirshfield

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Carly MountainI want to give myself utterly….

Cathedral of Summer

on November 2, 2013 No comments

“I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of summer,

My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music.

It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips”

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Carly MountainCathedral of Summer