Wonder-woven

S. M. Feir

Wonder-woven is a podcast that features poetry of beauty and wonder for a weary world. smfeir.substack.com

  1. Oct 22

    A Mother’s Words

    This poem is written in unrhymed iambic tetrameter to fit the rhythm of the English rendering of the actual words of a Palestinian mother whose son was killed on September 2 in The West Bank, as reported in this CBC News story. A Mother’s Words A worried woman at her door Watched as her son went out one night, The village filled with noise and dust, And rocks, and running feet, and death, And all because of stolen sheep, To them a livelihood, a prize To those who sought to roughly seize This land by hatred, fire and blood. She let him go, resigned, she said, For he was young and would not stay Behind her skirts, but wished to help His friends and neighbours in the fight, A fight he thought was futile, true, But one he felt he had to join. And then, when all was over, came The news he had been cruelly killed, At seventeen his life was done, His spirit gone which had just been There with her in the quiet house., Gone far beyond her homeward call, Her parting words still ringing fell To fill the sudden silence now. Her soul was sundered, then, she said, By weighted words it could not hold. Like stones they dropped upon her heart, Her unborn sorrow wombed in shock, A state which she could only pierce With words of bitter brilliancy, A clear and chilling poet’s cry To break the heart of anyone. Just then, she said, she felt as though The mountains would not bear the news. And what more can be said than that? Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    A Mother’s Words

  2. Aug 22

    A Certain House

    This one became more than I thought it would! I can’t say I truly know what all the images mean, but they seem true on a very deep level. A Certain House One day, I came upon a certain house And claimed it for my own. It stood, high-walled and hedged by hawthorn trees, As a towered castle deep within a wood No foot had ever pathed with passing to and fro, Its bower hidden from all save myself, Unguessed by any other soul. For me, the drawbridge lowered lightly That I might cross the moat where dragons sported, Spouting fire and water both from their enormous mouths And waiting for some unwary traveler To trespass where they lay. Within, there was a hall of mirrors That murmured with echoes as I trod its ways, A maze uncentred, inescapable by me, Myself the only thing reflected from its walls Of crooked glass which bent and warped my womanhood, Turning me traitor to the truths I thought I knew. But then, at once, the mirrors shook and shivered, Shattered scattering in shining shards Like tears upon a window-pane, And now there was no maze, no echoing halls, No high stone walls. There nothing now remained Except a humble hut of wood Set down by a running stream, Myself its only occupant. So, now I keep the fire always lit, A pot of something softly simmering, A cheerful candle glimmering in the window To welcome home the one who needs it, As I sit upon my doorstep waiting To be found by someone lost And to gently free them from their journey for a time. For, even I will have to take the road again, To leave this house untenanted and alone To be taken once more by the woods Until such time as it is built again by skillful hands, Its walls of gleaming adamant, To be a place of feasting and of joy, One beloved guest for me to gaze upon As His gaze gathers my being into Himself And bids me live within His everlasting light. Thanks for listening to wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    A Certain House

  3. Aug 21

    Come

    All things being equal, this will be the first of a double-header as I missed releasing it yesterday due to random construction noise which prevented me from recording it. It’s one of my typical prayer-type poems, I suppose. Come Come take from me what will not let me go: The love of being liked, The lingering bitterness of wrongs, The jealousy that clings to others’ joy As ivy twines itself around a well-built house, Destroying it with living green that kills! Come free my fevered mind from too much care Which binds and snares my spirit, Bending it to breaking Like a martyr on the wheel, Stealing hope and leaving hardness in its wake! Come lead my life to love along the road Where rocks and ruts may bring me to my knees, But which, with sudden burning beauty Will at some simple turning of the path Reveal itself as rich and rare with wonders, waiting Lonely in the lovely light of day, A hopeful highway through the desert of despair! Come stand with me where now and ever meet Beyond the heat of hurt where all is cool And dim, still shadowed by immortal mystery, And bring with You the bright sunrise of joy Which is at last the truth behind the dawn! Thanks for listening to wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    Come

  4. Aug 20

    A Borrowed Light

    Here is Day 10 of my 100 Poems in 100 Days challenge! A Borrowed Light To wander here where all things welter, Seeking shelter from the whirling will to power That kills if left unchallenged by the changeless, Steadfast hope which yonder springs in fountains Or falls like tears upon a parched patch of ground, Is hard but holy work for those Who bear a borrowed light, Bringing bright victory of necessity in broken vessels. We are the ones with hands made rough And stony with the tilling of sorrow’s soil, Spilling sweated toil, sowing our gifted garden With hardened hurts we can never wholly heal While our hearts remain riven, unforgiven and alone. And yet there comes at whiles upon the wind The petrichor of paradise, its scent, While faint, intent upon its purpose To haunt our hearts with hopes of home, Even here, where all seems trouble and travail. And so we wait and try to tend The light, not to surrender it To darkness, though all around the death Of dreaming steals the breath of life From the very treasure-house of truth. This light will lead us if we let it shine Its willing wonder to this wounded world. Surrounded by the sea of unavailing grief, It will with brief and brilliant brightness Bring us singing from the storm into stillness, Sparing our craft to reach the hidden haven Of pure, unperishing peace. Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    A Borrowed Light

  5. Aug 18

    At Least There was Incense

    This is about a time in my life which still echoes down the years and colours all of my days. I was not a Christian at the time, and so this poem is written from that point of view. It would have been untrue to myself and to him who is the subject of the poem if I had tried to paste an artificial Christian meaning onto it. Death is a mystery to all humanity, and that’s what this is about. At Least There Was Incense At least there was incense at the last, As there the one I loved lay dying, His light dimming, his life laid bare To the coming of departure As his body burned to embers While we who loved him kept watch. There was incense, as I said, His favourite, compounded of sandalwood And the attar of eastern flowers, Dense with smoky sweetness, his scent, his signature, Precious token of the presence so soon to be gone, A solitary stick stuck astoundingly Into the skin of a banana, Left to smoulder there while he too seemed to smoulder, Silent now, his bardic love of language now reduced to meaningless moaning. His voice, his touch, his intensity Which once awoke in me the ancient strength of oaks, Of white pines standing in starlit, aurora-laden woods, Of sea-smoothed rocks turning gentle swells to foamy spray, Was now turned inward in a dreadful dance, And we could do nothing but try to help him take his road To where the land of summer waited Warm and green beyond the dying hills. They told me later, for I was not there, That when he took his final breath, He cast his gaze on some amazing sight Which no one else could see but him, And then he simply slipped away, Lay down the burden of his failing body And let himself go lightly onward, His spirit spiralling, unspooling Like fragrant smoke upon the wind. Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    At Least There was Incense

  6. Aug 17

    Ecclesiastes

    This just had to be called Ecclesiastes! I can’t yet decide if it’s an ironic title or not. Ecclesiastes Let life somehow be lovely Even in the bitter hours When nothing glitters in the gloom Of grief, its fallen flowers scattered to the winds, And only showers of tears to water their decay! Let something stay of beauty, Though it mocks our mortality with its mirth As it seeks to warm the wrong-rimed world, Flourishing where all seems out of joint And strangely strung, like a tuneless harp Still rung despite its joyless jangling. Let broken things be holy, Wounded, gleaming in their glory, Seeming weak but willed to adamant By the One who brings to birth The beginning and the end of things In the light of His own eternal day! Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    Ecclesiastes

  7. Aug 16

    While Waiting For a Bus

    This is about a moment which I can’t explain in which I suddenly came upon Christ, as it were, in my twenties, after a long absence. While Waiting For a Bus While waiting for a bus, The neither fish nor fowl nothing Of a night in mid-November drawing near In a dreary drowse of dreaming mist, The sun setting softly to the distant sound Of a six-o’clock city bell, My body hoping only for home, A place to lay its burdens down Away from scholarly pursuits And safe once more in familiar hands, Feet planted firmly on the platform, Ears attentive for the slightest murmur of a motor; In that self-same mundane moment When time seems all there is, I am suddenly among eternal things, The fragments of my soul now fitted fast As stones are knitted in a dry stone wall, No mortar of mere ego needed To bind them now, but only You Holding myself here within Yourself a while, Bidding me come to You across time, Which I will do like Peter on the water. For this bright and burning clarity Is vouchsafed me as a gift, A little lifting of the veil Between my tragic aimlessness And the treasure I must surely find Among Your faithful folk and in their reuniting rites Of pure and perfect penitential joy. Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    While Waiting For a Bus

  8. Aug 15

    It Was a Dream

    Welcome to Day 6 of 100 Poems in 100 Days! I must tell you now that I may have just doomed myself to failure by actually starting a specific ‘project’ for this crazy scheme in the writing app I use. Now, it’s really real, and that freaks me out. However, we beat on, boats against the current or something, and I will try not to let the fear of failure paralyse me. This poem is about an actual (I was going to write ‘real’) dream I recall having sometime in my twenties. I was a pagan at the time, but even so, the dream seemed to come out of the blue. Now, I don’t know how much of it I remember and how much of it I have embroidered by wanting to remember it, but it’s there and has never left me as most dreams do, and I think it was pointing to the need for love and mercy in the world, or at least a longing within me for the world to be a more compassionate place. Who knows? At least it has given me this poem. It Was a Dream It was a dream, I know, Which led me long ago into a ring Of standing stones all studded with the stars And ministered to by the moon in mythic guise As mother goddess, wise and well-beloved By me, her priestess and her conduit on earth. It was a dream, I say, Which kept me standing there among those monoliths, Waiting in welcome for the lost ones, the little ones, who came To take what I alone could give, True solace for the silent tears they shed, My arms held out with hidden healing, Myself the reverent vessel of the mother’s mighty mercy. It was a dream, and yet, It may have been a call, A charge not from the moon but from her Maker To meet Him in a secret, sacred place, Allowing His embrace to quicken me to flame And kindle with His never-fading candle Those who wander in the wilderness of grief To have the courage to reject the cold of night And gather in the day’s bright gaze of deep, undying love. Thanks for listening to Wonder-woven, a poetry podcast from Reveries and Ramblings! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit smfeir.substack.com

    It Was a Dream
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About

Wonder-woven is a podcast that features poetry of beauty and wonder for a weary world. smfeir.substack.com

Information

  • Creator
    S. M. Feir
  • Years Active
    2020 - 2026
  • Episodes
    185
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © Sara Feir
  • Show Website
    Wonder-woven