Riders of the Whales
I turn my face towards you
the riders of the waves
the riders of the whales
not as masters
but as friends
I lay the shimmering isles
into your unknown hands
I lift my smile
like a bright-blue flag
to one who wields the wand
and strikes the rock
to turn the wasteland
velvety and fragrant
once again
I lift my cup
of bittersweet brew
to one who turns the wheel
and shifts the clouds
to make the frosty stream
a sparkling wall
once again
I sweep the ashes
and lay the bricks
I feed the seeds for you
I grow the words for you
I beg your forgiveness
and scatter blessings on you
the yet unborn
Christina Egan ©2021
blue
First Yellow Day
First Yellow Day
softly
tread softly
on the skin
of the earth
it is stretching
in a warming waterfall
in the royal rays
of the newborn sun
it is pushing
slender green bodies
and fragile fair heads
out of dark sleep
it is breathing
slowly for you
so breathe
breathe slowly
newborn is the grass
newborn is the year
weightless is the day
weightless is your heart
faded stacked shapes
are filling with colour
like care-worn faces
are smoothed and flushed
and smiles are rising
like yellow balloons
effortless guileless
into boundless blue
Christina Egan ©2019
Written on a warm and sunny day in late February. Climate change is palpable, but sometimes it is pleasant…
Mandelmond
Mandelmond
Im kühlen Blaßblau wölbt sich
ein großer halber Mond:
Was ausblieb, das erfüllt sich.
Es hat sich doch gelohnt,
zu warten bis zum Abend
aufs goldne Wolkenschiff,
nach jenem Stern zu fragen,
den dir das Schicksal schliff.
Du streiftest über Fluchten,
nach Gipfeln griffst du aus
und stiegst durch Wald und Schluchten,
als reistest du nach Haus.
Der Stern taucht aus der Leere.
Es hat sich doch gelohnt
für jene Wolkenfähre
und jenen Mandelmond.
Christina Egan ©2021
700 poems posted on this site !
Happy New Year to everyone!
unter der weide
unter der weide
I.
als das rundzelt
der weide
sich sachte
bauschte
als der pilgerzug
der pappeln
silbern
rauschte
als das erdreich
im abendrot
lag und
lauschte
als die stille
sprach
brach
mein herz
brach auf
wie eine kokosnuß
voll süßer milch
und weißem mark
II.
wer kostet
meine worte
wer liest
meine blicke
wer wartet
auf mich
unter der weide
im windhauch
wer wartet
mit mir
auf den neuen mond
auf den ersten stern
als wäre das morgen
noch möglich
als wäre das leben
noch herrlich
mein blick fing
die sternschnuppe
wer liest uns
ihre botschaft
III.
heu bedeckt
die krume
schweiß bedeckt
die haut
blumen
leuchten
nicht himmelblau
blauer als himmel
blumen
brennen
nicht feuerrot
röter als feuer
die trauerweide birgt
ein stummes gebet
meine arme wiegen
einen neuen traum
auf der stirne
trage ich
einen kuß
wie ein juwel
Christina Egan ©2021
Psalm (Lachen werden die Seen)
Psalm
(Lachen werden die Seen)
Noch einmal schlagen die Glocken
und schweigen. Tief atmet endlich der See.
Im Laube schweben gleich geronnenem Licht
Tupfer von weichem Weiß und Gelb.
Duftend, betäubend bäumt sich die Erde
ungezähmt in den späten Himmel.
Auf dunkelgoldenen Schwingen
naht von den Bergen die Nacht;
selten sanft und blau wird sie sein
und sterngeschmückt wie eine Braut.
Tanzen, tanzen werden die Berge,
und lachen, lachen werden die Seen!
Christina Egan ©2011
Let the floods clap their hands / let the hills be joyful together!
Die Ströme sollen frohlocken / und die Berge seien fröhlich!
Psalm 98,8
Northern Tenerife in January! Taoro Parque, Puerto de la Cruz.
Photograph: Christina Egan ©2019.
Sudden Summer / Happiness Beyond
Sudden Summer
(Not a Word Cloud)
Is this moon new or young,
a sliver or a crescent, silver
or golden in the deep blue,
the newly deep sky, is it
striking or dazzling or
mesmerising?
Is this a late spring, belated
and all the more welcome,
bursting with life, with green,
bright green, saturated
with rain and sunshine,
saturated with colour and
heat, heat unfamiliar and
all the more welcome, or is it
sudden summer?
Is this life at last, is this joy,
is this joy of life, is it zest,
is it just new life-force or is it
happiness or elation or
bliss?
Reality, as it laps up against
the shores of your eyes and
your ears and your nose, reality
as it washes over the leas
of your skin and seeps
beneath, cannot be captured in
words, not even in verse: reality,
so dense it feels like a dream,
is not a dream cloud nor a
word cloud.
Although this poem would make
a good one, with the message of
sudden summer sounding out
like birdcall, flooded with light
and colour, steeped in joy,
as if words were written from life
and for life, as if words were part
of life, of the wide earth and
the deep sky and the reality
beyond, of the ever-flowing
life-force.
Christina Egan ©2024
Word cloud of the poem Sudden Summer (colours edited but randomly allocated).
Happiness Beyond
(Word Cloud)
Your life is a green reality,
it reads in large green letters,
and newly young;
the sky is golden at last,
it states in fine golden letters,
and saturated with joy;
eyes and ears are bursting
with wide bright light,
it adds in silvery white;
and at the edge there is
happiness beyond colour
on deep-blue ground.
These are welcome words,
sudden and possibly deep,
a mesmerising message
from slivers of verse in your ears,
from the new dream poem,
from the word cloud
of Sudden summer:
Your life is a green reality
saturated with joy
under the newly young moon.
Christina Egan ©2024
Inspired by the word cloud of the poem Sudden summer and written on the same day.
Word cloud of the poem Happiness beyond (colours edited, words picked out in red).
With thanks to the excellent tool Simple Word Cloud Generator!
rosengarten (II. sprühendgrau)
rosengarten
II.
sprühendgrau
die ungeahnten sonnenglanz vergießen
die regenschauer und den regenbogen
zu einem milden meeresgrau verwoben
die augen sollen meine verse grüßen.
dem nebelland das immerkalte wogen
in ungestümem reigentanz umschließen
den inseln voller sprühendgrüner wiesen
sind jene augen ursprünglich enthoben.
drum frag ich nicht nach lilien und lavendel
die flammen sprühen auf gebeugtem stengel
noch nach des südens uferlosem blau
nichts brauche ich als meinen kleinen garten
wo alle wunder lächelnd meiner warten
die bunte welt geballt in sprühendgrau.
Christina Egan ©2023
This sonnet is part of a cycle of 14 poems, whereby each line of the first one (rosengarten I. tiefversteckt) furnishes the first line of a new sonnet.
The island described here is Ireland, but the cycle takes you to other islands, as well as to the palace gardens of Würzburg, Germany, which first inspired me.
Word cloud of colours in the German sonnet cycle (rosengarten I-XIV), generated on the Simple Word Cloud Generator. In the middle are “colourful”, “green”, and “golden”. Since the colours of the roses are not described, the roses themselves are added.
Radiance (You did not see the star)
Radiance
You did not see the star
touching your chimney
nor did you feel the moon
touching your shoulder.
You yearned for the shift of the seasons,
expected the change of the clocks,
but not the shift of the colours,
the liquid gold in the air.
You did not see your radiance,
but someone else did,
your grace that carries like scent
before you have spoken a word.
When the sky was blue glass,
when the moon was a sphere,
a hand held up a mirror,
a wind kissed your hair.
Christina Egan ©2021
Trefflich (Gazakrieg)
Trefflich
Ach, wozu noch Meeresblau
je beschwören und wozu
Wellenschlag und Morgentau,
wenn ein Paar bestickter Schuh
bunt aus Schutt und Asche schaut,
– angefaucht und fortgefegt –
und die namenlose Braut
nie mehr ihre Füße hebt,
nie ein Kind zum Himmel hält…
Ach, wie bleibt das Meer bloß blau?
Denn es stirbt die ganze Welt,
frißt der Drache eine Frau.
Fällt die Kugel einen Mann,
klagt ein ganzes Engelheer.
Lautlos schreit ein Schlüsselbund
aus dem Schrott,– doch hört ihn wer?
Paßt der Schlüssel auch ins Schloß,
hängt die Tür in schräger Wand,
denn ein treffliches Geschoß
riß das Haus halb in den Sand.
Immer wieder gibt es Krieg
voller Lügen, voller Lärm.
Niemals aber gibt es Sieg,
nur die Hoffnung wie ein Stern.
Christina Egan ©2024
(Gazakrieg)
In this poem, War is personalised as a hissing dragon burning, devouring, or blasting away everything in its way.
The title is a pun on an old word for “excellent”, literally “hitting precisely”: in a war, success is based on destruction.
On October 7th, 2023, the Palestinian terror organisation Hamas committed a massacre and mass abduction in Israel, whereupon the Israeli Government launched a war on the Palestinian territory of Gaza. It has since attacked the West Bank and invaded neighbouring country Lebanon, where the terror organisation Hezbollah de facto rules. The aim on both sides is evidently genocide. This is destruction against destruction, revenge upon revenge, genocide versus genocide.
I am Singing my Song
I am Singing my Song
My life is not about me:
It is about the mountains
rising all around the horizon
in the dense blue of dreams.
It is about the mud I am made of,
the little trees which I must water,
the tall trees which give me breath.
It is about the rivers around me,
running, running without rest
and singing without doubt.
My face is priceless:
My face is mine alone, and
an echo of my ancestors’ faces,
a signal of my descendants’ faces.
My face is a sacred lake,
a blurred mirror of the sky,
of the mountains and trees.
I am drinking the sun,
I am walking my way,
I am singing my song.
Christina Egan ©2022
Inspired by Navajo and other
Native American philosophy.
Navajo pottery. Photograph:
Woody Hibbard, CC BY 2.0,
via Wikimedia Commons.
Three word clouds of this poem: one typed up on a Word document with all repetitions, two designed on the Simple Word Cloud Generator (left) and WordItOut (right), with the frequency of the words represented by their size and position. (You can click on the images to enlarge them.)
Via WordItOut, you can order badges or key-rings with the right-hand word cloud.
Christina Egan 