This manuscript is a selection of poetry written over the past three years of living off the land. It is a spiritual dive and a revolutionary call. It details the struggles of humanity as well as our great and profound capabilities, our relationship to land and nature, the divine powers of menstruation, and how to move to a place beyond the ills of society and learn to love again. It is written humbly, simply and with wisdom. It is now 82 pages (~8,888 words).
Bread and Branches
Bread, properly proofed and leavened,
Rises of its own accord.
The bare branches’ buds,
No matter how warm the winter thaw may be,
Only break forth upon spring.
You beautiful creature,
Heavily weighted by that oversized mind:
Remember, you too are a thing of the Earth.
You are always on time.
Sea Walls at Full Moon
The sea returns to itself in endless white-capped mountains,
A forced collision off the sea walls of humanity.
My body bleeds red with a monthly mooning.
The way the salt sweeps up the amber droplets,
Swimming them out to a vanishing point,
Feels like both hope and warning.
The tides will keep churning and rising
But with or without us?
That all depends upon the destruction of our walls.
“Let us be moons again”
“Please,” I whisper,
My body flowing as the sea rocks.
Last night I lived in a mycelium mansion.
The soil saturated the walls
Of my skin
And moss stood as a witness
To my bacterial breathing of being.
Its funny we have come to question
The validity of our lives lived before
And the many we may live after.
In the blueness of you
The way your soil-scratched fingers
Melt the saltiness of separateness
To the salivating sweetness of our lips:
This mycelium mansion is a place we have lived before.
You climbed to the top of the rock mountain
That was held, wedged
Between the tall pines, fragrant of youth.
You smoked weed, giggling with your best friend
Hidden in the wood wall at the farm
Behind the barred-window school.
You grew a white root
Thick and spidery
Through the dark riches
Of your hometown soil.
And now the winds of chaos blow
And she is gone, my best friend.
A car wrecked among the Oregon pines of adulthood
And a young boy with veins pumped through with Suboxone
Just trying to make it though
Like all the youth of this god-damn country.
Now the winds of chaos blow
Toppling over those who grew obsessed
With leaves and beauty, papery things,
And the thinness of the dollar
The root to which they will all return.
About the Author
Author Name: Deirdre Haren
Deirdre Haren is a farmer, seed-saver, mystic, tantric yogi, surfer, and writer from Ireland. She studied and worked in chemistry and environmental science before her spiritual studies in Dublin and India beckoned her towards writing as the more natural way of expressing the truths of the world. She hopes that her poems will inspire others to live lives more deeply connected to the great whole we are all a part of and break free from the chains of capitalist society. She now lives in mid-coast Maine and homesteads on the land herself and six other friends share.
1275 Wagner Bridge Road, Waldoboro, ME 04572, USA