PHIBBY VENABLE

PHIBBY VENABLE

Women Who Love The Wind

Women who love the wind have no fight with gravity

They rise and fall

in scars and wildflowers

I have inherited the colourful scarves of my grandmother,

thick and sturdy --

the scarves of my mother,

delicate pastels

that softened the high cheeked beauty of her passions

And I have learned to love the wind.

I have managed to run the distance

of disaster and desire,

of muffled laughter

and of hearty

And yes, it is a difficult world,

and a mystery of choices

Which is why I choose to fly

Why I kneel in the grass

as the wind storms through

Then suddenly rise in a joy

of twirling, whirling

into the burn of sun on my face,

and the speed

of all that twists and leaps

into the sky of awareness

I am a breeze and a feather

I am my mother and my grandmother,

and I am a multitude

of bright eyes travelling

through the temple of myself

Listen daughters

to the irises unknotting their fragrance from the ground

I laugh and reach for you

in the wild winds of growing.

Walking The River

You believe I will speak of blue, but no,

a pale green, an emerald, a birthstone

that believes in fertility

all float in a canoe of good intentions

When I look behind me, there are past passions,

a gathering of decades, the fragile bones of a fish

tagging after another year –

And always, there is the river,

curving around the bend in a question,

washing the long hair of the weeping willow,

the stoic legs of a loon,

seeking the lazy owl, who closes

his eyes on purpose

If you look closely there is a map around my eyes,

a small drink of water in the palm of my hand,

and a coastline I built, from small cocoons –

the ones that never opened, never flew.

A Praise Song To The Earth

The earth can feel the bare footed leap,

the pounding run, the lover's sway

upon the back of her - like ants, a light tingle

in the orange blossom of sun, in the raging downpours

She can feel the touch of dreams mouthing across her wide chest

Leap up sweet flowers, rowdy hands, cruel hearts,

nunnery of hopeful hearts

Oh, here we go again in holiness or abandon, in our sweetness

and light, in our dragging heels of determination

Rub the fine belly of the earth with soft hands

Sing out the kinks and curves of her beauty

Enter smiling, Humanity, into this excellent new day!

PHIBBY VENABLE

PHIBBY VENABLE's work has been published in 2River, Poetrybay, Southern Ocean Review, Sow's Ear, Voices, the Appalachian and various other national & international magazines. Two chapbooks:  On White Top, published by Poetrybay, George Wallace, editor, and Indian Wind Song by People Inc. The proceeds of Indian Wind Song were used to help low income Appalachian families with indoor plumbing and home repairs.  Venable won the Virginia Water Project Award, and was nominated for the governor’s award for Volunteer Excellence. She was nominated by Goldfish Press for the Pushcart Prize in 2009, and again, in 2010, by Quill and Parchment Press., She has authored eight books of poetry, a novel, Women of the Round Table, and a book of short stories, entitled Dry Branch Hollow. She lives in Abingdon, Virginia.