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ENWRAPPED IN HER

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Below is the poem entitled ENWRAPPED IN HER which was written by poet Thomas McFerran. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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ENWRAPPED IN HER

These secret silent stillnessess,
wistful wispy whisperings
which enter through the windows in my heart,
I try to softly touch them 
and they recede, far, so far away,
I try to gently hold them
they slip beyond my grasp,
and so, I let them be
as you and I must be
as one,
and they will come, 
they’ll creep into my day dreams, 
and I shall quietly weep
for joy,

.    .   .   and though the night may bring its sorrows,
and though the hawk may stalk the dove
and though we dread our sad tomorrows,
yet joy will come unbidden, and bring abundant love,

and with the dawn
when gone the pale, wan moon-faced night
and all the swirling winking twinkling stars 
the radiant sun-shine bright
opened up my eyes, 
to see anew
within the daylight’s brightest light
those self-same incandescent spangled stars,
and opened up my ears
to hear a new harmonic song,
sky-lark, ascending off the meadow, 
O bright, O blessed be.

Now she at last has come again to me,
my nature nymph is here
up from the depths, out of the heaving sea
to steal across the jagged shore-line
and settle on the sun drenched beach
where all my footprints in the sand formed a golden band
and all becomes complete
with wonder-women beating out the beat 
to merry, merry meet,
and I will glide along 
amongst the gathering throng,
and I will sing a goddess song,
I’ll travel up and all along
the sea of glass 
to meet the phantom lights upon The Tor,
this thrill, 
this that I’ve waited for
down all my days,

and now I dance sky clad,
no thoughts of good nor bad,
and all along
no right or wrong, 
here in the Chalice Garden sweet
my heart steps up its beat
rising from the ruins I once was,
and in the garden fair
I run my fingers through her sea salt hair,
so no one else can see
we hide behind an apple laden tree.

When I began to see
I saw with bitter sweet
a harlot crouching on a cobbled street
weeping quietly, 
crying secretly
into the tear wet sleeves 
of her patchwork tattered garment,
unrecognised is she
by those whose eyes are blind and cannot truly see,

.  .  .  she is the lovely Magdalene
who murmurs in the secret chamber of my heart
“my dearest dear, from long before your mortal birth
I’ve loved you from the start,”
and since she came to make her home in me
I have become full whole and free,
unbound, uncaged, not ever more as separate or apart.


She is the woman half of me
all that I ever want to be,
her jet-black tresses captured me,
her swan down skin enraptured me,
her lilting laughter healed my deepest inmost soul.

Now look you to your hearth my friend
her cauldron’s on the boil,
she’s stirring up her brew
a magic making midnight herbal stew.

Creatrix, maker, non-forsaker,
the olden stones will show
the awesome and expanding primal proof,
the woman womb, ‘tis time to know
the penetrating truth,
maiden, mother, wise old crone,
The Ancient Mother Goddess, central marrow bone.

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  1. Date: 7/22/2013 4:40:00 PM
    I've been here many times looking for you. I miss reading your eloquent poetry, my friend. I hope everything is well with you. LIcia :-)

  1. Date: 5/21/2013 7:13:00 AM
    You never cease to amaze me with your eloquence and smooth writing, Tom. Truly beautiful, my friend. Hats off to you. Licia :-)