Hold on to what is good

We posted the Poem of the Month for nine years and have ended the series. Here is Nancy's most famous poem.

From Many Winters, 1974, by Nancy Wood


Hold on to what is good
even if it is
a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe
even if it is
a tree which stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do
even if it is
a long way from here.
Hold on to life even when
it is easier letting go.
Hold on to my hand even when
I have gone away from you.

The Old Woman’s Longing – February 2023

From Sacred Fire, 1996, by Nancy Wood

From the deep blanket of winter, I am. 
From the fertile seeds of spring, I am.
From the unfolding leaves of summer, I am. 
From the ripening fruits of autumn, I am.

If winter's song is one of sleep, sing it.
If spring's song is one of anticipation, sing it. 
If summer's song is one of fullness, sing it.
If autumn's song is one of change, sing it.

What you are, I am.
What I am, you will be.
Where summer goes, I follow.
Where winter goes, we walk together. 
The longing of this old woman
is satisfied by the loving of that old man.

The Fire of Women – December 2022

From Sacred Fire, 1998, by Nancy Wood

We are the eternal, we who have borne the pain and
grown old with only half our song being heard,
bodies aching from desire never satisfied
from mere mating with a man. We meet adversity
head-on, desiring recognition of our natural ways. We accept 
the confused words of men who are strangers to our souls.

Our pulse throbs with messages from grandmothers
fooled by dreams, like us. In our bones is bred
the patience of women who stayed with men
who did not love them, and the ache of women who died 
of heartbreak. Women learn from the anguish
that precedes calm, remembering how a child 
bursts headlong from the womb,
and with its very first breath
begs to hear our song.

The Shortest Day/The Longest Day – June 2022

From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood

 

December 21

O sun, the father of us all, maker of ripe flowers, creator

of fat corn, return this day to our part of the shrinking sky.

Your journey to the south is now complete and we pray to you

to remember the drear, dark days of winter caught between

Your strong fingers struggling to release the earth from sleep. In this

long gasp of icy silence, all creatures find renewal, a pale hope

That spring will not forget to come this year, nor will birds forget to lay eggs

heavy with the yolk of generation.

 

June 21

Now the earth lies panting in the rich blood of summer, and you are content,

O sun, father of full orchards and the restlessness of elk. We observe

Your deep shadows and hear the laughter of leaves green with continuity,

but we are not deceived by the smoothness of our ripe landscape.

Even the longest day contains the seeds of winter and on the wind we hear

the song that icicles sing to stay awake. The longest day is merely

A pause between the places where our lives are lived, and in its fullness

we dance for the right of bumblebees to gather distant honey.

The Story of a Flower – May 2021

From Spirit Walker, 1993, by Nancy Wood

The Story of a Flower

 

In the season of wild strawberries

I came from the earth as a flower

High on a hill above my village, with only

The Eagle, the Buffalo, the Bear and the Butterfly

To watch the petals of my spirit unfold.

 

The Eagle spoke first. He said:

Sister; you will never have wings like me,

Except in the pathways of your dreams,

Yet you will fly to the top of the sky

Because I give you the Gift of Courage.

 

The Buffalo spoke next. He said:

Sister; you will never survive a long time like me,

Except on the trail of your memories,

Yet you will see a thousand winters go by

Because I give you the Gift of Endurance.

 

The Bear spoke next. He said:

Sister; you will never know the secrets

Of the Four-Legged Animals, since you are only a flower,

Yet the knowledge of all creatures is yours

Because I give you the Gift of Wisdom.

 

The Butterfly spoke next. She said:

Sister, you believe you are very important,

Because the creatures have given their gifts to you,

Yet here on this hill you will always be at home

Because I give you the Gift of Humility.

 

So I have lived for many seasons,

Among the Eagle, the Buffalo, the Bear and the Butterfly,

Watching the birds go by, speaking to rain and sky.

My colors have been the colors of the rainbow.

My beauty has given joy to all who see me.

 

To bloom even when there is no rain

Requires the Courage of the Eagle.

To last through the heavy snows of winter

Requires the Endurance of the Buffalo.

To understand the importance of all seasons

Requires the Wisdom of the Bear.

But to rejoice when my blossoms die

Requires only the Butterfly’s Humility.