Omen Days 12

Epiphany: feast of the three kings. Lyrical, ecstatic Joysian reverie. Also, Women’s Little Christmas in Ireland: Nollaig na mBan. This is a license for all the Mother Christmases over the world to loll about, be waited on, fussed over, as just reward for doing most of the heavy lifting over this hospitable Midwintertide. The less clement weather is a perfect excuse to while away the day with a cozy mystery.

The last of the Omen Days is also a day of a solar eclipse here in Ireland. It occured from 1:38 am here. So haphazard is my sleep pattern these days I woke up for it and was awake and writing in its wake before getting in another couple of naps. I last roused in daylight and found that the long run of dry days has ceased.

Rain - dry spell over
Alder has its feet wet
A season for prophets

Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Today’s featured image is a snap from my Celtic Tree oracle divination deck. The artwork is © 2019 Jimmy Manton. I love this deck and you can get one for yourself at

And because I had some hours in the darkness around 3am to while away, I contemplated the word eclipse and finally gave way to some word play with it. I looked up as many synonyms for eclipse to work into it. And yes, that final line in in the the list of synonyms! Eclipses have traditionally been viewed as portentious events in ancient times. So an eclipse on an Omen Day is a bit of a double whammy.

So a double helping for today’s Poetry Daily.


Lilith flies in dark moon sky
Riding her mate on the fly

She covers he - one body
Shroud of dark beauty

Dark moon night, no light
Wisdom in hindsight

Spare our blushes
cover faces




Copyright © 2019 Bee Smith. All rights reserved.

Omen Days 11

The penultimate day of Omen Days. And, later today or the early hours of tomorrow depending upon your time zone, a New Moon eclipse. For the first time in what feels like weeks I missed the pre-dawn call to poetry. I woke to daylight, having slept nearly eleven hours. Not waking in the darkness does add a new dimension to omen seeking. So after the pets paraded outside to do what they needed to do, I opened the curtains to see another steady parade of seekers at the bird feeder.

Two friends have commented on some of my…well, let’s just call it thematic continuity for me. Mick asks “What is it about you and rocks, Bee?” Patricia arches an elegant brow and queries, ” What is this compulsion to feed, Bee?”

I could not settle until I had hoked out the wild bird seed and refilled the feeder just outside the window where I am now typing this. Hence, a haiku for today’s Poetry Daily.

The blue tit and robin
perch on the feeder
cock heads, stare

Featured Image: Photo by Jan Meeus on Unsplash

Omen Day 8


Some pass before us through the portal space

Leaving others on the other side place.

Call it curtain. Call it porous door.

But we will not see what’s loved anymore.

Our mother laboured to deliver us.

Labour’s also death’s midwife accomplice.

Yet we stand suspended at world’s end edge

Using rites to make our final pledges.

The curtain closes. We step back once more.

No longer hanging by the lintel door.

Copyright 2019 Bee Smith

Featured photo of author by Jane Gilgun

Omen Days 7

Oh, imsomnia. The interrupted sleep cycles of the post-menopausal. Those of you who know…know! How my 2019 has started. The cold doesn’t help facilitate a good sleep either.


When I wake too early
and sleep evades
Rumi shakes my shoulder
"Do not go back to sleep!"
Oh, those weary hours
spread blank, silent and still
staring into the dark
when the soul frets and lists
and finds no comfort zone.
Pages turn and are read.
Finally, pen in hand
I face blank paper wall,
my own kind of zazen.
Then, I can catch some rest
from my own restlessness.

Copyright©2019 Bee Smith

Featured image Photo by Ben Blennerhassett on Unsplash

Omen Days 6

I woke this morning thinking of the Word of the Year. This is an inspirational or motivational word that you adopt for the upcoming year. I’d not considered any, but it certainly was on the edge of my consciousness enough to make me want to scurry to the etymological dictionary once I had a cup of tea.

Word of the Year is less onerous than a New Year’s resolution, more flexible and less likely to break. But I will say this for it; it can keep you on point. For instance, last year I adopted Focus as my Word of the Year. It really did help keep me at things when I faltered. I even found an essential oil for a burner to pep me up when I was feeling overwhelmed.

So there was a word in my mind as I semi-snoozed in the ambrosial hours that, upon rising and partaking of tea, sent me to our etymological dictionary. The quote is from a Marianne Moore poem.

Word of the Year


Noun, verb, adjective
A list
What we hold
In a ship's body
In one's hands
In heart of hearts
The demonstable
The undeniable
even as it shifts shape
word made flesh
"Real toads in
imaginary gardens"

Copyright © 2018 Bee Smith