Books by Judith

A DNA surprise in 2018 resulted in a group of poems written as I processed the news of a biological father (different from the dad who raised me), and four “new”  brothers. I offer the poems in Grafted Tree to honor the complexity of family and the diverse ways family connections have manifested in my life.

~ Judith Prest

If Only

If only time could        become liquid,

future would dance with memory.

Lost stories and my father’s smile

would live again.

 

Fluid time would ground us,

awaken sensibilities we can’t yet name.

Fluid time would meld

the origins and the healing of         our scars.

 

When we wake         and when we enter

the place where dreams are born,

boundaries erased         past spills into now,

into then, a weave of bright ribbons.

 

I imagine that I hold my son, and see

my mother’s face when she first held me.

A complicated web of families unfurls

up and down the generations.

 

We carry more than blood in our veins.

 

~ Judith Prest

Loss has been my greatest teacher. Writing poetry has helped me survive life’s inevitable losses. I hope that Geography of Loss  will help readers reflect on their own lives and appreciate the gifts and strengths that surface in their lives as they make their way through the rugged topography of loss.

~ Judith Prest

Loss

Suddenly life churns with brown silt             

like a river after a storm.

Dark currents cut channels

rip new pathways

obliterate the banks I knew.

Each step now takes me deeper

no maps, no landmarks even

the stars shrouded.

On the river of loss

we can only navigate by faith.

~ Judith Prest

After
  ~ fifty years later

After the rape
the world tilted at
an odd angle
like a broken neck.

The sun still rose, I still
breathed, walked, spoke;
but there was an
impenetrable layer

between me
and the world
between me and myself.
No one could see it.

I was dimly aware that when
I tried to touch the surface of my life
it was like rubbing
a cheek numbed with Novocain.

My fingers can feel the skin
of my cheek
but my face does not
recognize the touch of my own hand.

~ Judith Prest

Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry.
Muriel Rukeyser
Reality only reveals itself when it is illuminated by a ray of poetry.
Georges Braque
The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.
Muriel Rukeyser
Elemental-Connections-Web

For nature photography and poetry lovers alike, Judith Prest of Spirit Wind Studios, is happy to announce publication of Elemental Connections. 

How Rocks Dance

rocks rise
after snowmelt each garden
picked clean in autumn
reveals a new crop of stones

stones rise in stillness
their dance ponderous
to tones too deep
for human ears

stone speaks with a tongue
that has tasted fire and earth
rocks dance with water
then go still

For any poets (or poetry lovers) out there, Judith Prest of Spirit Wind Studio, is happy to announce publication of Late Day Light, a full length poetry collection.

Late Day Light

poems are like
telegrams from God
snaking like lightning
down through clouds
bubbling up
from the depths

flashes of light
bursts of steam and spark
           from the core
           from higher places
rearranging
molecular structure
revealing
the genetic code
of the soul