A Gathering of Wise Women

Misunderstood throughout history
we were tortured, drowned, burnt
and now, amid the intensity
of climate change, plague and war,
we have seen humankind at its worst.

Forget the shamans,
Mentors and Chirons,
all male, muscle-bound,
bristling with testosterone.

You need us wise women,
us Earth mothers who listen
to sky, air and soil beneath our feet,
the quickening of the seasons’ beat.
We understand the textures of rain
and can green your planet once again.

You call on us to come together and pledge
our gentle hands to guide you from the edge.

Kim M. Russell, 2nd October 2025

‘The Magic Circle’ by John William Waterhouse, 1886

This Thursday at the dVerse Poets Pub we are meeting the bar with Björn and revisiting perspective and the literary device of changing perspective.

Björn has recapped the different types of perspective, explaining their effect on the reader.

His challenge is to write from a different perspective than what we normally do, by either writing something totally new or taking an old perspective written from, for instance, first person singular and changing it to something else. What do we get? How does it feel, and most importantly how do we think it will affect the reader?

I have taken a poem I wrote in 2024 for NaPoWriMo, a recycled poem already, and changed perspective from ‘you’ to ‘we’. You can read it here.

38 thoughts on “A Gathering of Wise Women”

  3. Gorgeous use of rhyme throughout, Kim! 😍 Yes, we need those wise women. I especially like; “We understand the textures of rain and can green your planet once again.” ❤️❤️

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  10. Masculinity is in such toxic disrepair — the Y chromosome burns like Rome — truly if science wasn’t so dominated by males, it would hurry up and finish self-replication via the X and save the world. Masculinity is endless humiliation to men who won’t be humble and eternal torment to the women who haven’t given up on their sons yet. In the US we have a 14-year old compulsive masturbator and wrestling fan for a President who will earn his driving license saddled to an ICBM. Yeeee-hah. Coven the gals in the souterrain of a passage tomb and wait out the solar god’s excrescent extincting flare. (And thanks.)

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  14. I am certain I’ve been described many ways in my long life, certainly the highest accolade would be, as you beautifully say in this poem, to have been called Wise Woman, Earth Mother!!! Here’s hoping. Cheers, Kim.

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