Dr Embers Verse and Tales
Dr Embers: Verse & Tale stories and poetry told by the fire.
Each week begins with a single thought — a line from a philosopher, poet, or thinker — and journeys through classic tales and original works that explore the themes shaping our lives.
Here, not all stories are told the same way.
Here, you are invited to sit by the fire.
Here, you may unwind and let your imagination wander to places you may never have been.
Ideas you may never have considered.
New episodes every Sunday.
The fire is lit.🔥
Dr Embers Verse and Tales
Dr Embers Presents - Beltane Fire and other poems by Joanna Vale
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“We see the world… not as it is… but as we are.” — Anaïs Nin
How often do we mistake our own perspective… for truth?
How often do we look… and believe we have seen?
Tonight’s episode invites us… to loosen that certainty…
to step beyond ourselves…
and to inhabit… something other.
In Beltane Fire and other poems… Joanna Vale brings a collection that asks not that we observe the world differently…
but that we become it…
To feel the hunger of the owl…
to move with the quiet persistence of the river…
to exist, if only for a moment… outside the boundaries of our own mind.
The Fire is Lit!
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This is Verse in Tales, a podcast of poetry and story told by the fire. As some of you may be aware, I do not tend to this fire alone, but I am joined by one whose voice may already sound familiar tonight. She brings with her a selection of her own works. And so I shall hand you over to Joanna Vale.
SPEAKER_01Good evening. The poems I've chosen are about seeing through different eyes, not simply observing but becoming. To feel the world as the owl feels it, to imagine what the river sees and hears, to exist, if only for a moment, beyond our own reality. They're an invitation to step outside the boundaries of our own perspective. For as Aeneas Nin reminds us, we see the world not as it is, but as we are. My past is lost, or plays out in the water's depths, like a picture book. Words and colours ripple, fracture and foam, bound over rocks and stone, capturing sunlight, dabble with reeds and water lilies. Where am I? I have become the river. She has taken my memories for her store. In this wallow of coursing water, even time has lost its way. As fish flit and dart below, shallow swimming, flicking up earth and silt, all lives coexist, memories merge and flow and live on, lithe spirits of the riverbed. Owl on hunter's moon slow, unblinking eye absorbs wallows in perpetual wonder, deep mirror reflecting the ripple of night leaves, tipped with moonlight, silver glamouring the ebon forest. Wise one, his owe wide eyes gentle yet all seeing, livid jewels in white downy sockets, alert to the softest movement, prepared in the vigil of silent hunt. Strength of an eagle, agile and light, he shocks the stillness, cutting the air with sword wings, sensual strokes of feather and bone, then a sudden flesh tear, crunch and bubbling of blood. A tiny heart pounds and accelerates, then eases to silence. Sustenance the owl supper. He winks his eyes unguarded and replete. White bird, still a sculpture, conscious yet of the forest sounds, sleeps. Evergreen A twist of evergreen, I always said you would come back to me. Vibrant, your hair in my hands, scented like spring. Your words wake me nightly. Frozen I am frozen over, and now the thaw and rainbow tears. Startled by music, your resonant voice, like green grass velvet, fluid on a turned breeze, lifts and wakes me, takes me to a southern place where bells chime, and the night presses close. In rivers of memory I hold you sacred, your image burnished and warm. Dawnlight dresses you innocently, you giggle with child eyes, you speak I never forgot you, and I'm humbled by your forgiveness. Ever long your presence warms me, ever green. Beltane fire The Beltane fires are here again in your eyes. Leaf light flickers and sparks jumping across branches like squirrels. A breeze against my cheek takes me back to fires past, to maples tall and garland decked. Birds chatter over us, sprinkle notes in the air, breaking the code to ancient times where the groves spread far and wide. A piper, shrill and certain, deep within the forest, calls upon his own spirits, shaking them from dark thickets. Within the undergrowth, mushrooms wake from below, shooting spore clouds into the air, the star magic of new life. We are paused in a clearing as the sun dips, a purple glow makes compliment of the firelight now building in strength beside us. We are not its only keepers. A group of revelers sit around the fire, hushed and reverential, enthralled to the elements they've waked. Sat tight upon a tree stump, we claim the core of this place, tuned in to the pulse below, our shoulders rested together. As I watch you, your lips move to make a tune, a whistle, a calling to the earth, to the water that nourishes, to the blood in my veins. Your smile breaks as the tune is done. Summer is coming, the woodland senses it, hairs leap in gladness. Our hands find each other, entwine like the knot work of brooches, strands fusing as one to bind us together on this Beltane night.
SPEAKER_00If this place has become familiar, you can follow the podcast so the next story finds you. And if you have thoughts, reflections, or ideas, speak up. If you'd like to request a favorite story, poem, or theme, I am all ears. Perhaps you too have crafted a wondrous work you wish to be shared by the fire. You'll find a way to share it in the episode notes. Until we meet again, keep the fire close.