A Poem for May Day

close up photo of purple lilac flowers

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com

Here is a poem for May Day/the festival of Beltane.  May the spring be upon us!

Perfect Time of Lilacs

in this perfect time of lilacs,
with the sun over the rooftops
shining on the dew & the tulips,
& spring mud squishing underfoot,
I hear birds & bullfrogs calling,
calling me to explore
in this perfect time of lilacs.

 calling, calling all boats to lift anchor,
to float on high tides
& give their trust to the river.
born in the world of shadows, incubating
lies a serpent’s egg, a coyote’s whisker –
hidden in the shade of willow-leaves on water,
floating with the tadpoles down the endless river,
& calling, calling all boats to lift anchor.

 the crescent moon’s cradle slung on the horizon
full of the mayflies of twilight
& the questions of evening,
thickets & shadows pull me in,
& I turn from their world, in spite of my knowing
that shadows are where the key might be hidden,
the crescent moon’s cradle slung on the horizon.

 which fears hold me back, which fears should I conquer?
I float at the edge, where I know & I don’t know,
& like a rock-face blocking the river, fear rises
& the question becomes how far do I venture,
where is the turning & is there a ladder,
questions come spinning, tumbling out of all motion,
they become their own motion, fighting the river –
which fears hold me back, which fears should I conquer?

 in this perfect time of lilacs,
calling, calling all boats to lift anchor,
the crescent moon’s cradle slung on the horizon –
which fears hold me back, which fears should I conquer
in this perfect time of lilacs?

© Helen Iacovino



Poems From the Tarot


Poems From the TarotI have uploaded my collection of poems inspired by the Major Arcana of the Tarot deck, which is teamed with Tarot paintings by Mary Bennett.  This collection was published online by North Wind Press.

An Autumn Tarot Poem


Before any serious snow arrives, here is another of my Tarot poems, something of an autumn poem, focusing on one of the cards that speaks to me the most, the introspective Hermit, Card #9 of the Major Arcana.



                                   by Helen Iacovino

swirling, the first snow reclaims land from cottagers
who watch the jagged “V” of migrating geese
as they follow their leader, instinctively wise.
the ground is damp & cold, the wind & stinging leaves
lash the lake.  bears prowl the high night meadows.
nothing is ours anymore: the waves are teeth of steel.

& on forbidding autumn nights
through swampy rushes, the hermit shines his way:
his hood peaks snugly on his head,
his lantern wavers in his hand,
an old old man he is, fearless of the elements.

the lantern, like a smooth & perfect stone
radiating spikes of light
is multiplied by darkness manifold:
across miles of marsh it flickers, strong.

& on such haunted autumn nights
when the fire jolts & sparks
& settling logs startle us from armchair sleep,
we may dare to steal a glance outside

& sometimes glimpse that moving cloak
gliding towards the forest’s dark,
& with a brief but mighty shudder may descry
the cloak as the tiger’s lightest stripe,
the lantern gleaming like the tiger’s eye

while to other windows the hermit’s steps remain
subliminal: rustling wind or unseen animal.


Published in Puerto Del Sol and also by North Wind Press


A Poem From My Full Moon Series


Over the past several months I have written some poems that form part of a full moon series, and I would like to share one with you.  This series has taken me in some new and exciting directions.  I read this poem around the campfire at Unicamp on Labour Day weekend.


Where You Haunt

(Written during the Harvest Moon)

 By Helen Iacovino

long ago you decided
it had to be worth the journey,
long ago having chosen
what lights to carry with you & where
& what would be the places you would haunt.

you knew where your footsteps should take you,
& you knew what powers to call to you,
& you knew what beings to consider your friends.

now all long the constellations
with a moon by turns hidden & revealed
in a sky of amiable passing clouds,
the world tonight is as it always was –
some creatures living, others dead,
among new trees & old,
among waxing & waning blossoms
as the world approaches
the season of the crone.

now you walk to receive the gifts of this world,
& you live in broad strokes, ever going
forward through forest & shadow
with unknown companions
but on chosen & familiar roads.

by moonlight or lamplight,
it really doesn’t matter,
in darkness the world becomes more real
& shadows define themselves
into their true meaning.

your job is to discern shadow,
to delve into what’s not said,
to ride a wind that’s not there
& to imagine worlds into being.
your job, determined long ago,
is etched into the places that you haunt,
mirrored in your footsteps, outlined
with your breath on the night wind.

you walk, & the gifts come upon you,
you turn towards the darkening sky
& welcome the autumn winds closing in,
welcome the chariots of night.

darkness reveals a certain depth,
& the quiet grows deeper
& looks towards the longest nights,
where you know what the questions are
& how to find the searchlights
& gather the animal helpers
& call to the unbidden wind.

journeys ever beginning, never ending,
never an answer, always going deeper,
but that is the world you chose for yourself,
long ago, as a way to grow old,
ever asking the questions,
never settling on unsettled ground,
nor settling on solid ground,
knowing solid does not exist in this world,

when long ago you decided
it had to be worth the journey.

© Helen Iacovino


Happy Canada Day 150+


Happy Canada Day 150+!  On the occasion of this anniversary, I would like to share my Canada Day poem.  I wrote it while driving back to Toronto from Unicamp one Canada Day, descending from the northern highlands towards the city.  There was evidence of celebrations in parks and towns along the way.  Coming into Caledon at the high points of the road, as well as driving across the north part of the city, there were clusters of fireworks all around in the distance, and the whole city, the whole countryside seemed to be celebrating.


(written on Canada Day)

By Helen Iacovino

the land spreads & holds us,
carries us to hilltops
& leads us coursing
in steep valleys with its streams.

a celebration of beginnings,
of little pieces of our lives
intersecting with each other,
of contentments in the sunshine
underneath one spreading sky.

a land blooming in summer’s height –
travellers, we cover
the easy distances, we come down
from the evening coolness of northern hills,
past porch flags, past field gatherings,
past the glue of back-door chatter,
towards the heat of the city
where sporadic bursts of fireworks
take their places across the sky.

we take our places
& embrace our true nature,
while these fireworks
show, protect & unfold in front of all,
& the face of the jewel that we all have become
now shines brighter
as sparks shower into darkened skies.

© Helen Iacovino



A Poem for the Lunar New Year


It’s now already almost 2 weeks into the Year of the Fire Rooster/Phoenix, and we’re almost into the Snow Moon/lunar eclipse/comet.  Still thinking about the new beginnings that any new moon, and perhaps especially the one of the Lunar New Year, heralds for us, and the new moon as a time of incubation and introspection as well. Here is a Lunar New Year poem that I wrote a few years ago.


by Helen Iacovino

from present & past lives,
from inner lives & second chances
the music drifts like snowfall
through a cat’s closed eyes & nine lives,
going into everything, going deep, exploring –
there’s something the cat sees or senses,
a crescendo building in the world –

now the time is ripe for waiting –
the new moon a sliver in the evening sky,
as from the west a new year approaches
carried on the moon’s back
where Coyote’s eyes shine through it –

there is something the cat
knows but will not tell us.

incubating, holding back,
the waiting boat
drifts on the river,
gathering its energies,
seeking the right currents,
for the sleeping cat at daybreak,
for Coyote’s signal to the world.

something stirs in the west, a river, a cloudbreak,
something settles, a door
closes while nobody sees it,
as the old leaves of last autumn
swirl in a final eddy
across the day’s fresh snow.

© Helen Iacovino

First published in Trust the Dawning Future, a poetry chapbook published by the Canadian Unitarian Council



Tarot Poems – #19 – The Sun


Here is the other companion piece – The Sun.


by Helen Iacovino

I    The Sun
In the midst of the shining light we dance
           In the midst of the dancing light we shine

The light shines
& we dance.

Its warm droplets sway
us with their power;
its music is like birdsong
to a goggle-eyed fish.

Like fish we look up
at the glimmering sun–
through the garden’s leafy ceiling,
through its murky surface water.

The rays that reach us are
nectar on our skin,
& our bodies drink.

The light shines
into the garden’s centre,
into the clear blue pool

around which we see a ring
of 13 dancing bears.

II      The Dancing Bears
“Where should this music be?
                     …sure it waits upon
                                  some god o’th’island.” The Tempest I ii

As young cubs, we
knew well the songs of birds
& of the winds that swayed the poplars
& sometimes our paws would tap
to their varying rhythms.

But now this alien lute, like an airy stream,
chimes through the trees
& tinkles over rocks,
purer than the chirp
of a thousand birds in chorus,

& like the piper’s children, we feel
our furry ears tingling.
Our paws reach out; we find ourselves
reared on 2 legs for the first time,
teetering, wobbling, but following
that magnetic sound, the lute in the trees

which throws its notes
like a fine net over the forest–

& free within that net we dance,
with music as our only master.



by Helen Iacovino

From its cave-cocoon the caterpillar
must be born into the land of sunflowers,
& feel the rays of a newer morning.

Pleased & pudgy, from the garden path
we watch the flowers
climbing up the high wall.
Their golden petals are turning.

Like elves we dance in the garden;
in our circle we make our circle,
hands joined, feet circular.
The dancers of mid-day awaken.

Biting a small hole in the cocoon,
the caterpillar crawls to the top of the wall.
The sun’s flat lands spread out beyond.

The sun warms the top of the wall;
the garden was shady & cool.
The radiant green grasses awaken.

In our ears echo
the songs of the bees outside,
the song of the serpent sunning.

Slowly our eyes lift up
to the soft glare beyond the wall
& feel the rays of a newer morning.

Feel the rays of a newer morning–
as golden petals are turning
the dancers of mid-day awaken.
The sun’s flat lands spread out beyond,
the radiant green grasses awaken
to the song of the serpent sunning–
feel the rays of a newer morning.