Poemscopes for the Month of June

Poemscopes are brief poem horoscopes inspired by divination. Using my Sweet/Nothing Oracle Deck, I wrote these in first-person from the perspective of each sign to feel more personal (like affirmations) with prompts for creation or contemplation.

These poem horoscopes are here for inspiration, reflection and intention. Let them sit with your heart. Take what you need and leave the rest. I recommend reading your sun, ascendant and moon signs if you know them. 


This Month's Words

Scroll to read your full Poemscope. 

Collective: 28. collapse

Aries: 33. prayer

Taurus: 16. heartbeats

Gemini: 17. veil

Cancer: 1. earth

Leo: 6. see

Virgo: 33. slumber

Libra: 29: rise

Scorpio: 2. refuge

Sagittarius: 19. moon

Capricorn: 25. skin

Aquarius: 1. air

Pisces: 30. hope


 Sweet/Nothing Oracle card for the Collective: 28. collapse

Sweet/Nothing Oracle card for the Collective: 28. collapse

Collective: 28. collapse

Brace yourself. This doesn’t get easier. This moment won’t suddenly clear like a veil of fog returning to the air.

What we experienced as impact-- as jolt, as a shock to the system-- turned out to be the great collapse. The sun showed us. The moon showed us. The skies opened and the earth shook, but we didn’t see it for what it was.

This is where the fall brought us.

The crashing of what we knew, the rubble left bare on the ground. We examined it, for a time. We tried to turn the wreckage into something new, only to unearth new layers of what was broken beneath the surface. The foundation had been rotting for ages, yet we waited for it to give way.  

We all should’ve bowed our heads in prayer over the rubble. Should’ve listened to our heartbeats. Should’ve sat in awe of the earth and asked for her forgiveness. Asked her for strength. Asked her for hope. Asked her to help heal the vile things that we let seep into our veins.

But some of us have taken refuge in fear. Some of us are feasting on despair. Some of us have remained silent. Some of us thought we could sleep through it-- that our slumber would hold up as an excuse. Some have used our own hands to aid the atrocities. They think they will escape the wrath of time.

Some of us forget that time is a cold bitch. And-- whether she translates it through words or through blood-- she remembers everything.


 Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Aries, Taurus, and Gemini: 33. prayer, 16. heartbeats, 17. veil. 

Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Aries, Taurus, and Gemini: 33. prayer, 16. heartbeats, 17. veil. 

Aries: 33. prayer

I’m choosing a new way to pray.

For too long, zealots have defined what it means to speak to mystery. No more. I shift my focus from the decisions I must make to how I make them. I ask for counsel with whatever voice I can muster. I trust I’ll hear the answer when it arrives.

I drop seeds into the ground as if counting the rosary. Blessed art thou.

I seek communion with the birds. I enter temple when I sing in the car. I call out for salvation tangled in sheets. Glory be.

I perform my ablutions in the rain. I bake my wishes into cookies. I scrawl my desires into the sand. Hail, Holy Queen.

Prompt: How do I pray?

 

Taurus: 16. heartbeats

I closed my eyes.

I planted myself against the ground and brought my attention to my chest. I noticed the slow metronome of my breath and the steady beat of my heart. I imagined my heart as a fist, knocking on a table. Lungs and heart feeding each other. Feeding every other part. Keeping their own time. Keeping time with something I can’t seem to hear. My own cosmic soundtrack.

My eyes are still closed, but I feel a flood of light enter like rays into my skull. Light pouring into my eyes. Traveling through my neck to my chest, feeding into the ground where I am anchored. And I still feel my heartbeats.

Prompt: What are my heartbeats telling me?

 

Gemini: 17. veil

Some might think I wear my second self as a veil. That one half of me lies hidden behind the other. That one deserves darkness.

But it is my plurality that makes me strong. I am more than two halves or a dichotomy of pieces. I am many parts pulled into one. I am one part pulled into many. Petals surrounding a stamen. Branches growing from a tree. Each piece is me. I am the whole. I mirror love. I see myself there. I am its reflection.

I am not without pain. I am not unwounded. But my love is bigger than my brokenness.

So when I wear a veil it cannot be to hide. No. When I wear a veil, it can only be to adorn. To honor. I wear a veil so it may be lifted. My veil yields revelation.

Prompt: What truth am I revealing?


 Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Cancer, Leo, and Virgo: 1. earth, 6. see, 33. slumber

Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Cancer, Leo, and Virgo: 1. earth, 6. see, 33. slumber

Cancer: 1. earth

The earth is alive.

I see the evidence all around me: A cacophony of breath and blood in each leaf, flower, and blade of grass. I marvel at the intricacy of each connection. Reach for any understanding of how this all fits together. How it’s all here. How it’s possible I’m here with it. The earth is alive and I am on it.

The earth. Is alive. And I? Am on it.

I forgot my place. Forgot that the clouds are so much larger than anything I’ve broken. Forgot that the ground is deeper than any hurt I’ve held onto. Forgot that the flowers I tucked into a vase are my dreams come alive.

Prompt: What is the earth teaching me right now?

 

Leo: 6. see

I’m asking to be seen.

Seen as the me I am when no one is looking. Witnessed so I am bare. As naked to the sun as I am to the moon. My expression sets me free.

I’m releasing my relationship to struggle. All those stories I tell myself when things haven’t gone my way. The stories that steal my light even when they have. The narration that booms into my mind whenever I face my ego. I set them all free.

The voice won’t suddenly turn into a whisper, but it knows it no longer has a home here. From here on out, my body is a conduit for magic.

Prompt: What new stories can help me embrace who I really am?

 

Virgo: 33. slumber

These are the sweet moments before dawn.

Darkness hangs heavy in the sky, but she isn’t without humor. Pinpricks of light tickle their way in through the stars. A gleaming melody. Sweet lullabies to aid my slumber.

Just as the sun pulls the blanket of night from the horizon, I, too must get ready to rise. But not yet. These last, precious moments of sleep are medicine. I allow them to teach me patience. I treat them as sacred. I permit the power of their wisdom to inform my day.

Prompt: What am I being asked to learn from my subconscious?

 


 Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Libra, Scorpio, and Sagittarius: 29. rise, 2. refuge, 19. moon

Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Libra, Scorpio, and Sagittarius: 29. rise, 2. refuge, 19. moon

Libra: 29: rise

I’m still here.

This is air in my lungs.

This is blood in my veins.

There’s a gurgle in my stomach.

I’m pretty sure I locked the door.

… What was that thing I was supposed to do?

How quickly I forgot the absolute marvel of my survival. It’s the most mundane thing, isn’t it? It’s easy to forget because, hey, we’re still here.

How ordinary.

Yet things feel different now. Somehow I know I must rise above what has been expected of me before. Now I must ask bigger questions. Now I must require better answers. Now I must hold myself accountable in ways I haven’t before.

Our collective success depends on me sharing myself and asking others to do the same. We’re still here, after all.

Prompt: How am I sharing myself with my community?

 

Scorpio: 2. refuge

Oh, holy refuge.

Cool shadow. Zephyr wind. How I long to hide.

It is a long journey and I feel weary. There’s no map from here to there. But I keep moving. Reaching for an answer like stumbling through a dark room.

How do we rebuild when cannot see the ground? How do we rebuild when we disagree on the color of the sky? How do we rebuild if we’ve lost our hope?

I’m rewriting my definition of safety. I’m reimagining what it means to offer a soft landing to others. I’m crumpling my beliefs around old systems. I refuse to bury those we’ve always buried along the way.

Prompt: What is safety? Who gets to be safe?

 

Sagittarius: 19. moon

Well. This is different.

I’m standing at the threshold to a clearing. An open field expands before me, but in the darkness of night I can only see what the moon illuminates. Blades of grass. Distant trees. A glint of light reflecting off marshy puddles. The choreography of the wind.

I’m standing at the threshold. But for all the moonkissed hints of the landscape, I can’t seem to see my path forward.

I close my eyes.

I hear an owl in the distance.

I feel the dew on the air.

The knowing settles into my skin.

Now I can make my move.

Prompt: What is my intuition telling me?


 Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces: 25. skin, 1. air, 30. hope.

Sweet/Nothing Oracle cards for Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces: 25. skin, 1. air, 30. hope.

Capricorn: 25. skin

I’m ready to wear my triumphs and tragedies on my skin.

Pigment, mud, ink. The medium isn’t important. It doesn’t matter if it washes off. I don’t care if others can see or understand. I see now that my body is an altar. I set my wishes and gratitude upon it.

I lovingly mark my skin in sacred recognition of what it continues to live through. I lovingly mark my skin in appreciation of all it protects me from. I lovingly mark my skin to honor all it helps me reveal.

Prompt: How can I commemorate what I survive?

 

Aquarius: 1. air

I would define truth with the strands of my hair, the breath of my lungs, the ground beneath me. I would define truth with every curve of my body, every wrinkle and scar, every precious blemish.

I would define truth with that which builds me up, that which lifts others, that which I can no longer hide. I would shake loose the feathers that covered me and toss them into the air in jubilation.

My truth. Bare chest, naked limbs unfurling. A riot of color when I refuse to cloak it. A call in the dark when I speak it clearly. When turn my truth to action, no step is too small.

Prompt: What truths are sacred to me?

 

Pisces: 30. hope

Sometimes I forget that my hope is stronger than my worries.

Worry wins when I start to feel empty. Worry wins when I start to feel ignored. Worry wins when I can’t see my next step. Worry wins when I forget to speak.

But hope is an action.

Instead of being drained, I let hope fill me with deeper reserves. Instead of withering in obscurity, I let hope help me be seen. Instead of floundering in uncertainty, I let hope cut through to intuition. Instead of sitting in silence, I let hope give words to what I wish for.

Prompt: Where can I replace worry with hope?