November 4, 2011
I am your Mother & your Father.
I am your Daughter & your Lover.
I am life, death & time eternal.
I am the cup & the sword.
I am the right and the left hand path.
You have no power but what comes from me.
September 19, 2011
The dying Son cast on amber leaves turns to Shadow.
A gentle breeze made of the thinnest air and rising veil runs through my fingers.
The fleeting twilight harkens him to the darkened cradle,
and the promise of Her uneasy lullaby to the haggard babe.
July 17, 2011
We have our own way of Drawing Down the Moon,
You and I.
With lips and fingertips,
evoking a savage tenderness.
An embrace becomes a lifetime.
And in it we dance,
we die,
and are reborn a thousand times.
April 6, 2011
You wrap your arms around me and hold the Earth still.
The soft musk of your skin,
The heavy thud in your ribs that recalls the beat of tribal drums,
The charred taste of burning embers coats my tongue,
Lingers….
I slip away with you,
Down into the earthen hollow,
The center of myself.
Warm tangled flesh presses deep into the dampened soil.
On hands and knees you bore me back into the light.
Lover. Shaman. Bear.
April 4, 2011
Crisp cool California morning
Dogs with twitchy whiskers unlock wild impulses, memories from long ago
Fire, hunger, pack talk, hunt
Smell of coffee breaks the trance
People partners, laughing children padding through the house
No rabbit or antelope today
Wet noses nudging
Bacon and eggs shared
Back to a big warm bed.
November 4, 2010
The Crone’s dark shadow creeps across the land.
Thrice she strikes the blunted staff of her sickle upon the earth and bids her daughter, “Rest and bear no more.”
The brittle wasted ground beneath her cracks.
The young mother yields, and taking the sickle from the Crone slays all that feeds un-weaned from her bosom.
Slouched and ailing she shepherds the fallen into the Crone’s black shadow,
and in that fertile darkness,
slumbers.
The Burrow Murmurs 