star sister

she writes back

mirroring the sun and the stars

words that carry the intimacy of insight

sharing a vision

brightened by the heart of all time and space

as a balm 

they are received

as a forever touch

such a companion as she

i would wish for you.

reading this map that we are

here, to the point

through multiple lenses

the seer sees

the star council 

she translates

the silver lining

Her mind dropped to the floor
Like an old pair of too tight jeans.

Her mouth quiet
Her body opened
Cellular memory uncapped her skull.
The sky streamed in
On ancient meridian highways
and she drank her own deep.

Stars made love to the Virgin
Full moon
Bright celebrants
Darkness and light.

All through the body of one night
She was danced
Moved from deep within
Every cell
Head to toe
In love, in response.
Her lunar body rotated around the sun of her heart.

There is stardust in her silver hair for a reason
And it is not a sign of old age.

Who she always and already is
Gets bigger with every true and naked meeting.

persephone called to me

Persephone called to me

I’m going down
Voluntarily

Not into the basement
But under the basement
Deeper than the ground
All the way to the origin of source.

There I will be able to hear my own voice,
There I will remember,
bodily,
The silence of my existence.

I searched for a common shared language
And found none other than the silence of the heart

Springtime has not yet sprung
I’m going under the snow
To gather the origin of all beginning in my arms
and bring it back to the surface.

Why not?
This is why the spirit of imagination has been given to us.
I know this terrain well.

Persephone called me to visit her
To feel in my own belly
In the center of the earth,
The origin of spring’s energy.

She said it is so cool
That I will want to experience it
Again and again!

Yes, quickly, I am going under into the dark.
I’ll return again with the crocus and tulips.

incantations

the sounds of color
the taste of shapes
fitting, touching,
leaving space
to reverberate
the incanted rose, peach, red orange.

hunger teacher
joy opener
i'm in heaven
ticking God's accounts
at Safeway.
pleasure seekers find what they seek
everywhere
everyday.

only open to that first morning breath
and it begins again…

courageous mother
cauldron keeper
eternal weaver
riding the night into the moon
endless pearls falling from the broken mala,
past devotions become present wonder,
pulsing
strong.




prompted by a poem honoring anne sexton by erica jong and the rest of my life.

home fires

not one of a kind
woman is all of one kind
hearts blazing in truth
lighting fires in every home
the daughters pick up on the heat
the sons stand in awe, eyes down
but hearts beating whispering
yes!
stand up speak up
you are right
in defense of life
no boychild would follow a father's footsteps
where feet had not been scorched by the lie
thousands upon thousands upon thousands
women walk forward as one whole
whispering imagination to the leaves
the daughters learning the language by listening
by loving
the trees respond
this song of women together
women together
that is the fruit, the harvest.

how to stop the trafficking
the greed
the wars?

keep singing
connect the threads
the web of light grows stronger
men who were boys know the song
they begin to hear its whisper
at work
in the factory
in the machine
it keeps them up at night
whispering to their imaginations
that they are trees, too.

soon they step out under the moon
alone and safe
knowing what is right
they give themselves permission
to recreate the world into a safe home for all.


#WritingRaw
prompted by Passion (1980)
and by Directed by Desire. The Collected Poems of June Jordan.

a poem

stay low 

connected in the clay

trust the dark cave of your beginning.

stay close to the earth

breathe deep and easy

release the concern for right and wrong.

to be a poem requires no explanation

you've got a taste for it

keep it on your tongue

roll it around in your mouth

and enjoy it.


knowing the taste of your origin,

be the mystery body and the earthen bowl.

bleed hot like a volcano

ripple gently like the stream

roll strong like the ocean

dew laden, the morning grass kisses your feet.







#WritingRaw
Prompted by N. Waheed's poem visceral

take care

the form of woman


the form of a flower


the form of a prayer

hold this life tenderly


see its beauty through your fingers


breathe its fragrance through your thighs

care for and protect Her.

the woman I am

from a deeper quiet pool
having retrieved the golden ball more than once,
my mind babble
has babbled itself away.

I feel like the woman I am
laced with girl threads
that indeed,
make me the woman I am.

moon sense

moon sense

I can see the women
connected beyond a doubt
in love
nothing missing
fullness
more than enough
for the daughters
for the sons
for the men
what would it take to see it again
now, here
in this place?

women have to have their own place
to remember
to release
to receive
to remember
to receive.

women's depth is lit by the moon
her day lit by the sun.
in the depth she finds the wholeness
to bring forth
what women would do
if they never doubted where the moon lay
before receiving and reflecting the light of the sun.

inspired by Julie M Daley's guiding moon speak
and the full moon in taurus kissed by venus
november 7 2014

retreat

the women retreat so deep within themselves
that their gaze itself is the path you wish to follow,
back to your true self, as man.

through woman again you will arrive in the world anew.
woman's gaze from within her center
is a golden pathway to what is real and true -
beyond the news of the world's play and warfare and latest sale.

take this path, woman, let the papers bleach on the doorstep.
find your way home so they can find theirs.

oh, who could have guessed what your gaze promised,
who could have guessed?














thanks to Sally Croft for the inspiring prompt of 'newspapers bleaching on the doorstep.'

tender superpower

watch out world
one more heart
knows how to love

her spirit lives
in the innocence
of the heart
and in the certainty
that knows how to protect it.

this is the nature of the mature feminine.

gratitude to Awakening Women Institute for the mirror.

woman's work

A quiet lives in the ordinary. 
A woman's work very often lives out of the ordinary. 
I have been nervous about this woman's silence that is calling me back home.

My mom made this quilt for me. I suggested the dark border for the colors of the triangles and she liked this idea. She was in fact, thrilled to use the dark border.

Yeah, so symbolic.
The flying geese are the forward flying solid triangle.
Turned upside down they become the ancient womb symbol of Woman.

Many of my mom's quilts are carefully stored in boxes. This one was my favorite and was used and washed many times. Some of the triangles were made of fabric that was very old, and in the washing and wearing have worn through. 

I am in the process of appliqueing new triangles onto the quilt. 
And this brings me into the silence of women's hand work.


I often call my mom on the phone while I patch one of the triangles.
As her voice strengthens so does mine,
As I sit in a deeper silence with her, I can hear and receive the love I nearly missed.
I have the chance to call in some ancestors, too.

I am so grateful for the gifts of this well loved quilt.







Flying Geese quilted by Jane Heile