Spider's walk in circles, did you know?
They gather courage with energetic flows--
Rings of Time connected by intention and venum,
Getting ready for the kill of a distracted insect.
Or a careless ant caught in a trap of silk, clean and soft.
Spider's walk in circles, did you know? Dancing its web,
Grasping its prey for hours later to devour as nourishment:
Drops of rain, dripping, off strings of the web,
dripping with vibrations of nature, as spider female drinks
she being the honored Creatrix Grandmother Spider.
We native folks sit and drum, dancing around fire,calling in dreams of rain:
Dreams of love--flowing and growing together in corn tobacco, and ceremonial peace,
Walking the Medicine Wheel, in communion, expanding circles of time, we sing:
Earth mother Sky father: humming tones of resonance, basket of creation,
Weaving our futures into lives with willow branches, twine, and beads.
Pausing now to breathe and drink the peace of pure water drawn from the creek rapids,
Conversant with flow weaving time, cyclic nature, and the eternal question:
Will we be left living as out ancestors lived here before, in wigwams-growing corn for mesa?
Digging in seeds for food that will sustain us: praying all day?
Monday, January 20, 2020
Dedicated to Valley Fire, County of Lake, 2015
Alchemical Fire
A great chasm left by the purge of fire
Black char of wealth burnt crisp:
Crisp as a cold snow wind-digging into raw skin
Crisp as the sound as you take a bite from a newly spawned apple
drawing saliva to digest the harvest of a generational expanse,
splendid in its many forms birthed in divine flow,
blessed in community, and forged with love and respect.
Crisp as a new dawn morning, opening to a new generation giving
forth completion to the old traditions, transforming all life.
A harsh wind evokes the sound of fire snapping, besieged by the smell of burnt earth.
Deep into the stillness of the night, embers of sacred gold glow.
Alchemical Fire
A great chasm left by the purge of fire
Black char of wealth burnt crisp:
Crisp as a cold snow wind-digging into raw skin
Crisp as the sound as you take a bite from a newly spawned apple
drawing saliva to digest the harvest of a generational expanse,
splendid in its many forms birthed in divine flow,
blessed in community, and forged with love and respect.
Crisp as a new dawn morning, opening to a new generation giving
forth completion to the old traditions, transforming all life.
A harsh wind evokes the sound of fire snapping, besieged by the smell of burnt earth.
Deep into the stillness of the night, embers of sacred gold glow.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Rutabaga Buddha
He’s begging for food as I am
Eating my good rutabaga stew!
Blessed by Devas green,
Both nutty and sweet,
The taste is obscene.
Kale, deep green,
with black beans shining,
Chunks of cherry tomatoes left from summer simmering.
Thyme and onions-carefully dried wisdom knows,
The Stone Buddha from the garden altar glows.
Serenity and simple pleasures are mine-
Watching the rain wash our sins away,
wash our carbon memories away,
wash the pain and angst away.
A wind fills the emptiness,
Snow falls as sacred silence-
A silver tone sounds.
The Holiness Of Trees
The Holiness of Trees
She lifts her head to the sun
Opening her heart to a breeze-
Her arms shake in delight of wind
How many breathes in a lifetime has she
Before being Christened by fire?
Sacrificing her life protecting others,
That which choses to escape, surrendering
Vulnerability and strength, holding fire at bay.
We blame her as a disease, for what seems like Mother’s rage—
Where would we be without the nourishment of trees?
We breathe their breath as they transform our air;
With trees, grace is our hope and our destiny.
Dancing, burning brightly before us
She carries our shame-
O Holy Shaman, Asherah.
Burning of a deep smoky penetration into the forest,
Capturing death, repulsing living breathing organisms.
Escaping terror, finding Red Cross compassion and care,
In our modern drama of trauma- shocked yet grateful-
We cling to each other in tender desperation.
Breathing the air that still pervades, under the smoke-
Under our best neighbor- a tree, shelter for our soul.
Finding peace in the resonance that gives us water,
Memories and tears make the clay of tomorrows art;
Our hearts are full in gratitude, bitter with remorse.
When it becomes time to take up our maker’s tools
We find that our best support comes from trees,
Rebuilding our dwelling for rest and life;
Rebuilding our dwelling for rest and life;
What do we turn to besides the clay that creates our building blocks, adobe?
But those who wield the tools that they use to build the wooden reframing,
Continuing our lives with trees, we rebuild our hopes for a more stable existence;
The panels of patience, within a sanctuary of tables and chairs, gladly
Preparing repast in which to celebrate living, the ultimate fruits are the
Beauty of the earth, and our Mother who provides trees for sustenance;
Crowning the sanctuary of our dreams-every night we find rest in our spaciousness.
Wandering in our graciousness, happiness comes as a way to know
Each other as friends, our time to grow strong in love again.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Peace in the Community Garden
The garden is my sanctuary;
Delicate interplay of plants, both colorful and lovely;
Summer heat brings succulent squash,
My strength is restored to face a world of uncertainty.
As water bearer I feel nurtured with kindness,
Lavished with beauty, I see-
Evolving forms of form, color, texture, and taste-
Vegetables of various genus, offering food and seed.
The green unfurling leaves of tomato plants,
Hanging red pendants, ripe and overflowing;
Sentinel yellow Sunflowers watching over-
Tender purple kale, rainbow chard ever-growing.
Companion plants of basil and cucumbers,
Deep red beets harmonizing w/kale ;
Aroma of savory sage fills my breath,
Harlequin beetles dance, calendula regails.
Totem hollyhock flowering deep red and pink
Death in life reveals itself- reseeding;
Gentle breeze as a pair of golden finches visit,
Begs for a radish sprout, just greening.
Okra pops its head up as if to say, ‘all is well.'
Interdependent community laughs and grows,
Holy basil spreads wisdom over the garden,
Gentle peace pervades as creeping thyme knows.
Middletown Community garden, 2018
Middletown Community garden, 2018
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Ode to a Lettuce Deva
(written for Harbin newsletter, 2002)
Rays of sunlight glimmer,
Yellow, the corn leaves shimmer;
I quiver in delight,
A faery is calling my sight!
Reaping the fruits of devic toil,
Spilling calendula oil,
You grasp the tomato ripeness,
Its' skin bursting ruby kindness.
I spy her secret regis-
A devic spirit disguised as lettuce,
Reaching for for its last brood,
Begging to be loved and understood;
Head crowned in purple bells,
Impish energy deep in dells,
Spindly arms seven spiraling.
I sighed, "I am" she cried!
(written for Harbin newsletter, 2002)
Rays of sunlight glimmer,
Yellow, the corn leaves shimmer;
I quiver in delight,
A faery is calling my sight!
Reaping the fruits of devic toil,
Spilling calendula oil,
You grasp the tomato ripeness,
Its' skin bursting ruby kindness.
I spy her secret regis-
A devic spirit disguised as lettuce,
Reaching for for its last brood,
Begging to be loved and understood;
Head crowned in purple bells,
Impish energy deep in dells,
Spindly arms seven spiraling.
I sighed, "I am" she cried!
Friday, February 15, 2019
Her Web
To the Sidhe (pronounced 'She' in Gaelic)
"God and Bridget blessed the race that Blessed
the name of Woman." …..Seiman Macmanus.
I say:
As an artist paints,
So am I a Wic'can,
Ancestry (Celtic) a'beckoning-
Through aeons of timeless
Fractaling space: crying
The Four winds of Eirinn.
The trees are companions,
Solitude my guide:
Shrubbery my paint brush,
The sun the very paint I apply,
Spiderwebs are my canvas,
Wind my inner sensibilit(i)y.
Elo Devi Heart (2012)
To the Sidhe (pronounced 'She' in Gaelic)
"God and Bridget blessed the race that Blessed
the name of Woman." …..Seiman Macmanus.
I say:
As an artist paints,
So am I a Wic'can,
Ancestry (Celtic) a'beckoning-
Through aeons of timeless
Fractaling space: crying
The Four winds of Eirinn.
The trees are companions,
Solitude my guide:
Shrubbery my paint brush,
The sun the very paint I apply,
Spiderwebs are my canvas,
Wind my inner sensibilit(i)y.
Elo Devi Heart (2012)
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