A Woman (For Antelope)

A woman stands
naked on the shivering hillock,
drumbeat heart pounds
at gates of wounded pearl.

A woman walks,
sturdy legs ticking
metronome rhythms
upon the drumhead earth.

A woman dances,
whirling and dipping,
ancient worshipping movements,
new again.

A woman sings,
voice soars to the edges above,
vibration pressing inward
the morningstar.

A woman drumming,
drumming, drumming a promise
for the future
of the ready patient Earth.

A woman ready,
full heart pulsing release now;
not yesterday,
and not tomorrow.

A woman waits,
relentless as tide,
moon tugging at limits,
beyond, and beyond.

A woman willing,
sunlight slanting through bulked thunderheads,
calm in the heart of
her hurricane.

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A Fool's Game

a stream of
unconnected particles
glancing past the stones
glancing across the eyes that see
the eyes that view life
through shaded glass

We exist in this place
in this presence
in this moment
and nowhere else
No past, future is

only now, only here
only glancing images
pictures flashing
lit from within
one after the other
scenes on a crowded stage
spotlights flickering
here and there
Follow the action
if you can

There will be no story told
to connect the last to the next
only pearls on a string
shining beads, a trail to follow
glowing footprints
from here to there.

The only rule is
if you see a path, follow it.
When it fades and you are lost,
seek another and follow that
Don't try to recreate
a past path
This ground shifts
There is no gravity
There is no place

This is a Fool's game
only a Fool can follow
the carrot off the cliff
without knowing
that gravity exists
to pluck her from the air
and dash her on the rocks

Only a Fool without ideas
without images
without knowledge
can survive.

Take nothing with you
Pack no bags
carry no load
Dance naked into the twilight
into the vision
into the new world
and join your hands and hearts

with the demented
the monsters
the creatures on the other side
who have watched you with love
who have watched with hope
and seen this day coming
--to them,
it has already arrived

They know
because they live in this moment
as you do not
This moment that is eternity,
this moment that can never pass

There has never
been a past
there will never
come a future

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Women

 we are witches and warriors,
aphrodite
we sing out our heart song,
soft and mighty
we are giggling girls
who grieve our mothers
we gather to twine
our steps with others
we meet and we greet,
we sow and we grow
then grind we to mix
and bake into dough
come daughters, come sisters,
come mothers and more
grandmothers, aunties,
all darken the door
for women have power
more precious than gold
as tender as babies,
and as sweet to hold

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Mis-Creation

The pundit's gaze, a lightfilled haze
shrinks me 'til a mote am I
to float with others, less than flies
in consequence to That Which Rules

O, think we fools? O, think we lost?
Dismiss our pain, and pay the cost,
ye pompous Kings and gilded Popes
for darkness hides the growth of hopes
that topple stone
and crowned throne

At last, at last, our time is come
the die is cast, the beating drum
announcing that which prophets hid from.

No one said this time would be
no Seer willing was to see
when God Himself a blindfold wore,
afraid to know the final score
of what He pleased to call a war.

The Armageddon prophesied is falling flat
A dormant seed did fall
unmarked by those on High,
of lofty gaze and eagle eye

The humble stone did fall, alone
to land on barren rocky paths
Was spurned by pilgrims as they passed
enroute to distant Holy Lands
of pyramids and burning sands

The seed, at last, begins to root
and sending out its tendrilled shoots,
does grow

and, oh! Be wary, child of Earth
you know not that which seekest birth
Take care, o daughter of the land
lest, careless, thou tread flat the hand
unfurling infantlike in fronds

Sunder not the fragile bonds
of life which seekest after life
The planet's newest form is nigh,
invisible to mortal eye
for 'mortal' means, "The ones who die"

Let those who seek and care to see
be those who live and dare to breathe
for hope despairing bears the seed
If hope should die, then death shall feed
upon the green and growing thing

which, nameless, causes birds to sing
a different note, to strike a chord
to resonate the primal Word
and, spoken once, in whispered trance,
forever break the Cosmic Dance

- and God shall wake, and know His fate
- that He has need of His lost mate -

His anguished grief and mourning cry
will wake the earth and shake the sky
‘til She who once was lost is found
and Mother Goddess underground
will rise

and oh! the Earth shall quake!
as Goddess stands, Her place to take
and oh! the Heavens too shall writhe
as exiled Angels find themselves
unbidden, unexpectedly, alive

And how will this affect the Light -
when sundered cosmic Lovers reunite?

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Explorations at the Edge

A looping thought-spiral seduces me.
I follow its flickering logic
til seeing me lost, it winks out.

I am alone in darkness,
untracked by patterned grooves
of programmed thinking.

There is nothing to lead me
back to Center, back to
safely-mapped, well-lit
familiar nooks and habit-crannies.

Yet here, too, is me: if unexplored,
all the more intriguing.
Intent is all, intent to heal,
to map, to bring light to depths
filled with echoes of screaming.

A door creaks open under its own power.
Eyes blink glowing green.
Hulking shadows rattle chains in
distant tunnels. The sound of
drip, drip, dripping viscous fluid
- not water -

here are secrets hid,
and from here have I fled,
in fear of feeling.

I notice: the shadows,
the monstrous deformed ugliness,
the flapping batwinged horror,
the child, crying incessantly
- the Child, crying incessantly -

the crazies locked behind thick padded walls
to muffle their maniacal shrieks
to silence their unsettling, revealing madness
the lunatic raving that causes me
to question the underpinnings of Truth

Intention crystallizes:
I open the door, I flick on the lights,
I sweep the Child into my arms,
I shelter her, naked and scabrous,
and I weep

and the walls weep with me
and the wind howls through from
nowhere known

raging, shrieking,
sweeping clean thick-dusted corners,
tossing small black batwings ass-over-teakettle,

forcing Crazies and Mutants alike
to grab frantic for support
lest they be hurled off and away from me
their source and sustenance.

The brief squall passes
atmospheric pressure equalizes and
we eye each other, sizing up
Mutants, Crazies, Child and Consciousness,

shedding light on that which wishes
to remain in darkness no longer.
With the light comes understanding
of the One-in-All, and

God's reflection, everywhere.

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