Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

We Have Come to Be Danced


We have come to be danced
Not the pretty dance
Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
But the claw our way back into the belly
Of the sacred, sensual animal dance
The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
The holding the precious moment in the palms
of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance
But the wring the sadness from our skin dance
The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.
The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the monkey see, monkey do dance
One two dance like you
One two three, dance like me dance
But the grave robber, tomb stalker
Tearing scabs and scars open dance
The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle
But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama shaman shaking ancient bones dance
The strip us from our casings, return our wings
sharpen our claws and tongues dance
The shed dead cells and slip into the luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance but the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath and beat dance

The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
The mother may I? Yes you may take ten giant leaps dance
The olly olly oxen free free free dance
The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced
Where the kingdoms collide
In the cathedral of flesh
To burn back into the light
To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
To root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced!
We have come.

~ by Jewel Mathieson
from her book This Dance: A Poultice
jewelmathieson.blogspot.com

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Prayer to Shakti

Oh, Shakti!
Mother of the multiverse
Cosmic intelligence that permeates all things
Void without limit
Point without place
Moment without time
Circumference of all things
Pure Being, Consciousness, Bliss
Divine Dynamic Life force
One Goddess -- Eternal
Who dances in our spirits
and illuminates all things
Be here with us now.
Awaken as the Kundalini serpent within our bodies
Connecting us forever and again with your eternal radiance

Written for the Women's Goddess Retreat 2012

Friday, August 17, 2012

The Invitation

The Invitation 
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher and Author

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.

If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

----------------------------------------------
© 1995 by Oriah House, From "Dreams Of Desire"
Published by Mountain Dreaming, 300 Coxwell Avenue, Box 22546, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4L 2A0
http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Sisters Chant


We are sisters on a journey, singing now as one
Shining through the darkest night.
The healing has begun, begun,
The healing has begun.

We are sisters on a journey, shining now as one.
Remembering the ancient one,
The women and the wisdom, wisdom.
The women and the wisdom.

We are sisters on a journey, watching life unfold
Sharing warmth of heart and hands.
The knowledge of the old, the old
The knowledge of the old.

We are sisters on a journey, standing at the door.
Remembering what passed long ago.
Let's turn the key once more, once more.
Let's turn the key once more.

~ Susun S Weed

Ramprasad: The Total Madness of Her Love


The Total Madness of Her Love

Mother dwells at the center of my being,
forever delightfully at play.
Whatever conditions of consciousness may arise,
I hear through them the music of her life-giving names,

Om Tara, Om Kali.

Closing my eyes, I perceive the radiant Black Mother
as indivisible, naked awareness,
dancing fiercely or gently on my heart lotus.
She wears a garland of snow-white skulls,
bright emblem of freedom from birth and death.
Gazing upon her resplendent nakedness,
all concepts and conventions vanish.

Those who judge by mundane standards call me mad.
Timid and limited persons can think what they wish.
My only longing is to express
the total madness of her love.

This poet child of the Wisdom Goddess
cries out with abandon:
"The Queen of the Universe
resides within the flower of my secret heart.
Mother! Mother! Mother!
I seek refuge at your beautiful feet,
delicate and fragrant as the dark blue lotus.
As my body dissolves into earth
and my mind into space,
may I dissolve into you."

~ Ramprasad Sen, Translated By Lex Hixon, Mother of the Universe

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Charm of the Spiral Castle

In a silver castle
far beyond the sea
grows a golden apple
on a silver tree.

On the Isle of Apples
through the pearly mist
stands a spiral tor-mound
on which the castle sits.

Waters flow upon the isle,
pools of life-in-death.
A sacred river circles it
the ancient stream of Lethe.

The castle spins between the worlds
to touch the vault of heaven.
Stars dance around its towers four
two Bears, one Crown, the Sisters Seven.

Upon the highest tower
with linen at her feet
spins the castle's Lady
in her uneasy seat.

Down below the castle
iron touches fire,
where Cain pounds at the anvil
all that we desire.

The Mighty Dead reside within --
Ancient, wise, and brave --
for those who walk the Crooked Path --
seek Rose Beyond the Grave.

Seek the turning castle
by right of Scarlet Thread.
It won't be found with mortal eyes
but ones hallowed by the dead.
~Natalie Black, Imbolc 2012

Cross-posted from my other blog.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Anacreon Fragment

The love god with his golden curls
puts a bright ball in my hand,
shows a girl in her fancy shoes,
and suggests that I take her.

Not that girl -- she's the other kind,
one from Lesbos. Disdainfully,
nose turned up at my silver hair,
she makes eyes at the ladies.

-translated by Richmond Lattimore
Anacreon was a mid-sixth century Greek poet from the island of Teos. He is noted for writing almost exclusively about the pleasures of life, love, wine, and banquets.

I am flummoxed that even when faced with poetry fragments like the one above some people continue to doubt that lesbianism was known and practiced among the ancient Greeks. Even if you choose to read Sappho's heady verses inspired by young women as romantic friendship rather than frankly sexually charge poetry, you cannot deny that Anacreon understood lesbianism and even associated it with the isle of Lesbos.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Glaukopis

The poets call me the gray-eyed Goddess.
Flashing-eyed.
Sliver as the glint from a spear point.
Wild with battle fury.
But my sight is sharper than a weapon.

The scholars claim I came from a storm.
Mosture laden.
Eerie dark grey-green as the most dangerous clouds.
Bright as Zeus's lightning.
But my wisdom is more penetrating than rain.

The priests say I stare like an owl.
Unflinching.
Glassy blue pupils with no whites.
Able to see even in the faintest light.
But my eyes are older than the darkness.

Turn not away from my gaze, mortal.
I see all.
Rather, look me in the eyes and know the mystery.
Drink of my ancient pools of wisdom.
Know you the color of my eyes.

Written for Noumenia, Mounukhion 1.

Glaukopis is the epithet of Athena that I usually honor in my everyday worship. It has many translations: silver, blue-green, and gray-eyed, shining, flashing, and glinting-eyed, and, the oldest, and one of particular relevance to my own practice: owl-eyed. I have come to think of these many translations not just as an accident of an evolving language, but as a kind of mystery. Athena's eyes cannot be described completely by any one of the translations above, but encompasses all of them. I feel greatly honored to have 'seen' the color of Athena's eyes, although I will never be able to find the right words to explain them. This little hymn is my feeble attempt.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Ta Dio

I hear the sound of your voice
like pan-pipes laughing in my mind.
The maenad in me awakens.
I am drawn into your song.
Spinning spindle
her dance weaving
the song of the seasons.
Hair unbound.
Girdle unbound.
Spirit unbound.
A bacchante in ecstasy.

Io euoi!
Io Zagreus!

I clumsily attempt to seduce the God,
drunk on his vintage,
unaware that he has been pursuing me all along.
I run down the hillside,
seeking the solace of the forest.
Unity.
Yab-yum.

Io euoi!
Io Bromios!

In desparate passion I tear into flesh.
Blood in my mouth,
a life pressed like grapes bursting.
Limbs tangled into vines,
Tasting your sweet goat song,
Singing your raucous lament.

Io euoi!
Io Sabazos!

Tasting you.
Drinking you.
Lord of my Salvation.

Written for the Greater Dionysia 2010.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Hymn to Pallas

I sing now of the gray-eyed Goddess and Her love for the virgin Pallas.
Together grew these maidens, strong and lovely on the shores of Lake Triton.
Devoted to each other, long were their games of love and battle.
Under the olive groves they embraced, finding delight in the idleness of youth.
In fields of barley they played the war game with wooden spears, tunics tearing.
In jest Athena rolled upon Her back as Pallas raised her sharpened stick.
In paternal panic Zeus thrust the aegis between the sparring girls.
The spear glanced from the terrible gorgon gaze of the aegis wounding Pallas.
She fell into Athena's white arms, bloody and swooning.
The corpse of Pallas grew cold in the Goddess's embrace.
Athena, young and radiant, wailed to the heavens bemoaning the loss of Her lover.
She took up a piece of olive wood from their love bower and with great skill
fashioned a likeness of fair Pallas from the rough timber.
Athena draped Her aegis over the image, keeping it safe and sacred.
She took the name of Her playmate and added it to Her own.
So evermore when poets speak of Pallas they speak not of the nymph but of the Goddess.
Such is the love of ever-near Athena for those who honor Her.
So are we wrapped in the aegis of Her protection.
So are our crafts devotions to Her supreme skill.
Athena, may I always be protected under your aegis.
May I speak with wisdom and listen with the steadfastness of olive wood.
May I sing of your glory now and always.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Love and Wine

Heavy clusters of grapes hang from the gnarled vines: indeed, Aphrodite is only more attractive when united with Bacchus; their pleasures are sweeter for being mixed together. Apart, they have less spice.
Pseudo-Lucian, Erotes: description of the temenos of Aphrodite at Knidos

Wine is the milk of Venus.
Ben Jonson
"[Wine] provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance."
Shakespeare, Macbeth Act II Scene III

Well, what does Shakespeare know about it anyway? The Greeks, wise in the ways of moderation -- including the moderation of moderation -- mixed their wine with water and knew the merits of raising a cup in the spirit of romance.

So let me toast the beauty of the lovely Laurelei, dutiful servant of shapely Aphrodite, and sweetest of mates.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth crave a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
Ben Jonson

Friday, March 12, 2010

Crown of Violets is now available


I mentioned that Asteria Books has been busy, and one of our labors became available today! Crown of Violets, a collection of devotional work dedicated to Aphrodite is now in print. I contributed to this collection and Laurelei edited it and has many pieces in it herself. The ebook is only $2.50, so if you've any interest in Aphrodite at all please do check it out.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Arrephoria Hymn


Night comes all-bedewing
As I set my mewling son
Into the kista-basket

They said I was one of only three
Immune to your own son's arrows
Yet you have conquered me at last

I cover the kista and send for the maidens
Knowing that I must tell you alone the secret
That we now share a husband

I admonish the maidens not to look in the basket
Knowing that they will regardless
I crafted their grandmother Pandora, after all

They dutifully journey down my sacred hill
Two fall prey to womanly curiosity
Madness and death are their husbands now

The third completes her delivery
Into your grotto and into your hands
She gushes of your legendary beauty

The maid bears the kista back to me
Inside is my serpentine son sleeping soundly
And a bridal gift from you, my secret sister-wife

Khalkeia Hymn


When I was born from my father's brow
A bright and terrible Goddess
It was your hand that wielded the axe
You who served as midwife
To mighty Zeus's agony

As I danced I knew you watched me
Olympus shook and Helios reeled
And it was no surprise that you asked
For my hand, or the Golden Kyprian's,
As ransom for your mother's torture

I envy your dove wife
Who prefers to take bloody battle
To Her bed and bosom
When your hands are the most skilled on Olympus
And your fire burns hottest

You always knew I would come
Come down into your forge
The center of your creative fire
To beg a new set of armor
And to flash my quicksilver eyes at you

You had been waiting for me
Had built me a bedchamber of bronze
A marriage bed of wool
Virgin though I am
You took me in the heiros gamos

They say I scorned you
That I thrust you from me
And abandoned your seed to earth
Mother I am to your child
Yet virgin I remain

And still I come to you
Each year just before the time
Of Zeus the Storm Bringer
I take the bronze key from my aegis
And enter the khalkeia

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Power Song

In The Way of the Shaman Michael Harner discusses moving into altered states of conciousness through the use of rhythmic sound, (drums, rattles) dance,and singing. He briefly discusses the shamanic power song, which is a song the shaman sings to draw his/her spirit helpers close during trance. Below is a power song I have written for myself.


Rise, gray-feathered woman
Rise, shining-eyed night bird

Hwut! Hwut!
Answer my call

Rise, silent flyer
Rise, she of sharp talons

Hwut! Hwut!
Come unto me

Rise hook-beaked sister
Rise, great-eyed wisdom keeper

Hwut! Hwut!
I sing for you

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Theogamia

I sing now of cloud-gathering Zeus and his love for his radiant sister, Hera of the white arms.
Zeus, newborn and glorious, smiled at the great cow-eyed Hera.
Mighty Hera donned the girdle of shapely Aphrodite and claimed the child for her own to wed.
So, from the wrath of Kronos fled Hera and Zeus.
From the safe arms of Rhea they flew to the palace of Okeanos,
Delighting in each other.
Embracing.
Mighty Zeus clasped Hera's slender waist and she became Teleia.
Such was their love that they kept to their marriage bed for three-hundred years.
Hera bathed each day at Kanathos, renewing her virginity to Zeus's delight.
They emerged from their honeymoon to a grand wedding feast.
Gaia offered forth the golden orchard of evening to Hera, beloved of Zeus.
The Gods rejoiced as lovely Hera took her place on the golden throne beside thundering Zeus.
Resplendent Hera, heavy with child, was named Queen of the Gods.
White armed Goddess, may I find fulfillment of my heart's desire as you find when you lay with mighty Zeus.
Hail to you radiant wife of Zeus!
May I ever sing of your glory, and the glory of your progeny.
Now I will remember you and another song as well.

For Grandmother

Life is constant change
erosion-decay-wearing-away
yet heals all things regardless
I know
the Maiden-Mother-Crone
told me so
In Her great spirit
we All are One
so we three
cannot be undone
by this
sickness-cancer-affliction
this is my prediction
in your pain
matriarch-grandmother-Goddess
may you bear less
as we shall help you
carry the load
though you grow
wise-fragile-old
you shall be made anew
and we two will still be
One with You

Compost Poem

I was once bananas for bananas
I ate them everyday
Relishing in their forgiving texture
and sweet flesh

Deep inside something turned
and the time of bananas ended

Now I compost
Turn over the refuse of my mind
Hoping something edible will flower from it

I miss the taste of bananas
So I throw their peels into the pile

Deep inside something turns
widdershins, inward
turning over the compost heap

After the process of heat and decay
I can see that it is not nourishment from bananas I crave
It is the rich black soul soil of reflection

Reposted from LiveJournal Sep. 23rd, 2009

The Ballad of the Night That the Mead Did Flow Too Freely

Some of you have seen this already. Hell, some of you were there. For those that weren't, this is a ballad I wrote to comemmorate the Highland Clan of Our Haven's Midsummer, midnight, mead raid of 2003. Much love out to all my homies of the Gangtsa Wiggity-Wicca-Wack tribe. You know who you are.

The Ballad of the Night That the Mead Did Flow Too Freely

CHORUS:
Mead, mead! Drink it down,
that you may wear the Holly Crown!
Mead, mead! Drink it up,
and we shall bring you another cup!


Deep in the Lowlands burned a flame
When from the hills the Highlanders came
Kilted, painted, lead by drummers
to raid the camp on this Midsummers'

CHORUS

Lead down the hill by torchman Jack
With Oak King Joe in the back
His face the visage of bloody death
His warriors flanked at right and left

CHORUS

The Triple Goddess with them stood
As they appeared from in the wood
Shannon, Brenda, and Natalie
Blessed them with the power of three

CHORUS

And three warriors, leaping as deer
had brought their drums for all to hear
Robert the Dragon, High Bard Jerry
And Graham, who all did strive to make merry

CHORUS

The Child of Promise was also there
Prince Conner of the Golden Hair
In his eyes the sacred fire shone
as he sat upon his throne

CHORUS

The Lowlanders' circle now within
the Highlanders' dance could at last begin
Jerry drummed with a passion from hell
as Brenda's sistrum sang like a bell

CHORUS

Their drumming so inflamed the heart
that Graham's wedding band did break apart
Natalie and Shannon danced and howled
and through them was the challenge called

CHORUS

The Oak King took up the Goddesses' cry
As for Her love did he ritually die
And so mighty was his dragon's fury
that soon his companions began to worry

CHORUS

The Oak King fell at the Holly King's hand
Two times today he had died for the land
He had asked for water, they had given him wine
And He wilted as the fruit on the vine

CHORUS

But the Goddesses would not leave him alone
So to Avalon they guided him home
Through the mists and into the hills
Where legend says he sleeps there still

CHORUS

And in the morning when the warriors awoke
‘twas Jerry the Bard who first spoke
"Were it not for the harshness of the Sunlight's gleam,
I would swear 'twere only a Midsummer Night's Dream!"

Reposted from LiveJournal Jul. 4th, 2003

Verses for Ereshkegal

Ereshkegal watches, and wonders, and waits
as her shining sister clears the gates
of death, of fate, of time.
"Her flesh shall be mine,"
declares the raven-haired queen
and sets about her selfish scheme.
She hones her fangs then to devour
the honeyed dew of Heaven's flower.
Greedily she rends skin from bone,
only to find it is her own.

"Oh my insides!" Cries Ereshkegal!
But her corpse hangs on a meat hook of her own design.
"Oh my outsides!" Cries Ereshkegal!
But her skin lies limp flayed by her own hands.

For the kurrjara whose words can soothe her broken soul
any gift she shall bestow.
For the galatura whose touch can mend her heart
she shall grant gifts of knowledge and art
For the shining sister that would clear the gates
Ereshkegal watches, and wonders, and waits.

Reposted from MySpace blog August 17, 2008