Crossed roads, slowly swaying
entrance beads from day to night.
Slip in between to become
for that instant of eternity
dancing gypsy calling to
Moon, to storytelling stars.
Embrace that mystery, train tracking
adventure. Breathe forgotten fields,
lush or shriveled, dependent on water
and feed. Let go of all but one brave
hand solidly grasped to the doorway.
Let go; let fingers fall reaching.
Second Star to the Right
Traveling beyond Persephone’s garden
on the etheric threshold
‘tween mortality and death.
Taking an oblique path at the crossroads
onto an accessway
along the axis of bliss.
It’s not a road on which
the dramas fade.
It’s not about a numbing block
Drama unfolds —
my chemistry responds exquisitely.
Touch is just touch;
sensation translates information.
All the appointed tasks,
routine errands of the everyday,
little pauses along the bliss path,
allow me to breathe the scent
of endless possibilities,
as path and consciousness expand
Twilight, the wee hours,
the dark of the moon,
places where magic dwells,
crossroads, crises, cusps.
There is static on the radio.
my voice was singing,
rhythm of sound
takes flight to surround me,
a comforter of down
to ease my soul.
I’ve been trying to define a taste,
a sense of bittersweet and salt.
I’ve been trying to find a trace
a footprint in the desert,
a sight, a scent,
I’ve been trying to discern a trace of me,
a piece to fit the puzzle,
my contribution to the grand design.
Seeking in shadows,
the space between
myth and matter,
those places words
On those insubstantial plains
of myst and awe,
the stuff of dreams,
threshold of wonder,
creation is spawned.
Crossing the Threshold
At the crossroads at midnight
My lady did swear
That she must be alone
To face up to her demons
“Please understand that I must
be aware of just who I am
and where I’ve come from.”
I sat by the bridge
as she set forth her tools,
her sorcerer lore, her alchemic runes
So she’d know who to honor, to break
and to blame
What she’d been made for,
her journey, her truth.
At the crossroads, past midnight,
just before dawn
My lady thrice nodded and
stamped out her flames.
She beckoned I join her out on the meadow
to kiss and rejoice
and reveal our true names.
At hours’ crossroads, Reason drowns
in rage, scathe,
irradiated rain, treasonous air.
Weary of care, of punishing,
bottomless anger, of sobbing men
robbed of their right to give birth.
Wrested from Mama’s warmth, from
the cave, to play brave.
And it’s ladies’ choice as you squirm
in fool’s corner.
Such a chore — kissing at this
and that for a chance to score
the shame, the blame from stuck-out
tongues, the bloody laughter.
“I could bite off that little thing — make
you squat to pee.”
Wired to fight, at any cost,
because, of course, the Cross proclaims
“We’re right. They are inherently wrong.”
“Those below must be taught to obey
our superior tools, to be broken,
that we may ride.”
Against our better fate, sad race divides
along strict lines, by difference
nature devised to spawn us strong.
The dancer with the dance
entering pre-dawn mystery.
Quiet interval, enchanting music.
Alone in Hekate’s garden,
breathing in memory
of jasmine and spice.
Weary roads traveled
crossroad to crossroad;
the journey continues.
Weary days have found sustenance
in secreted hovels, dimestore romance.
Convoluted talk, empty gestures,
take up the stitches of time.
Some brave midnight,
if I learn my lessons well,
I will eat the fruits of Hekate’s garden,
dancing in piquant reverie,
leaving my tears and anguish
along the windswept trail.
as the Goddess kisses
my tearstains into
Ancient prototypes etched into collective retina.
Vast vegetation, expansive cure for distressed
Casting outward. Hope for connection
to sacred ground, profoundly real.
Reborn to forest,
nurtured in nativity.
Green, deep healing green.
Fear is a thrill.
Rush anticipation of danger.
Piquant romance with what might kill or maim
or carry dread.
Warnings fill imploding head; adrenalin syncopates heart.
Fear, a crossroad to start from,
then taunting groves to hide behind.
Fear can dazzle, delay, explain years of wasted time.
advanced efficiency of
technology, exchange of toxic breath for
benign symbiotic ecology.
(No college degree could assure
so lush a life.)
So sad that we only see what we expect.
Trained to tragedy, to forget the best
that could be manifest.
Sagacious find a quiet relaxed pace.
Days drift and wander.
Daring to explore pleasure, infinite awareness.
Leisurely share what feels genial, good, light.
Make Peace The Issue