*
 
Enchanting
(for Kala Snowflower)
*
*
Magical child, the world awaits you
 
Not just this place,
any world you care to grace,
 
relate to, turn your lovely face to.
 
“We love you”
sing the winds, the seas,
the creatures large and small
 
“We love you always”
 
Singing and dancing long into the night,
 
you turn it into day.
 
Play that haunting melody.
It moves you
into a chance to name your trance,
 
to name us all
 
as we, before your eyes,
the skies will dance for you,
will open wide their hearts of stars.
Sparkling through the night,
Shining into day.
 
You play.
 
All of creation rejoices to your song,
creating worlds of joy.
*
*
*
DREAMTIME (FOR KALA)
Posted on March 8, 2019
*
*
That dream again.
Running, running,
but your feet are stuck, enmeshed in pavement,
though all of your intent runs in terror.
Demon warriors form themselves in the grey cloud that surrounds you, become denser, full 3-D attack.
You find yourself at war with your pillow, trapped in twisted sheets.
Another damned day to get through looms beyond the dream-storm tossed bed.
)_
)
Creature, being, created from singular experience cocooned in dreaming.
Meditating, sitting, silent, still, watching metaphoric artfilm of revealed
truth waft like oracular smoke over beauty of this deep-blue pond contained
in floating ice offset by fog-faded mountain awareness.
Those dreams, those dreams, to live only there
where it all makes nonsense that feels so inevitable.
Stories unencumbered by beginnings, by logical progression, by
boundaries, yet pure and strong as sacred text.
That meat-suit we use for interface, to find and absorb sustenance,
input that makes us dependent on a scientifically defined world,
magically transcended, hours transformed outside of measurement,
of time.
Even those horrific, catastrophic images that angrily cast you back
into a waking sweat and terror, even they are breakthrough respite,
catharsis to contain, secure, untenable memories, fears.
Immerse with your story’s most salient themes.
)_
)
Dream places connected in hyper-clear intensity
Lightning storm, steep stone climb from a college holiday
fair far below.
Agitated, observing, moving fluidly in the multi-tiered library.
So much to take in, be drawn into, imaginary conversations with
bright-labeled books.  The library like a horror movie medieval tower,
fearsome.  Those snow-robed mountains, forests, royal Guard,
calling so softly, so forcefully, Sirening in, holding
for exhibition.   
Hard hills of snow become Summer fountain festivals
on opium fields, sickly sweet and sticky bun bewitching,
that cloying ecstasy you never want to leave.
)_
)
Puissant, what drugs want to promise.  Free theater customed
to a singular crowd.  Instant, hologrammatic slice of eternity.
Perhaps a gift, brief respite from agonized responsibilities.
Respite from cold, pain, everyday injuries of innumerable mites
infected with pestilence, endless war.
Who we are in dreams, unobserved for critique,
pictures imbued with emotional sensation speaking
directly to our most private desires.
To live in dreamtime, free of censoring reality,
what would that mean?
)_
)
Immersed in sharp colors, sensual, deeply felt geometries.  Circus
fools, acrobat costumes, hidden rivers along highways thicketed in
mystically perfumed foliage.  Scenes never seen in waking life, yet
perennially home, in dreamtime.
In the innocence of dreamtime, what have you seen?
Tell me your dreams.
*
*
*
belated – Kala Snowflower
*
I just oh so late learned of Kala/ Ix’chel Neve’s passing
My heart is drowning in tears
My eyes search for her blessing
*
*
Nuit Report: weekly astrology Feb 27-Mar 6: Full Moon in Virgo. Matters of “Ultimate Concern”.
Aepril’s Astrology
 
*
I dedicate this Nuit Report to the memory of Ix’chel Neve. A bright beacon of Love and Light in this world, who continues to open hearts and inspire even as she has transitioned to the other side. A free spirit, poet, and Sister who’s openness and shared experience has been unutterably beautiful. We have collectively received a great gift in her, just by her existence on this plane, and she will be terribly missed by many.
*
“Do not be afraid.
The God is passionate.
The Goddess compassionate.
In Death prepare to live again
Come Spring.”
*
excerpt from “Change”Ix’chel Jaguar, October 2014. (C. 2014 , Michelle Neve)”
*
*
 
excerpts from  emerging visions visionary art zine https://emergingvisions.blogspot.com/
MOVING FROM THE VISIONARY’S IMAGINATION INTO VIEW THAT ALL OF US MAY LEARN TO SEE FURTHER:
*
The faeries call me Kala Snowflower. For I walk the Earth, sing on Air, dance with Fire and breathe the Water. I am healer, poet, farmer, teacher, lover, child and tree. I am Love and Love is me.
*
*
Her Body Painted
 
by Kala Snowflower
*
*
Her body painted like sunset water
colors, the words of the gift burned
into her skin, the poetry
that so becomes her-
sheer fabric,
draped over her hips
to tantalize Beloveds, lifted
reveals the story told
and retold, at times
the letters themselves reforming,
retelling the kaleidoscopic life of the Lover
who holds a palette of bone deep wounds
and ecstatic caresses-
creating Herself
creating her World.
*
Her belly the sun spinning fire to prism.
Her arms wearing lush vines blooming blue
flowers.
Water horses prancing joy into her
sacrum.
And kissed deeply into her ankle, sweet
scented jasmine.
*
Until morning, when dipping swift down
into
her cauldron of Art=Life,
offering vision for vision, releasing all form
toward emergence, pink fleshed, new,
unwritten, awaiting Dawn colors
while her light hot palms
hover over tendons strengthening,
joints loosening, fingers stringing
shiny beads swirling silver and gold
patterns around everyone she touches:
*
the cat who roots into her lap
and the green flesh of foxglove
crawling up her leg to be noticed.
Faery whispers, louder now
foretell the spiral garden her body
now builds, stone upon stone,
malachite, granite, dirt, seed,
flower and herb strung together
*
as a necklace for the Queen.
*
*
(c) 2006 Michele Neve
*
 
Dream
 
Golden eagle fly, and fly
become a carousel horse
of darkening cloud,
release the day
entering night
becoming You
see everything.
 
Ariel spreads his wings
and down goes the edifice
crumbling to the ground,
stones kissing again
Mother Earth
becoming again
hidden treasures.
 
Hematite, malachite,
sparkling quarry
seduce the sunlight,
my fingertips
initiate a threesome.
 
Liquid eyes held my own still,
so different from the moody
and wild storms of the mirror;
hers soft as a rippling pool,
seaglass underwater.
She kissed me then, soothing my fear
of her,
 
and whispered,
“all that lasts
will crumble
all you try to save
will fall
all you create
will be destroyed,
 
so
no worries,
 
come now, follow me inside,
breathe again deep down
and deeper, through
gills.”
 
Kala Snowflower
 
 
Rainbow Reflections: Ocala, FL
 
Alone in the trance
I remember moments
like the sun that flickered
between palmetto
arrowheads
poised and ready
to fly through air, piercing
a spanish imposition
keeping back conquistadors
with their metal buttons
glinting, their swords reflecting
cypress gleaming green as their skin
after the poison settled into flesh
rotten as their intentions.
This was before they learned
and burned it all down
claiming a scorched land
and killing the exposed warriors
who wept not for themselves
but for the trees gone
and the land never the same
 
since Ponce de Leon found the eternal
spring where these days Russian, German, French
tourists bathe their wrinkled faces
doing nothing to keep out the alligators.
 
…
 
Alone in the dance
I discover again
from the lips of my swamp brother
oak and pine medicine
and gratitude
pouring out of my shiny sister
who serves up love
in a New Orleans kitchen
out there in Babylon, Louisiana
where the billboards catch
between messages.
She walks to work
breathing in mold spores
and flaking plaster
cannabis singing out from
doorways, ignored by the cops
who all see
that the hippies
feed
the people.
 
…
 
Listen, all is revealed to you.
Your perfect thighs
are my thighs
your perfect breasts
my own.
Everything I come across
I offer you.
Everything I ask for
you give to me.
Your children
are my children.
My blanket is yours.
Everyone is fed here.
But first
we circle
hold hands
look into eyes
shining and soft
thank each other
ourselves
the stars we are
crumbling toward
and Gaia
Mother of us all.
 
Kala Snowflower
 
 
 
Blue Eyes
 
 
Still, I wait.
 
Allow my self
 
to lift away
 
from myself.
 
Black and silver
 
shimmering
 
scales
 
releasing,
 
release me.
 
 
 
My eyes glow red
 
underneath the blue
 
drama,
 
so I cannot see you
 
as you are, glowing
 
green light from your chest,
 
violet between your eyes.
 
Instead, shadowed by my past,
 
you wear the tint of that day
 
long ago
 
when I first lost you.
 
So nothing you do matters,
 
when always
 
you are leaving me behind.
 
 
 
Still, I wait.
 
Shadowed blue like everything,
 
there is a stone within this
 
glass walled world.
 
My head scratches against it
 
to peel me away and
 
free me.
 
 
 
At this stage alchemy
 
is nothing more than
 
sweeping away ashes.
 
The new skin shines brightly
 
now I see you clearly
 
through walls made of
 
glass
 
and beyond.
 
 
(c) Michele Neve/Kala Snowflower
 
 
Breathing Her Breath
 
When the summer left
I stood alone
longing for the yellow haired
sunlight entangling in leaves
heaving oxygen, filling
my chest with the love of a woman
whose arms like branches
reach for the blue
blue sky, the rosy cloud,
the great star party of midnight
mountaintops.
 
Woman whose roots reach far
beneath the mushroom family
dining on moss dressed graves
past the corpses fermenting
sweet worm wine
through granite and smoky quartz
spreading open dirt like thighs
to the core of her erupting
wild ways.
 
Loving a woman whose breath
breathes me into being.
Whose arms reach for me, hold me
closer to lips that kiss me
 
until when the summer left
I stood alone and
 
Brighter.
 
(c) Michele Neve (Kala Snowflower)
 
 
Directions from dreamtime:
 
Go to the same address
then down 1,000 stories.
 
Going back to the Beginning
before the beginning
when Nothing had a name
 
but everything had voices
for singing,
 
stumble upon a boy
alone in the forest
playing guitar
revealing such intimacies
you can only
watch sideways
hidden among leaves
as the music
takes you into
his whole.
 
Then run
deeper and through a violet door
between pine and stripped oak
and enter a gingerbread house
of lovers no longer in cages
where at birth they were welcomed
by a witch so hungry to eat
sweet innocence
but children can be tricky
so for thirty years
she’s been slow cooking
on the flame
and the children are grown now
yet linger among the cookie crumbs,
holding hands, awaiting
the main course
and dancing circles
around the oven.
 
Then open the door slowly
and enter through
the hot embers,
clinging to your robes,
your conical hat burning away.
Skin and fat bubble
and burst, juices flow,
basted in your blood
made savory.
Through particalized eyes
watch as the Children
of Light wipe you from
their lips with kisses.
 
Back again
to the beginning.
 
There was a flute
and a mermaid playing
and her lover praising
her Beauty.
And everyone took turns
sitting on a golden ball
that bloomed petals
while each Buddha beamed
and miles away
a single voice
balanced on a precipice
not realizing
he was smiling
as he fell over the edge
scattering coins.
 
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
 
 
Sometimes I fall to my
knees
releasing the need to stand
and just allow
the Earth to comfort me
while
the red moon glows
between thighs
dripping
radiance
and my fingertips
enter her dark soil
mouth
that drinking
drains my fear.
 
 
Invited to dance by God
via Hafiz via a child
I wear a smooth stone necklace,
lemon balm anklet, dress
of forest, crown of
fireflies
 
and seeing the rain begin to fall
summer hard
I rush outside
to accept.
 
copyright Kala Snowflower
 
 
Were a woman of design
To find herself in a place
Where fabric falls in rivulets
Of sound against her thighs
Would she know wherefore
And what to?
 
What would she call the space
Between the pages, the race of beings
That suddenly spring from her like winged
Creatures at dawn?
 
What would she call the new face
She found in the mirror’s eye,
Springing from her skull and staring
Beyond mere daylight from the
Darkest corner of her being?
 
Would a name suffice to explain
The mythological necessity of the traces
She would claim and someday
Outpace?
Or, what is it in a name
That gives voice to the dream?
 
Were a woman to design
The newest place to call now home
Would the faeries lend a hand
Or leave her quite alone
 
Until riding the east wind
On a poppy bloom
She is done?
 
copyright Kala Snowflower
 
 
All Existence is…
 
Give from heartsong tears
away, allow
smiles
soothing what was
ache
Allow
water flowing, cleanse
you, dancing
Allow
Allow
Allow
gifts, this feeling, this
being inside, allow
bliss, allow
I cannot frame the moment
in gauze, mere
tapestries, movement,
allow myself receiving
the present, the sunset,
grave bodies decomposing,
singing past prayer, allowed
to be presently in flow,
allowing discovery:
how the light feeds
thought feeds
inspiration
feeds
rooftop reflections,
Beauty dancing on eyes
sparkling sorrow, love
hungry
they take you
take you
allow you
inside
healing for healing
allow fragments
like cool hands
warm touch
revival rising through
dark water, rising
through dirt, roots
entangling through
hair still growing
receiving manifestly
destiny cosmically
proportionally
in sound, landscapes of
flesh, kisses opening
opening deepest
recesses from
coarse fabric of time to
immortal rooms beaming
bright solitude in crowds,
waves exclaiming, crests
of excitement riding,
speaking, whispering,
screaming out
Destiny, take me!
Love, Open me!
Wider, I’m yours
chaotically, beyond
purpose, light caresses
my hair integrates this
moment, rides the wave
dancing the cycle of perception
without thought, care, notice
only this
understanding–
bright red fruit beckons,
enticing with life
Mother loving Father
Sun and Earth embracing
my heart kisses tiny birds above
with only one true purpose
pure with joy.
 
 
copyright Kala Snowflower
 
 
Oweynagat: Cave of the Cats
 
Undoing everything
the darkness speaks
knocks on the door
 
scared shit I pull the covers
over my ears, keep out
spiders, shush voices
 
all rational underpinnings
fall away like destiny
which too is rational
 
and nothing like the chaotic
symphony each moment portends
each moment holding
 
clues to the next, yet
suddenly
it all changes
 
entirely new creatures
take off in the jet stream
clinging to my shoes
 
make their way into
the bright
nothingness.
 
Ancient people angry at me
for not opening my ear
tired of my fear
 
that is meaningless to them
when all they desire
is to be heard
 
like any one
of us
like me.
 
I am closing, closing
embracing myself
in the dark room
 
alone, alone
is what I’ve wanted
needed
 
and there are those outside
who will never again enter
I keep them out.
 
I am not
Maiden opening
Mother nurturing
 
I am Crone alone
claiming space to writhe in
scream in, howl my pain in
 
slice through those who come
with my sword, Warrior Queen
on my bubbling throne
 
smite them, smother them,
protecting my Tribe, my claim
to my cave
 
allowing entrance only to those
who tie bits of their hair
to my tree
 
who expect nothing of me,
who come stripped naked
to feed with their flesh
 
my darling hungry Ravens
and who ask nothing and buried alive
die in the silence.
 
Your mind, your anguish, your anxiety, your fear
are nothing to me
but decorations
 
leave them at the entrances
and enter wiped clean
of who you thought you were–only then
 
my cool arms open to cradle you
my wet cave spreads wide to rebirth you
once you reach my core
 
you will never feel so safe
so loved, so real
so you again.
 
(c) November 12, 2007 Kala Snowflower
 
 
Magic Flute
 
Bright blue sky morning
 
brings clouds wearing
 
crow dark wings
 
slick walk stairs
 
bare black branches
 
and graceful Goddess tree
 
white surprise
 
beckons eyes toward
 
her
 
flirting with pine
 
boughs swaying
 
delicate needles scenting
 
winter water wonder
 
fish swimming
 
wearing mittens.
 
 
 
I emerge from centuries
 
carrying spirals on seashells
 
to mountaintops
 
offer rosemary
 
beckon back to underwater
 
where fins can shimmer pure color
 
 
 
where my tattoos rise up
 
Girl Scout badges
 
worn until fleshless
 
bones lie silent
 
speaking nothing of lovers,
 
adventures, descents
 
into caverns
 
 
 
until some poet looking down
 
finds femur
 
and bringing it to her lips
 
braves breath moving
 
through me again
 
marrow softening
 
water flowing
 
spreading wide for my entrance
 
I whisper music.
 
 
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
December 12, 2007
 
 
You Just Can’t Stop the Music
 
 
He said, “forget the poetry,”
 
and wide eyed, unbelieving
 
my heart so open the world
 
inside was dancing
 
until the words that stopped
 
the music, the dancers
 
halting, suddenly unsure
 
of themselves,
 
sat on their haunches
 
and cried.
 
 
 
“What have we been doing all these years?
 
Has it all been a waste, all
 
this learning to move our bodies
 
in cadence with the rhythm
 
of her heart beating?
 
 
 
Why have we bothered,
 
allowing ecstacy to shiver our bellies,
 
despair to make claws of our fingers,
 
grasping the drama of frenzied spaces,
 
careening to collide until something
 
makes contact, something
 
to hold on to
 
and let go of
 
when the changed beat
 
compels us to gyrate again,
 
undulate our hips
 
toward another completion,
 
sway our heads into new
 
contortions, capturing her heart
 
like the blue eyed Russian boy
 
or the drum beat that melted her clothes
 
into a heap of bear fur
 
after flying to Pluto as a dark crow
 
calling in annihilation?
 
 
 
What purpose is all this we do
 
other than for the poetry of it—
 
our throats stretched back taut like birds releasing sound
 
our chests spread open, leading the way
 
our bellies hungry for more and more movement
 
for lovers and lovers and more lovers
 
touching each other in the beauty ridden rooms of her making
 
where everything is permitted
 
the sky always day bright
 
forever lost in midnight
 
infinitely dawn pale blue.
 
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
 
 
Bridge to Genius
 
 
Blood down form
From out of the sparkling
Nothing she emerged
Sipping hippy crack
Music pulses
Releasing from her skin
Into sheer air.
And poetry came with her.
Although then still wordless
Awaiting the symbols to match
The sound of her universe.
When they came she grew larger
Her eyes even bigger
And at school they called her owl
Because she stared at everything.
It took her years to realize
The truth behind the slight.
The wisdom she always held
That the children saw
And misunderstood
Or perhaps knew
But did not know how to grasp it.
And how since then, perhaps
Always, she has longed
Not to be understood
But to be loved
Even in misunderstanding.
Thus the poems flowing
Year after year
That she locks in the drawer
At the bottom of her being
Takes out now and then
And then hides away again
As if they weren’t her world.
As if they didn’t mean everything to her.
As if they weren’t the key to it all.
But this is changing.
Her genius no longer content
With sniffing mothballs
And underwear
Must now emerge.
To get from here to there
There is a bridge
Shining, silver and golden
Bejeweled, a snake stretching itself
Across the crevice into her tomorrow.
The full moon calls her to cross now.
The time is now.
Once on the other side
there is no turning back.
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
 
 
 
Alien Eyes
 
 
Life comes in shining brighter than the alien who came once
To my bedroom, a cosmic cerulean cyclone cornering me under the covers.
I asked it not to come back. I didn’t want to see.
I realize now how it was showing me my future.
Only now felt in vibrations I am on riding high and certain
I would be called something clinical if I told the wrong someone.
So I talk instead to the moon, the trees, the water flowing under the bridge,
The moth, the cat stopping in the road to watch me, the crow,
Mint and nettle, red clover, the moss covered rocks and the witches.
And they tell me,
You think you see everything without looking? Open your eyes
Look as a child would! See my branches reaching out in all directions,
My leaves spring bright excited to come alive, lambs quarters by the
Side of the road, coltsfoot leaves widening, dandelion giants flopping over,
Buttercups tiny suns beaming, delicate chicory wearing pale blue, heart shaped
Violet flirting with golden rod proud stalks, plantain for salads and bug bites.
And so much more life comes in shining brighter now that I see with alien eyes.
The dragonfly wings busk imperceptible music right in the middle of the street.
White moth flutters under the bridge off to high tea with the troll.
Rabbit in stillness, watching, waits for me to look away to bounce into some portal.
Dog who I once feared senses white wolf walking beside me and stops barking.
Faeries floating inches from my face wear white scalloped wedding finery.
And they tell me,
Life comes in
shining.
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
 
 
(from Open Me)
 
Open Me
 
Goddess
the light shines
the dark forest beckons
enter me
as the twilight lingers
embraces the clouds
with softest touches of caresses.
Let poetry come, pour through me.
My tongue on your
vulva.
My lips on your
jewel.
Your labia silken glitters
moist
reflecting the moon.
Cowrie shells and conch
a blood red
tide swells inside
growing
the new born boy child
who once gave
milk from his breasts
and the infant girl child
giving her first blood
at birth.
Relics of the connection.
The umbilical joining
breathing, tasting
living
One
with our Mother,
all giving and giving
and even in the expelling
still giving
the first breath
the first
singular experience
the first cry for the love of connection
the illusion of disconnect resolved
in flesh upon flesh
so that every time we touch
we dissolve and merge
with skin, muscle
fat and bone, inhabit
the womb every time we touch
the safety, the comfort, the shared
experience
becomes us.
Maya, we are One.
As the Gaian Mind
embraces each finger
each tiny toe.
On our bellies, drinking
from Mother Earth
we erupt
we spasm
we settle
we cry
we rage
we engage
we grow
we
die.
In the Gaian Mind
there is no separation.
We are always
giving forth
her milk.
Always bleeding
her blood.
Always drinking
through our navels
sweet honey
the presence
the source of our own hearts.
We are One.
 
(c) Kala Snowflower
 
 
(from Open Me)
 
Rukalsa
 
Reflections:
branches that call me
sky as wet as my thighs
as deep as
my name.
Trees bathing their trunks whisper
Come now, we are waiting for your
touch, your healing ways.
And roots deep beneath the surface
moan with desire for me
for my foot’s soft graze
to wrap their long and curling love
around my waist—
hold me as lover
into eternity.
From deep trance
I emerge
find myself
knee deep
in cold
slimy
pond
water.
Walking my way
to shore
from the core
of my creation
I pour
ecstatic streams
of freedom
falling down my legs—
this water
of life.
 
 
(from book in progress, Our Deep Magic)
 
Of Course
 
The ocean this November scalds my feet moments after emergence until
my calves scream for mercy, so I run with waves echoing in the throats
of boys passionate to save a family of drowning mice among the rocks.
Boys who follow me into the foam, naked as Venus under my clothes
and playing a pipe to entice them while their Mother’s eyes shift from me
back to them and worry about the cold cold water, their own feet sane dry, and
wondering about my age, shocked that I might be a Mother to the boy holding my hand.
He’s not my son, of course, but if he was, of course I would still play this way,
running until my pants to the waist darken. I would still see the swollen
waves in the white mist appear as the Goddess’ bare thighs opening.
And her music would still draw me forward, toward the salty depths to the place where
forever I am a child of the universe and growing up means there’s no one to stop me
when the water shouts my name over and over and over until I answer.
 
 
Faery House
 
For Selina
 
 
Woodland eye wears whispers.
I listen as soundless
fae play dulcimer on your iris,
and your face a changeling,
alien who steps over the threshold—
you come into my world.
 
Who are you since I dreamt you
into being?
 
Do you come to bring the wild
world closer?
 
With elvin ears and omen eyes
rolled stones upon my altar
you tell my future,
and I believe you.
 
A child again in your arms
I kiss your lips, your cheek,
eyes and ears, slick lick
kitten, lapping up prophecy
like sweet cream from your palm.
 
I build you now a woodland house
of birch bark walls and pine needle floor.
A place to be with you eye to eye.
We nestle in on the coldest night.
Our hair entwines like roots.
 
copyright Kala Snowflower
 
 
Stone Woman
 
1.
 
Sun, my center
dances to release the wind you warm
forward toward the stream
where we sparkle over stones
 
where we brace face
the new world
holding ourselves within
pillars of pure light
 
where my thighs hold
the secret.
 
Do you want to know and unfold
me?
 
I have this gift to offer:
I do not need, I love.
 
 
2.
 
In between grass blades, crazed ants
search, for hunger drives them
up larger hills and greater feats,
into dragging the King Kong
of insects over hills
down canyons toward
 
where we are going, with hunger
on our backs, held in our teeth,
moving over mountains to the bottom
of the ocean to find the place we remember
 
where lover scented sheets
await us
and the taste of the Earth awakens
us to choose, now transform.
 
 
3.
 
Thousands of years ago
I held you in my arms.
Here I am again holding you.
That will never stop.
 
The sun on our shoulders
reminds us to be still,
bellies to the earth
reach down into miles
of dirt, crystal, stone,
reach and reaching
 
she reaches with her molten
core into our center.
 
 
4.
 
Playing with light
mesmerized by the healer
his table holds my cheekbones
his hands fill my pores
with almond oil and cedar.
His fingers take away
what I held for so long.
 
Through the window, clouds unburden themselves
of long held secrets,
 
speak of the ice storm that took the lover down,
tearing away her arms and legs,
falling into snow.
 
It is spring so the broken branches float now
on the marshes, sink into the wet earth’s hunger.
 
The tree does not mourn
what is not loss, but shakes its body
lighter now and breathes bold blood into bud.
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copyright Kala Snowflower
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Michelle wrote poetry for over 40 years starting at the age of 7. She left 17 books in digital form spanning the years from 1997-2014 (as well as more in handwritten form). Here are selections from some her many poems. As of this writing her books are being edited and will be self-published in the early summer.”
Kala Joy reading Poetry at Beards of Valenccio – Aug 2013
Published on Mar 4, 2015
Kala Joy Neve (aka Ix’chel Jaguar) reading her own poetry at the Beards of Valenccio Art Salon on Aug 16, 2013.
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