The Crone

Crone Goddesses

‘When a woman feels alone, when the room
is full of daemons,” the Nootka tribe
Tells us, ‘The Old Woman will be there.”
She has come to me over three thousand miles
And what does she have to tell me, troubled
“by phantoms in the night”?
Is she really here?
What is the saving word from so deep in the past.
From as deep as the ancient root of the redwood,
From as deep as the primal bed of the ocean,
From as deep as a woman’s heart sprung open
Again through a hard birth or a hard death?
Here under the shock of love, I am open
To you, Primal spirit, one with rock and wave,
One with survivors of flood and fire,
Who have rebuilt their homes a million times,
Who have lost their children and borne them again.
The words I hear are strength, laughter, endurance.
Old Woman I meet you deep inside myself.
There in the rootbed of fertility,
World without end, as the legend tells it.
Under the words you are my silence-

"When A Woman Feels Alone, " May Sarton

 

     

Triple Goddess

"An Appearance," Sylvia Plath

The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.

From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals

Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.

Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,

It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts —
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!

O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.

Sylvia Plath

 

Reunion

Of friends lost and found-
The virtual kind
In a world full of tweets and news bites
Snippets of lives lived in happiness
And turmoil hidden
Behind smiling selfies,
Our truth revealed 

In animation,

Emoji the language of

Our humanity.  

"Ode to Donna's Nose," Steffany Overby

A short poem written on the spot in response to...

Stank director was offended by your nose probably because it was bigger than his penis and your talent was more than he could handle...so to make you hand-able...he insulted you, like insecure men do, so that they can feel in control

I am sorry that his words cut deep and have haunted you all these years

But his fears of women being able to smell and call out his bullshit

Was just amplified by your fighting spirit and refusal to quit

So....he cowardly called out the one thing he can see that might be a source of insecurity...YOUR Nose.

Because anyone that has seen pics of you back then and now KNOWS: you are one hot woman with a banging body to boot

I pray you are able to mute his voice and hear your own

You have grown into a beautiful woman that has overcome more than he could ever bear

And if your nose is still a source of concern, I hope you learn...

It is a distinguishing feature and nothing to be ashamed of...all the more to love.

The DNA that resulted in your nose Knows more history and triumph than anything he could have wished to direct.

Do not let him continue to project his personal issue on you

Breathe in. Hold. Exhale.

Release that beast that has tried to ride your back all these years and taunted you each time you looked in the mirror.

Breathe in. Hold. Exhale.

Your reflection of your true beauty is becoming clearer.

You are more than just your looks, more than just your age.

There is a Goddess in you, too.

Embrace her in all that you do.

Dust your feet off and carry on into the future...ride off into the sunset and onto your next adventure.

You have so much more life to live...you have so much love to give.

Your nose does not define you, but it is a defining feature.

Love it and breathe those deep breaths of all of the smells you can encounter.

Savor each scent and be present and ground yourself in the moment.

And promise to never again let anyone look down their nose on you.

I love you, Steff

Thanks, love,

I will treasure this always...

<3, Donna

La Jeune Prof

Elle est prête,

Sa noble raison d’être

De réparer « les brisés » - 

Éternellement 

Et infiniment

C’est à son tour de
Prendre sa place
Pour jouer son rôle :
Le Destin attend.

Presque depuis le début
Elle commence se casser
Peu à peu,
Se rendant compte
Rien ne changera.
Alors elle lutte pour survivre
L'hypocrisie de soi-même
Plein de mots inspirants,
D’idées puissantes,
Et de promesses vides.

Loman's* Lament

Living by the pulse 

Of the drum's deafening drone:

Dying the drummer. 

*Willy Loman, Death of a Salesman, Arthur Miller

"And the home of the brave...."

À Charlie

Google Translate

"There's Something About 

What Happens When We Talk,"

Lucinda Williams