Inspiration Speaks
Poetry's Voice
Bride
By Axiom
Stark winter sketches the sky.
Refusing to release its grip on the Mother,
It locks the trees in sleep.
Filling my lungs with ice,
I breathe deep
And relish the sting.
Spring is coming -
I know.
But as of yet only the lavender tells me this.
There is no warmth on the wind,
No heat to the Father's caress across the flesh of the Earth.
No real colour to the day.
Purple outlined against the winter.
I hug myself and feel the fire of Bride deep within.
Spring is here, inside me.
January 2005 Issue
Feelings
By Dairmot
warmth:
the golden and amber
waves coming from the fire.
chill:
wind slipping up
behind and wrapping it's arms around me.
emptiness:
beside me in the dark
where someone should be sitting next to me.
content:
knowing that
the aloneness is only for a short time.
July-August 2005 Issue
The Goddess Within
By Kim Nielson
I feel the wind upon my skin, caressing my cheek and tugging my hair.
The rain falls softly all around, down my cheek, but I'm not there.
I feel the tug of earth and sky from the top of my head down to my toes.
I feel a humming deep within, and as I focus, it grows.
The searing heat of bitter cold,
A newborn's cry, the knowledge of the old -
All experienced in a flash
Dawn to dusk, and flame to ash.
The Goddess sheds Her tears on me
And takes my hand and sets me free.
She is the beauty all around
The soaring treetops, the fertile ground.
She looks down on me from the sky,
I call out, "Luna!" and reach way up high.
And in a moment of pure clarity,
I see Her and She sees me.
She guides me, holds me, helps to guide my feet.
She gives me strength when problems I meet.
She can do nothing or She can do all.
She watches me rise, and She watches me fall.
I come back to me now and open my eyes -
I hear in the distance a lonely bird's cries.
I turn my face upward and look to the sky,
Longing to catch just a glimpse of Her eye.
I feel deep inside me the start of the truth.
The Goddess shows wisdom in spite of Her youth
And She has shared this joke with me,
And will with you, if you choose to see.
I know now the secret of life's harmony
For the Goddess exists right here, inside of me.
She always was, and always will be
Deep in my heart, my own divinity.
July-August 2005 Issue
Chasing the Red Head
By Silver Shaman
My hand in Her hand
She leads me to the light
Along the calendar lines
Across the star borne night
God following the Goddess
Throughout the depths of time
Skyclad but oh so modest
Her direction true and fine
Wave tops they reach up for her
Longing for Her touch
Making tides and cloud and rain
That Her children need so much
The God is born each morning
Just as He dies each night
Goddess hair is long and red
Her skin soft milky white
The Goddess is all to everyone
The God remains the same
Strong and hot and energized
Alone He's just a name
But combined with Goddess power
Their magical union gives us life
Without Their magic mixture
An athame is just another knife
So I will chase the Red Head
Until the day I die
And spiral up again reborn
And give Her one more try
July-August 2005 Issue
Emotions
By Dairmot
Bright golden sunshine breaking through the overcast.
An errant beam striking a small black pebble.
One that I placed by the headstone
Ten months before.
The shining apache tear unblemished by the long winter
Unlike my heart, torn by the sadness I feel
The great void left where a smiling face
Used to shine like the sun
The strong hands gnarled by a lifetime of labor. Gone.
The hands that guided mine as I learned
To work in wood, and metal and life.
Lessons well learned.
Hands that held a newborn colt gently and kindly.
Hands that corrected my mistakes.
Gently at most times.
Others not so.
Gone too, the heart that so loved life and living.
The joyous heart that told stories,
Made jokes. Brought smiles
And was so loved.
Gone far away from this life of pain and sorrow.
Gone to a place where he is whole.
here he is well and again strong.
Without the pain he endured.
Though he is no longer here by my side physically
He forever will remain in my heart.
Some day we will share a beer in Valhalla.
I'll see you there, Dad
July-August 2005 Issue
The Music of what Happens
By Silver Shaman
Native Tlingits crows and bears
Crippled Shaman raps his drum
Reachs out for those who care
Singing songs of things to come
The music of what happens
North night long house full of local tales
Mighty mammals in mermaid seas
Of Beluga and Orca and the rare Narwhal
Chasing salmon as they please
The music of what happens
Fox kits wolf cubs even otters too
Once clear streams toxic waste
Flee from men or be doomed just to fill the zoo
Pesticide pulp mills Big disgrace
The music of what happens
Take heed children the Mother speaks
Native tongues that tell no lies
Of fishing hunting and pipeline leaks
Save sea and forest or we die
The music of what happens
Magik mushrooms vision quest
Shaman see the future please
Reject the worst and take the best
And save lands that never freeze
The music of what happens
August-September 2005 Issue
Balance
By Anon
Balanced against golden light
she hangs, full and heavy
belly rounded
pulsing in a rhythm shared around the world.
Tides sweep through
drawing me outside
to worship in the night
my words silent against her beauty
as
unbalanced in awe
I drink in her silvered light.
The sun has slipped away
his golden rays dying as darkness creeps over all
only her light
radiates
drifts
washes over us
and illuminates the world.
A light so sharp
it cuts the edge of reason as I stare into the night
shadows shift
I see what is not
what will be
was has passed.
And the world turns
bathing in her brilliance
the contrast of her silver face
her luminescent belly
her soft and rounded hollows of grey and blue
and the stark black and white of our world
as the light so sharp slices across it all.
But in time she will decrease
her light diffuse
and shadows shift
bringing shades of grey to conceal
the stark right and wrong.
Balance exists in the greyed time
with the little things.
It is the starkness
that throws us
off kilter
unbalanced
adrift.
We are a people of greys,
of shades of colour.
I am not white nor black but something inbetween.
I am not made to live in the fullness of the moon for all time.
In the time of madness
of heightened passion
of ecstacy
No one is.
August-September 2005 Issue
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