“The Merchant’s Whore”
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The Problem with Dandelions
Bent over my not so perfect lawn, I labor with a hand tool to uproot dandelions. Wild weeds return and reclaim their sovereign rights every year. Golden manes, green, tender, crisp leaves, In the old country honey was made out of these worthy weeds. Picture silver-haired white men in plaid vests, Ivy caps and two-colored leather shoes, They place a tiny, white ball on a tee. Surronded by vast perfectly cut green turf, They swing their clubs with precise leisure. Overgrown, unruly yards and broken fences scare me. I tend my life most appropriately while, The fear of natures’ heroic rebellion, Succombs to the common Rule of Life. A lone dusty path curves ahead, beckons me to follow, Butterflies swarm over diverse, multi-coloured blooms in the field. Busy bees fleet and dance in their revelry of collecting nectar, At the end of the path, tall dark trees stand as guardians Of the ancient, green forest of the past. |
ARTEMESIA
I was your princess, you my knight.
We could've been twin stars forever,
Shining brightly.
Sadly, I hear the meaning of your soft-spoken tongue.
Remember the night in the park?
We slipped down an icy path
Almost falling,
My belly's tears rose up as you took my hand,
My love,
My breath froze in mid-air.
The moon hung luminous in
the dark sky.
And the trees cast long shadows
fawning a silent waltz.
Our steps crunched
in the crisp night's air.
The surface of the world,
My friend
Appeared serene,
Yes, even peaceful,
which sharpened the truth
laying vacant before us.
Left behind the warm lodge,
our safe place.
Alas, the road leveled.
Houses full of light and
laughter emerged.
Our destiny soon to be over,
Then she came;
The radiant queen of the fairies
dancing into your heart.
I didn't hear the bells toll.
That night in his; the Devil's,
Malicious and hard embrace,
The last joy of my child, died.
Morning came as it always does
Revealing all our fates spiraling
upward to a new constellation
Our precious lives
Quickened and changed.
So now dear audience...
I stand before you, a priestess of
black, red and gold.
Let my sacred ritual begin.
Blast the horns and beat the drums!
Through the dark portal
I must go to meet my fate.
The wise ones chant-
There lays the chalice of immortality.
I hesitate to take the cup!
Drink, Maiden, Drink.
And you too, ARTEMESIA may pass.
2019
Walk with Me
Dedicated to the Goddess Brigid
Brigid held out her hand and said,
“Come walk with me”,
Her hair as red as the burning passion of love,
Her cloak the green of a four-leaf clover,
Her dress blue like the ocean off
the shores of a beach on an island in the Bahamas
Shining clear, and sparkling from the sun’s rays,
I took her hand which felt
As light as the fluff of a dandelion ready to
spread its seeds in the wind, yet
as smooth and firm as a piece of polished Birch.
Awe-struck, I hesitated to follow.
Uncertain of where she was going.
With some urgency, she whispered
“Come walk with me,”
I nodded like a doe, shy and curious.
Following her along a well -trodden dirt path
Traveled by many, surely millions of souls.
On either side, wildflowers and greenery
Stretched out as far as I could see.
A switch flipped and I stood
In a white, snow-covered forest path.
Still holding her hand, yet
I felt no cold.
The shift was subtle as the beating of
The wings of the white dove who landed
On her shoulder yet as dramatic
As the last breath drawn by my beloved.
Her cloak now had hues of white, grey and black.
She stopped by a tall barren Oak tree and
turned to face me,
Her emerald eyes pierced
my aching heart as she took my other hand as well.
Brigid smiled warmly and squeezed my hands before
she let them go and pointed ahead to the path
leading deeper into the woods.
Her voice chimed like bells,
“Go now, there lies your path.”