The Thunder Gods

written during the Taurus Moon

Caught by the gods,

I am soaked, 

soaked through my skin

by the tingle of power

rippling aflame down my neural spine

and up again, wildfire in my mind

this thunder drums and drums

heartbeat thrown off kilter

a trance, pronouncement of doom, judgment come.

I crouch under the trees,

their bodies wracked by wind,

the sinew of their bark stretching, creaking, cracking

as my own body sinks to the ground, pleads, 

entreats in the soil and slime,

leaves now sewn to my skin by needles of light.

This dark light pierces me,

pours into my wells of knowing,

and the thunder keeps coming,

banging

earth shuddering as lightning hits,

a violent kiss.

In this storm, 

I do not stand tall, I do not greet the sky

or its thick tumbling clouds.

Instead I bow, pressed flat against the mud, 

limbs now tangled with roots and vines, 

splattered and dirty, impure.

I am but a creature of this earth,

a snake, belly all sinuous embrace of my utter chthonicity. 

I cannot look up, eyes filled with rain and lightning's terror.

Here in the storm, there is only blindness.

And then I feel a spark:

it rumbles, 

it shakes, 

it takes me,

until I call out to the thunder gods, 

Take me! Take me as your sacrifice! Make me into fire and flame. 

I dare now the lightning, stare it down from the sky,

its flashes destroying all illusions. 

There is a fierceness in me roaring,

rampant thunder bull with three electric eyes,

Body trembling, unfolding, muscles taut with will,

I am but string on the bow of heaven aimed at a distant peak--

The Mountain of Ten Thousand Thunders, 

they call it in their rumble speech,

those gods of the upper reaches,

no trees, no shelter, no place to hide,

only hail and wind, balefire and storm. 

Strip me down, I pray,

beat away this clay,

unveil the quartz-stone heart

until all that remains 

is a core conducting life's power

deep into Gaia's belly,

impregnating the planet anew. 

This Body: This

I didn't know her.

I met her in your arms, the way you held me down

and grabbed the wolf howl in me,

until I knew this body was sister to the moon

and all dark things that cannot be understood by light.

I sang with a whine, I sang with a moan, 

my belly made full by the power of your lust.

I met her in the fox gleam of your eyes,

a hunger that ate my heart,

the way you held my throat and turned my spine to fire,

the way I knew there was no other way to be taken,

but completely.

And then I knew her, this body,

this feral pearl fire creature,

this ocean of feeling and tidal curves, this

Thisness. 

  

   

This Body: Fleshy Cactus

This body, fleshy cactus, black-spined passion.

Touch not the flame or else be consumed,

insatiable, sucking the marrow and desert dry,

fervent lust melting will, piercing to pith 

until white sap oozes from every pore.

Taken - and taking - cutting down the spines,

no defenses here. In a pulse, 

revealing the soft watery heart, ready to surrender its bounty

to the bravest man alive.  

  

This Body, Lush Apple Blossom

This body, lush apple blossom pouring her sweetness out into the spring

Longing every moment to envelop bees, take their honeyed nectar into my pink folds.

Where is my fulfillment?

The delight of being used, filled, my petals crushed so that they seep out warm summer fragrance.

Will I ever become an apple, fattened, round, juicy and ready to drop life?

What creature will devour me, ingest me, imbibe me to his core, intoxicated?

I can't stop myself, can't stop this process of unfolding my fecund depths,

It's as inevitable as the seasons.

Then I realize:

My body is blooming

but not for you, 

not for anyone but because I can,

because I am who I am,

orchard queen seducing the world into fullness.

This Body, Full Moon Bliss

This body, full moon bliss glowing in the room. 

Shadow of sand and tide, I am awash as luminescent pearl, 

splendor seeping in to the dark watered night. 

I touch my breasts, two mountains of clam pearl light 

and feel the foam soft lushness of my pale form, 

the succulent wetness that floods in and out like a tide. 

I am white fire. I am a winter dawn come at last. 

I am this body of pale fruit flesh and redwood bark hair. 

I am the Diana of darkness, and my presence breeds life.

Rhiannon Singing

You are as one already dead.

Give yourself to me and I will sing, 

call back your shredded self from the eight corners of the underworld.

I will form you anew out of loam and leaves,

my blood your mortar,
magic-making your immortality as
the man who fell in love and lived.
 
  

Tattoo

Elvis Barukcic/AFP/Getty Images

  

  

Your touch
is like pen to paper
indelible on my skin,
a language of belonging
pressed deep into cells
and soul,
tattoo
forever marking me
as loved.

Breathing Towards Birth

Wind,
strong wind,
tell me,

are you
my true nature? –

heart dispersing
like pollen
on the breeze

and every thought
a flutter,
leaves at evening

even my body
this earthen animal thing
bending
unbending
to the currents

as here

invisible
becomes
visible

swelling up,
lungs a balloon,
full bull frog throat,

I am swollen with spirit
and feel as though I might explode

and in the same

moment
of fullness,
tension,
expansion,

the exhale arrives,
emptiness,
space,
a void unfurled.

I am not …
yet I am.

I cannot express
the fullness
of this being-ness
this such-ness.

Impregnated
by presence,
I am a dandelion gone to seed,

each breath
a step
towards birth.

Wind,

strong wind,
tell me,

when my last breath
rejoins
you,

will I finally
be
born?

 
 

The Cure Lies in the Curse

I am Lot’s wife
having looked back
became a frozen stone,
a statue of salt,

but now
having stood all these years
with the rain and desert storms,
world dropping down
to the ground,
my rigid silence
dissolves into tears.

This has demanded time
and the sure-rhythmed seasons of life
to cast my eyes forward again,

knowing that 

release 

is the eventual way of all things.

  

  

 

Another Faith

Speak into the darkness
like a child praying.
Age does not lessen
your need for faith.

I don’t mean
blindly binding soul to dogma
or sacrificing intuition at devotion’s hands.

There is another faith
that lives beyond these,
waiting for you–
not on the mountain top of wonder
but beyond,

                    in valleys
deep with yew, oak and hazel,
moss, cress, mushroom and stone,
fine leg, hoof, snout, fin and tail,
hiding behind the mask of many.

It is faithful love
who dares look straight into the
Heart of God
and mist-melt into that morning sun, again and again.

To feast at the table of faith is
  but opening your mind
to human vulnerability, 

like fruit, long fermented.

Admit without shame:
you can never live 

  your own expectations.

Instead, faith is setting free
the subtle fear
that makes you believe
every other power but your own.

When you tread with faith
up the spiral milky Way,
you are a star in the night
a naked light without agenda
or any other feat but to
shine.

Only when the inner heat of longing
burns away the clothes
of what you thought you knew
and all the loves undeserving of you,

Only when there is nothing left
between body and darkness
can you make love,
skin to skin and breath to breath,
with the Heart in all hearts.

Only then does faith become
another word for “know.”

    

 

Sliabh na mBan

“Climb with me to the top”,
picking berries in autumnal sun,
warm and sticky, hot breathed wind
carries her promise of love.

We wend our way in curves,
dizzy with lust, that untamed bird,
leading us up the hill of pleasure,
shy but laughing, intending more.

I chase you, feet wild in pursuit,
rampant in my longing like
Grainne demanding of Diarmuid
unbreakable vows  … or else.

Tumbling, you fall, into the bosom
of the earth, a heather bed made
ready for two eager-mouthed youths,
our legs already a lover’s knot.

Not even the gods of this place,
could come between our bond,
as I share with you my fruit,
a marriage feast for two hearts.

Juice explodes in our mouths,
sweet hunger for more and more,
dripping with red-lipped desire
and stained by a heavy harvest.

We are two wild things, two
blackbirds starved to madness,
two waves rolling into the other,
as we heave our delight to heaven.

“Climb with me to the top”,
to the height of heady dreams,
where even Sliabh na mBan
becomes inflamed with our love.

Note: Sliabh na mBan is a place in Co. Tipperary, Ireland, where Grainne (one of the most beautiful women in Irish myth) fell in love with Diarmuid instead of her older and rather elderly betrothed Fionn (a bit like Trystan and Isyllt). It was traditional in both Ireland and Wales for young couples to go ‘berry picking’ in late summer, early autumn on the hillsides, but of course, it was also a euphemism for so much more! I know in Welsh, there is a close tie between the words for ’sex’ and for ‘hill’ (they are almost identical) showing how ancient the practice of lovemaking on hillsides was. It's still done too. :)