Poetressing

Halloween Wish Witch

2007-10-13T18:41:00.000-07:00

Their garage had nooks and crannies galore.
Great for the game of hide and seek.
and pretentious fantasies of
playful New York wish witches.
You could be one too if you
drank their secret potion.
Stir in some chocolate syrup, some soda and
some milk and the magic elixir comes to life.
And it’s especially fancied by the five year old tongue.
Into the dark folds of storage you then must go.
Spider webs and dust arouse the senses
while the larger bodies of 7 year old tricksters
hiding in the oddest of places
perform their magical disappearing act.
The smallest obediently perused the area looking for the
secret spaces of the elder ones.
“I found you,” the little one announced, thrilled with herself.
But the found bodies remained still.
The little one pointed and giggled in delight,
jumping up and down.
“I found you. I found you.”
Still the bodies remained motionless and silent.
Soon the little one walked away
and sought the next trickster hiding place.
It was then a deep sounding voice arose
with spooky and distant vocal tones,
“Noooo you didn’t find us.”
“Goooo outside and we will come out.”
The little one argued, “But, I found you.”
“GO,” commanded the older children.
Go, she went. What did a five year old know.
She knew she had found them.
Five year olds hold on to certain certainties.

Vashti (c) 2007

Walking

2007-01-27T18:22:00.000-08:00

The soles of our feminine feet
long for hallowed ground.

We, whose feet are those of internal Empresses,
Queens, Daughters of Royalty.

We, who trod the landscapes where
Princesses and High Priestesses dwell.

We, who walk through this world
with the Eternal.

We, who wear the fragrance of soul scapes
hold this secret dear, as it is this secret which
carries us where we could not go by ourselves.

Depths of Her Being

2006-09-11T14:22:00.000-07:00

Traveling through the depths of Her being,
In love corners of expressions,
She tricks me into believing.
I follow with eyes blind and emotions fleeting,
Leaving the world behind.
I am intoxicated and dysfunctional,
Legs unsteady, shaking with anticipations,
That never come true beyond my imagination.
I design a world for Her to visit.
She arrives when my longings are highest.
I am fulfilled by my own embellishments.
Reading impressions of sophistries',
I lay in wait for fanciful pastimes,
Creating beauteous holographic realities.
When I still my fancy, I hear Her voice.
She quietly recites, "Valour, dear one, valour."

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Nomadic Findings

2006-09-06T22:15:00.000-07:00

Across the borders She resided like air that follows lungs.
An ever present traveling companion.
Called by many languages.
In forms multitude she remained constant in appearances.
The tongues of time named her diversities.
They crowned Her head of Legions.
They adored Her naked or robed.
They explained on a multitude of parchments.
She is called Netzach and Creatress,
MATRKA, word and letters,
Spanda, wave and movement.
She is the Dark Mother, Empress and Queen.
She is lover, lifter, slaughterer and enslaver.
She is a sweet surrender, tender are Her chains.
She is nurturer and chastiser.
Fed by the fruit of the vine and welped by the swinging branches,
She cultivates.
Slaying the false reality donned,
The mask manufactured,
The small self created.
Granting boons and dressing in attributes.
Never taking away, but rising mundane delusions to new meaning.
Divinizing aspects and revealing the face of a heart.
Giving clear spectacles with new proportions.
She is Lillith slayer of the ego child.
She is Kali reconstructionist of the false perceptions and attachments.
She is Inanna, who carries one to the depths of the dark side of soul,
Naked and robbed of riches and protection, hung on a hook, left to die.
When lost in Her Kamaloka, personal dirty laundry is cycled through Her Universal Washing Machine.
As Saraswati She wises one up.
As Shekinah She copulates.
As Durga She empowers a weak heart.
As Kundalini She ignites.
She is delusion and liberation.
She is negative and positive aspects.
She is all the inbetweens.
She is a sweet seductress and a stern guide.
Sometimes veiled in darkness
Other times illuminated in dawn light streams.

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

And.....

Nameless By Tzvi Freeman

High upon her precipice, the soul is nameless, for she has no form - she will be whatever she must be.

Peering below, beneath the clouds, she perceives a faint shimmering of her light in the deep, wet earth. There she finds form, and she calls it a name, and she is called when that name is called, for she says, "This is me."

But it is not her. It is only a faint glimmering of her light within the frame of a distant world.

http://www.chabad.org/library/article.asp?AID=36342

Love Looked

2006-09-03T18:09:00.000-07:00

Love looked without her eyes today.
A deepening wonder claimed the canvas.
Designs of heart strobes galently ebbed and flowed,
Serene in liquid movement.
She retreated and returned from dreamscapes,
Mysteriously reaching into worlds untouched,
Searching the distances of her own creation.
Looking for that which sprouted life dances.

The Feminine Rising

2006-08-31T21:21:00.000-07:00

You say it wasn’t about the feminine rising.
But, of course it was.
With an overabundance of yang and not enough yin,
A microcosmic example of a greater reality,
A living allegory and allusion,
The feminine is rising.
Although, yin can sometimes be frightening.
Her potency overwhelming.
Her moisture so consuming.
Yang is so dry.
The feminine is rising.
Belly speak blows the mind.
The feminine is rising.

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Resonation Streams

2006-08-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

I wondered today at resonating factors of life.
Those things that ring true,
And the appearances of like minds and kinds intoning.
Intensification produced by sympathetic vibration.
I vibrate with you.
For today?
Waves meeting like a Poseidon rise.
Do we also crash together?
What proviso is the stipulation to resonation factors?
What contingency and limitations stifle resonation?
Why are there breaks in the streaming media?
What sonic boom or cosmic intervention shatters the musical current,
Captured by a change in frequency?
What gives an initial impact sustenance?

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

The Cupboard's Token

2006-08-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

Young Mary Hubburd
Sat in her cupboard
Escaping from the world.
By shutting out artificial light and superficial sound
The sights would generally astound her.
She wasn't sure if the mental events were mindful or mindless,
But, nonetheless, the flood was of great interest.
She couldn't tell a soul about the movies in the cupboard.
Such fiction unleashed in imaginative genre was rated ‘M’.
Fades to grays and blackouts to following scenes
Filled her kaleidoscope watch-eyed theatre.
Puzzled at the shards of imagery trying to make sense,
She grabbed at a floating notion riding the fence
Of Appletree’s yard.
On a flickering piece of mirror, it tried valiantly to reveal to her.
Meme’s delight.
She was dressed in basil and it was too eccentric,
This twist in the script.
Especially the vagabond who had taken hold of her meanings.
Llyod didn’t much care about interpretations.
Galleries were for showings, simply showings.

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

The New House

2006-08-28T19:57:00.000-07:00

The design team arrived.
Monstrous pieces of destroying equipment buzzed,
Tearing down the structure that I once called home,
To make way for the great work ahead.
The transformation rose up upon an empty plot of land.
The foundation was placed, secured and efficient,
Rooted deeply into the soil of time.
Quarters took shape within the whole.
Each with a unique form that sought to express a diversity of essence.
Windows let in the lights of day and night.
Door frames made ready for the gatekeepers.
Lush flora sprung up all around and a new fragrance emerged.
I looked in amazement at the new design resting upon the small kingdom.
The design technique had a brilliant stroke within it.
Who is the wonderful artist, I asked the builders.
With a smile they informed, "The Queen of Fire is Her name."

All Rights Reserved (c) 2006

Genealogical Drifts

2006-08-26T16:59:00.000-07:00

How did darkness become a negative?
When did the false tales of unions begin?
From the beginning, light danced with blackness.
The primordial seed roamed in vast regions of void seeking the cosmic egg.
The seed searched for its mate, where She calmly waited.
The seed wandered in nothingness, never becoming until allowed to enter in.
Millions try and yet only one finds favor.
Fertility rites and sciences beg Her for impregnations.
But she cycles in the quiet of what is Her Natural Way.
Always ready, She is constant to provide Creation Quarters.
Seeds still seek Her,
Diving in the tunnels and by-ways,
Looking for a way to make life,
In a place where there are yet no ribs.
A search for the gestation of newness.
Seeds of life quest in the womb of potential copulation.
Yearning conceptions and developments.
Birth is found in the black shadows of Her womb.
Diving into blood
Swimming in DNA
Arriving at the ancient codex
Finding glory at the dawn
There I AM
Before separation fought the war of x and y.
The ALL dancer motioned.
She pondered creativity
And suddenly spoke with a vehemence, "Let there be seed."