The Old Bone Goddess

"Bone Woman, Crone Woman" art featuring "a harvest of bones" by artist Joan Riise. Now in my personal collection.

“Bone Woman, Crone Woman” multimedia art piece featuring “a harvest of bones” by artist Joan Riise. Now in my personal collection.

 

Clickety-clack

 

Ah, delicious autumn,

I rattle its bones before your windowpane

Step outside in the shudder-filled evenings

Let your lungs lap up the sepulchral air

My nostrils quiver as I inhale and exhale

Lush, pungent smell of earth and old tombstones

I rise from the dolmen, and my children

Rise with me

Exiting my womb/tomb

This is the season of feasting

Let the Wild Hunt begin Continue reading

Animus et Anima

“I balance my masculine and feminine sides.”–Louise Hay, Daily Affirmation for Nov. 7, 2014 

Animus et Anima

I can get wasted

but I’m not a sloppy drunk

whirling vortices command

that I expend linear-logic thinking

tenacious tendrils

that can’t be shaken off

Irrespective of that rectal contraction

that last thread of shit

dangles so perniciously

buttocks not the bowl

 

You’re that spider that lurks inside

the crevice

You’re that particle of food

trapped between my vagina dentata

undigested mealworms

I see past glazed truths

How did I get here?
Continue reading

An Ode to Computer Spell Checkers

By way of editorial comment: I wish I could take credit for this gem, but I have no idea who wrote it. Of course, there’s no substitute for having human eyes–preferably more than one set–proofread through a piece before its publication/dissemination. I am amazed at the level of egregious typos I see in quality books these days. I think my biggest pet peeve, because I’ve been seeing it so often, including in a Pagan anthology I am currently reading, is the erroneous equation of the word “tenant” with “tenet.” The author means to use the word “tenet” as in listing one’s beliefs, but instead invariably makes her sentence misleadingly about rent by using the word “tenant” instead, good Gods! As a former college English professor and book editor who now earns her daily bread in marketing communications, all I can do is shake my Virgo head sadly. Okay, rant over–enjoy the anonymously written poem!

“An Ode to Computer Spell Checkers”

Author Unknown

 

I halve a spelling chequer

It came with my pea sea Continue reading

North Sea Nostrum

By way of editorial comment: For the love of “Beowulf,” “The Wanderer,” “The Seafarer,” and “The Dream of the Rood”! I loved my undergraduate studies of Old English poetry so much that I wanted to study, in graduate school, linguistics courses on Old English grammar and the History of the English language (welcome to HEL…who, incidentally is one of my favorite Old Norse goddesses, as I explain in this series of posts). This poem is my homage to the Anglo-Saxon forebears of the language we all speak and take for granted every day and their wonderfully elegaic sensibilities and warrior ethos. One of my favorite Old English poetic devices is the use of the kenning–see how many you can spot in my poem,

North Sea Nostrum

The spray of salt tinges the air along this whale-road

Limpets and lichens cling to bleak black rocks

Protruding like the teeth of giants

Now that the tide is low Continue reading

Bean Sidhe

By way of editorial comment: This poem of mine was published in a Pagan poetry anthology, Datura, by U.K.-based occult publisher Scarlet Imprint (2010). “Bean Sidhe” is Gaelic for literally “Woman of the Fae,” which becomes our English “banshee.” With Samhain approaching and the temperatures getting decidedly cooler and the nights longer here in Chicago, She’s a liminal figure commanding my attention these days (and nights), especially when I hear crows cawing in my local cemetery. Enjoy!

938-Banshee_4pngBean Sidhe

Hunching down beneath a willow

I use my finger to stir a pool of stars

Unquiet memories give chase

To the white hart that bounds out of the forest

Worn etchings sigh

On the loose cairns toppled on the black heath

Blackthorn

Pricking

Studding the night with rumors of forgetfulness Continue reading

For the Love of Eshu

By way of editorial comment: In the Yoruba-derived West African religion of Ifa (which is also the name of an Orisha of divination as well as the system of divination that He governs–still with me?), every person, regardless of race or station in life, is said to have her head “ruled” or “crowned” by a guardian Orisha. That Orisha’s influence will more than likely have manifested in the individual’s personality, as well as in shaping the person’s True Will, or Ori in Yoruba, in her lifetime. I wrote this praise poem (oriki in Yoruba), “For the Love of Eshu,” in honor of my guard and guide, my Baba (“Father”) Eshu, also known as Elegbara. In Santeria, He is Elegua. Ago mo jubara, Baba!

Eshu, Opener of the Ways!

Eshu, Opener of the Ways!

For the Love of Eshu

Eriwo-Ya!

I received your calling card—red on one side, black on the other—

three times seven times

O Akánle,

Paá paá wàrà

You who conduct your business in fast motions

Ever hurrying, ever sudden

And just this week, on the Washington Street bridge at Wacker Drive,

the grinning old man,

Omokùnrin,

Son of the Sons of Africa

Skin the color of the repository of secrets

curly white hair

red t-shirt, black pants

protruding Styrofoam cup with the jingle of coins, rattled like a call to order

Eriwo-Ya! Continue reading

Gallowdance

treehugger

Bobbing ringlets of white-clad maidens

greet the assembled throng

a body in motion

a shroud that is static

chorus of cawing

tempered

by impotent glares

a half-hushed twilight of

remembrance

resuscitated glass yoked to concrete

mirrors meet in

cloven identities masquerading

as marketable commodities

on this phantom, a breeze

from this phantom, the keys

to the door of self-immolation Continue reading