In the Root Cellar

Claim the curve of the Earth, the world is worth the risk.”

As women,
We have poetry in our lives.

Words like semen ejaculated from all the need of the man’s world
Held in the depths of the womb
Patiently awaiting silvery shaft of the moon
To penetrate darkness of blind night –blind sight.

Vaginal canal carrying the Milky Way
Into the world of inner space where
Adjectives in ovaries bloom,
Carried together in fallopian tube nouns,
All to the verb eggs
Waiting to be cracked
Open like the ‘crack’ of the birth of a star.

Desire, the forbidden fruit
Invites us to cravings
Hungry bellies are necessary for
Space of creation
Carved out by spoons of hungry times,
Hungry myths.

There needs to be a place of birth
There needs to be a root cellar
Cared and tended for
By long skirts and small hands,
Kept safe underneath the Earth
For futures to survive on the
Preserves of Grandmothers.

There needs to be a receptacle
For all the stories
For all the pain
For all the pleasure
For all the nothingness
In-between
The words.

Ferninand the Bull, May 2011

You came here a man on fire
Blazing heart burning the path forward
Towards falling into the abyss of longing
For love, the divine spark, the source
Of this flame;
To be reborn.

Search in the ashes for the beginning
For feathers of the Phoenix,
For missing pieces that bring wholeness in partnership.
To be honored in wholeness.

Honor me in my pieces.
Like the pieces of the sky at night
That twinkle, sparkle and shoot magic
Towards my heart and then come together
Cosmically, above my head while I sleep.

Wishes in the dark
The eye of the moon
Bring the gift back in order to gaze towards a direction.
Together, in the same direction.
Love is…says the Little Prince,
Says the man that dances on the ridge with flowers in his hands,
The beloved on his shoulder.

Such a curious gentleness of compassion through pain.
You hear it in the stories he tells,
The stories we tell.

From the place where the Goddess dwells
To the sacred, deep spaces of the ancient ones
The stories come,
The song sings,
The warrior walks.

Sometimes he walks as if he has lost something,
As if he has fallen in love.
He wanders, he wonders
About the beautiful mystery
Until—it is here, there, everywhere,
Within and without,
He smiles.

He remembers that the beloved comes
With gentleness, deep eyes and infinite time.
The beloved is all that is loved for the Give Away.

From the sense of purpose we return,
To uncertainty.
To space, wide open space--total potential.
The infinite fertile void
Where the fire meets the spark
And they dance all over again.

Born of the same circle
The same endings and beginnings
Falling in and out of love
Because nothing is permanent
Surrender is what the waves
Sing to the sky.