Merry Xmas

Micro Macro

Big Trip

I am a priestess of the seasons
   and a princess of the realm
   the sacred cow through whose udders
   flows the nurturing substance of all the universe
   the holy vessel of the natural temple
I am Kali
   fearsome mother of life and death
I am Shakti
   the primal energy
   the source
   that which cannot be named
   as priestess my function is to serve
   to mirror
   to point beyond
   in the direction all men fear but indicate
      in the very turning back
   the secret need
   whispered in churches and in bed
   in kitchens and in sickrooms
   called by frightened children in the deadly night
   articulated by outhouse minds (dirty motherfuckers)
      trying to escape the curse of Oedipus
   the name always close to utterance
      on the tongues, and
      in the minds of men
I am culture, country, and one woman in the memory
   of every man
Demeter
Mary (God himself is subject)
   the green and moving, ancient sea, that warming
      chilling womb
   impregnated by the sea
      the cradle rocked by the moon.
        Whatever form,
         Thou art that.

Jehanah

Returning From Old Hawai'i

My oldest and best friend Waterfall 

just died of heart magick

so I missed his wake on Hippy Hill, 

and got on a plane

and went to old Hawai'i instead

to explore a new grandson's huge eyes 

and sudden smile

and wonder how fast a soul 

could transmigrate

I let my son drag me into a 

Hawai'ian jungle of strange plants

to see a yurt for sale in the dead of night

far from buslines, far to the nearest bar 

or the outdoor loo

built of twigs and branches 

and a volcanic mud floor

windows peeking out at the birds

the mynah plucking at plumeria

I don't know if I can be a jungle woman,

retired to solitude and contemplation

can a laptop outshout the birds

can a yellow birdie hopping 

on an iron fence painted the same color

find safety and peace
and a warm send-off into the air

on sunshine wings flagging 

too fast to follow

The waterfall beckons.

Darkness smiles.

To be a drop of water falling

to notice that it is water and

splashes into a single waterfall

through the elements shining

and a dream of an elephant,

splashing and laughing in the

waterness of the falls.

We drove out to the volcanic flats

in the area where the goddess Pele/Kilauea

flowed and covered my son's house.

We went to an old rough-built lean-to 

sitting on the black swirling lava rock

already crumbling and servant 

to green shoots and plants.

The young man who had lived there

died and left dozens of photos

of friend and twin family alike

wind and rainswept on the walls

of his two-sided shack.

Personal items lined the walls,

a pallet with his sleeping bag still there.

A man figure made of wooden planks

and painted jolly smile and round eyes,

arms swinging, almost a windmill

with tiny bells hanging from painted 

hands and fingers, waving in the wind

rain already soaking painted eyes

that had tiny streams of blue running

down his face, scarecrow straw hat

picked apart by black birds.

A shrine of black rocks, with his photo

a young man healthy happy and smiling

little plots of red and yellow flowers,

a plastic lei of white and blue

green shoots of plants already

growing up through the rocks.

Tom looked into a little carved box

on a small improvised table inside

the lean-to, lifting the lid, to finger

a few buds of marijuana 

half-destroyed by weather and time,

tiny pot seeds chewed by tiny insects

into bits of seed and holes in the whole ones.

My ears hurt from the wet wind that blew,

even sitting on the pallet protected from the wind

by the two walls lined with photos.

I longed for a hooded raincoat and scarf.

But then this young man grew up here

and surfed the magnificent ocean every day.

No water was foreign to his spirit.

The Merry Monarchs

The Merry Monarchs dancing

Hawai'i hula, be-flowered

and long grasses waving,

sunful colored fabrics tied on

and green leaves crowning all.

No smiles of laughter

ever surpassed these happy faces

children of palm and beach and ocean,

red of goddess Pele mountain of fire 

over all, building anew

touching the dancing, churning sea.

Crying with laughter

sons and daughters of 

Liliuokalani and Kamehameha

still here, dancing royal history

and tribute to the land,

and sea, and sky.

Jehanah 2010

To Kill A Songbird

The corn is growing well
there are poisons in the air
and the bees and bats are dead
and the butterflies are not well

Migrating birds must fly
through clouds of death and greed
the poisons go so high
farmers cannot raise the seed

A corporate brood controls our food
for oil is running out
the cars must run, so must the gun
the money sign's what it's all about

The Earth grows tense behind the fence
farmers cannot raise the seed
the birds must die and it makes no sense
we'll have to eat the weeds

The planet groans as children die
deep ocean things emerge
the next life forms to walk the earth
until the next great surge

The canary in the mine has sung
and fluttered down to rest
He will not rise, no one will come
the Earth will take the rest

Jehanah 2010

One By One

Wedgwoods on the road - August 1971 near Salina, Kansas.

One by one, they awoke.
The children gathered and
began to remember the songs.

The words awoke in their memories.
One by one, the old songs came out
and inspired new dances.

The children knew the words were borrowed
but the memories were brand new,
being made up as you go along.

They sang.

The words became new.

Secret Language

There was a secret language in the air in those days.
Dreamily written on twigs and fingertips,
wings above echoing old calls of love.

Some were scratched out, lovingly
With sudden blessings and grace
In the sounds of three birds
Listening for the call of the child.

Snakes danced in the ground,
Down old corridors of being.
Sly eyes laughing as they read
The words left for another form.

The sound, the word, the symbol
Etched in wood and stone to remind
The natural mind whence all things come
Of the One Sound vibrating away

Come and go...come and go...come and go.
No real secrets were there, merely
Forgotten words invented for someone else,
Reinvented in new colors and shapes.

Mimi

Do not go with feathers in your hand
Bear no apology
No gifts or expectations
Go swiftly to meet a kindred spirit
Solace found in compatriot arms
Go not wanting
For wanting rapes the heart and
Chastises the spirit
Arrive not at the gate to gain glory
Rather to bask in the sunlight of a shared array

Listen dear one, listen well
Share a dream
Maybe two or three
Each time the thought is spoken
Spoken gently, with hope
Spoken with that conviction only dreams own
The dream becomes more real
Growing in depth
A glowing tattoo upon the Spirit
With each telling comes new shape and detail
Slow now to follow this, my dear friend
Share your dreams to make them so
Make them grow
Maybe two or three
Come dear one, share your dreams with me

For I am an old woman
Long is my memory and
Full my chest of dreams
Many fulfilled,
All shared as the waning sun
Kissed cheeks left pink and glowing

In fond memory, Jehanah
C. Hogan, 2011

I am in the business of life
I deal in beauty
Nothing your hands can touch.

I go beyond mere exchange
To where we cannot tell apart
The touch of fingers or of colors.

Expectations change.  Nothing is stable.
The dance of atoms in the absolute dark
Require chaos and chance and coincidence and magick.

Life grows out of death
Destruction evolves into composting
Green shoots to grow from volcanic dust.

Reunited 1947

El Paso

Patriarchy Unmanned

or The Slow Abdication of Nations

Jenna, Dennis, and Donny

Father
Your lines of order
Run in my blood.
But the world system died
Long before you did.
Unnoticed
The dinosaur's head lopped off,
The great body still
Gracefully lumbering
To the end of the sentence.

I looked for you
To forsake wars and airplanes
And to come play with me,
To take mum and me
Out to dinner and dancing
And movies of superheroes
Usually fighting wars
Just like you do,

I looked for you
When we moved to a new school
And mum had to work
And I played with
My little brothers
After school let out....
'Cause we couldn't afford
A baby sitter.

Anyway, I grew and grew, and later on
That first young man had your first name
(and I never got his last name).
He took me dancing
And we saw that movie
Of superheroes conquering all;
and he conquered all
And disappeared,
Just like my daddy
When it came time to go home
And pay for the babysitter.

Father, I missed you.
But it wasn't the first time.
And I know what to expect
From church and state.
I know that house was
Never really there
Only a household
Partly packed, ready to move.
I know teeth shine,
Lips are warm,
Body is beautiful but
Better this than a tiger's smile.

All will pass.  All has passed.
Let's not pretend though.
Words manipulate.
Words feel good and keep you
From looking around.
Without words I'm still here.
Without words you're still gone.
Without words my feet stand firm.
Men come and go just like you.
But let's not pretend.
The language of the empire is dead.

I will not hear
The words that call me a failure.
I will not hear
The words that divide my brain.
And make me think there
Must be an other.
The sentence may follow logically,
But the words no longer
Are rational or esthetically pleasing.
Empty sand structures,
Music no longer playing through them.
Can it be the the wind has died...
Or has the structure crumbled
Too much to hold the tone?

The stars still hold me in place...
The ancient matriarchy.
Isn't this how it always is?
The sun and moon rolling
Across the zodiac,
The milky way,
the great placenta of heaven.
You, Father, may indeed rest.
You were always at home someplace
Within her arms.
I wander, a restless child
Who can never leave home.
The state of being does not abdicate.
The church of forever does not persecute
Nor excommunicate.
May beach parties and barbeques
Take the place of my father's wars
Forever and ever
Ah men!

-Jehanah-

Young Mother

Virginia 'Jenna' Maxine

Welcome welcome whispered the trees
To the young girl alone in the forest
Welcome welcome sang the flowers
To the young girl alone with her child
Welcome they sang to the young mother
Welcome to the Great Sisterhood
Of the Matriarchy welcome New Star

She sat, crooning to her babe
Surrounded by the dancing shadows
Of the leaves, surrounded by flowers
blood washed clean, a natural thing
Part of the Panoply of Life extended

A natural thing, she sat crooning
Before she had to return to the city
Where she would be treated in shame
And must find a different home
For the babe.  No father to have
Any part, in the great Matriarchy of Life.

-Jehanah-

Jehanah’s Ashes

I.

Into the pot of flame

we burn the cord of life

when it ends

it begins from the earth again

we let go of her being

free her from our neediness

II.

It is May

we dance around the pole

of many color ribbons

over and under each other

weaving as we go

to the music of the songstress

and the tapping of drums

the burning sage

the oil of lavender

roses on the altar

her photos, the old Druidess

with each turn

her long hair flying

each turn

her gray eyes smiling

each turn

she bends her knees

each turn

she dances with bears

III.

Her ashes, fine like white sand

slip through my fingers

onto the ancient stones

they fall, covering blades of grass

and the occasional peek of pink

they spread in the breeze

swirl around me

I feel the sting in my eyes

they land on my black coat and boots

a spray of pixie dust clinging

Tom’s face is streaked with her ashes

little specks on his bushy beard

she fills the grove

we kiss the air

salt I taste on my lips


-Clara Hsu-

Monarch

Note: I am leaving this post up for the entire month of May in honor of the
Monarch Bear, who died in the month of May 100 years ago.  

Fast asleep---
Heartbeat slows to ceasing
After the stroke of midnight

And then

Jehanah rises immediately from slumber
From her bed upon spotting
A wandering monarch,
The bear the rest of Humanity declared a king.
Jehanah follows the great brown bear
Through her bedroom door
Serving as a threshold
To a warm sunny forest
Of redwoods & aged oaks &
Dirt trails formed from human travellings,
Where she has free rein to commence
Her spiral dance.
Tributes paid in graceful
Movements across soft grass to
All four directions, the yin, the yang & her beloved
Chosen goddess.

The monarch bear,
Spirit-animal of her literary
Lifelong prayers,
Led her here.
Jehanah is the iconic, poetic Druidic
Mother of a new grove
In the hereafter.

- Dee Allen -

Beltane Blessing

It is established and steadfast and bright and true,
That from Beltaine eve, Summerland magic leaps through,
And as a cup full of the fullness of natures invocation,
Generous as three times thrice the incantations wisdom to view.

Before the Sky and the Earth and the Sea, they have all called together,
Before the Sun and the Moon and the Stars, they have spoken as one,
By the breath of the Taliesin and of the Ganna Bandruich,
Upon the height of the hill of the many feathered winds,
Of the Eight Lesser Winds and Four Major Winds and a Wind Above all the winds as yet still not hewn,
From the Druids tongue of flames, a roaring fire will be declared here, twice in the runes,
It is a Blaze that will go all around them to the left and to the right,
To purify the night, turning aside adversity and transformed in its shape,
To burst forth the day of flowers, which is certain.

Star light shining bright empowers the Queen of the Faeries this night,
Be also empowered O people of the world lest you melt in her powerful sight,
Be not a ghost all spindled in Wonder exceeding Wonder,
But see the Fairy Host dancing within forest field and river, chanting and singing petitions of hope in the heart,
Each of a hundred-fold Sidhe will go around you and around you, 
And they will come upon Him as it is always arranged,
And they will Vanish in the morning light, interwoven with the cool dew and the soft light,
And they will yield away completely, melt into forever the home of the fey.

I do bestow a fishfull sea and fertile lands soon prolific with prosperous harvests,
And green and fruited trees drooping down with the heavy growth of the fruits upon them,
And waxing fleshfull fleeced and round of sheep, goats and cattle amongst the fresh filled pastures roaming,
And delight as the Maidens sweet as wild honey each, and as fair as the lily after spring has spoken.

Joy/As May Queen manifest and with her the Green Man to the Great Rite eternal today,
A Sacred Marriage shall arise among them as in precious Chalice they set Earth's Athame..
Opening here the secret gates behind the departed darkness of night, 
And outside of the brilliance of the brightness of day,
And our flowering ones will lead us in to the Summerlands, the excellent lands, in the most beautiful way.

Be celebrated each and all then in this dance of the May,
As maids skip a ring, A' conjuring the new Summer in,
Weaving lives, love and laughter, beside and before you, weaving bright welcome gladness all around.

And By the essence of the Oak, of Rowan and of Hawthorn in hedgerow,
By the magical energy within which I turn,
Peace Joy and Abundance to the Sky and to the Earth beneath Sky, 
And to all of the peoples upon the Earth on this day
And of the binding of this blessing, I do myself bind it,
To the heart be it binded, a deep blessing from today.

It is established.

-Celestial Elf-

http://celestialelfdanceoflife.blogspot.com/

Beltane Festival

Remembering

JEHANAH

(1941-2010)

Beltane Festival

MONARCH BEAR GROVE

Sunday, May 8^th, 10:00 to 12:00

bring yourself, bring a friend, bring poems, stories, and songs

dance again, laugh again, sing again, feed the ravens again

wear your finest fae frock in honor of the Fairie Queene

bring a colorful ribbon and take a whirl around the Maypole

come out and play again, and share your memories of Jehanah

mother, grandmother, aunt, poet, and druid grove mother

Heading West into Golden Gate Park, follow Middle Drive E. On the South side of the street, across from the Academy of Sciences, between the AIDS Memorial Grove and the Handball Courts, there is a grassy clearing leading up the hill to a path on the right. Monarch Bear Grove is situated at the top of the knoll,

and there you will find the stones.

RSVP IN BLOG COMMENT SPACE

Poetry In The Temple

Jehanah at the Sacred Grounds

Poetry is my doctor.

Poetry is my priest.

Poetry will fight for me when no one else will.

Poetry will hold me and cradle me, and

Poetry will rock me softly like my mother ocean.

Poetry will love me and poetry will forgive me

And curse me and contend with me.

Poetry will read me my rights

And take them away, and laugh

And cry.  Poetry will remember my friends to me...

The long-dead ghosts the most.

Poetry will come to me like family

To teach me thy family ways.

Poetry will birth me and run with me, and

Lie with me on my deathbed,

Holding my hands in perfect peace.

Poetry will bring me the Meaning.

Poetry will forget everything

In one blinding flash of light.

Poetry will be everywhere in

The You-n-Eye Verse Past/Present/Future

Simultaneously at once

Forever and ever and ever.

Amen.

(New words of poetry always come)

Poetry is the Temple.

I cannot find a way out.

Poetry is.

Alone In The Desert (Sort Of)

Jenna & Dennis

I'm a recluse, I was raised in the desert.

I remember only sand twinkling through my toes,

And stars there were only stars

     dancing me around

A lively place,

Quiet, silent with the shout of tarantulas,

Reverberating, with snake calls,

With the acrid love/death-call of the vinegaroon,

With the swishes of horned toads,

     between stone-silent meditations...

Mirroring the surround in convex eyeballs

Concaving into reality within/out.

I'm a recluse.  I was raised in the desert.

The mountain means to me I go on forever.

The endless sky taunts me

     with again and again and again.

With the nearest kid five miles away,

Me and my stone barn in the desert.

Me and my fifty chickens.

Me and my five great danes to protect from the wolves

And my mother to protect me from my wickedness.

I went barefoot without her permission

since she locked me out.

Dare I tell all?  yet the desert protected me in warmth.

I found I could talk to wolves and explain to them

How to behave with decorum

And not eat great dane puppies, since they are of a race

     like men I have seen.

And one wolf marked me with a nip...

Just to let me know he knew I was right

And he'd leave the pups alone,

But that eh could still kick my ass if he wanted.

But I was only a puppy.

Wolves and great danes and tarantulas

We lived together and protected my mother

   from our wickedness

I went barefoot without her permission

since she locked me out.

The Ancestors

The ancestors are with us tonight.
They sit laughing on the mountains.
They swing through silent forests on midnight wings.
They come in the form of bears.
Long-dead, extinct, alive in our totem heart of hearts.
They whisper when we need counsel,
Wondering at our fears.
The ancestors are after all, here.

They are with us tonight.
They bring old forms of poetry.
Writing it in wings of birds, leaves of trees beckoning
They show us how to call up memory.
they help us to forget what we cannot contain,
Knowing full well all memory will never die
In the subtle heart of the glorious beast.

We must remember, lest we forget:
We are the ancestors reborn.
The ancestors are here tonight.
Lest we forget, we are here.
The ancestors are alive and well.

-Jehanah-

70 Years

To A Priestly Friend

There are no cloisters for pagans
Save the magic grove and secret stream,
For an altar, my heart in stillness
For sacrament, the violet that grows unseen
In woods blessed by silence
     and rushing of wind
     and gurgling of water
     and energy that mingles in separateness
With light that separates in shadows
I dwell in patterns of darkness
Rehearsing structures of light
With winged angels buzzing around me
To aid my soul in flight.

-Jehanah-

What a mystery, life

What a mystery, life
One day there is utmost contentment
While the next – a heavy heart
And nothing seems right.


Why is it that sometimes
We are like on a mountain top
Believing that we will never be the same?
We will not get lost
We will hold onto our vision
And grow such vast possibilities . . .


Why are we cast down
From the heights of heaven
Wherein we’ve come
To painful, confusing places?


Life, when you are ready to tell us
Or perhaps when we are ready
To hear your answer
There will no longer be just opposites
Just far apart realms
Of attraction and aversion;
And we will understand
That all is really One.


Perhaps by then we might glimpse
To understand
That all these scenes
Are part of a vast inner self
Looking like this and that, for awhile.


-Wendy Wolters-