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Juniper Tree (Poem)
Aug. 26th, 2012 12:37 pmInspired by a dream I had a while back.
My mother did not slay me
My father did not eat me
Yet I came back to them as a bird
to perch in the juniper tree
I came in a flash of fire that did not burn
I brought with me no gifts when I returned
beyond the knowledge of the ever turning
cycle of life and death and new rebirth
All was well, I told my family
and I was well, my spirit flying free
yet I clung to the earth by digging my talons deep,
deep into the bark of the juniper tree
When dusk approached, I made my last farewells
wept tears of gold, and beat my fiery wings
making my way towards the distant west
where shadows will embrace all living things
I left nothing at all behind me
but a constellation of bright memories
and ash on the bark of the juniper tree
My mother did not slay me
My father did not eat me
Yet I came back to them as a bird
to perch in the juniper tree
I came in a flash of fire that did not burn
I brought with me no gifts when I returned
beyond the knowledge of the ever turning
cycle of life and death and new rebirth
All was well, I told my family
and I was well, my spirit flying free
yet I clung to the earth by digging my talons deep,
deep into the bark of the juniper tree
When dusk approached, I made my last farewells
wept tears of gold, and beat my fiery wings
making my way towards the distant west
where shadows will embrace all living things
I left nothing at all behind me
but a constellation of bright memories
and ash on the bark of the juniper tree
Instructions for Full Moon Nights (Poem)
Aug. 25th, 2012 10:49 pmStep one is the rending of flesh.
Not the flesh of others, but one's own.
For a wolf to be born, the wer or wyf must die
at least for a time.
Fur breaks through skin
like a chick's beak through eggshell
or a moth from its cocoon
Step two is the stretching out.
Old limbs made new extend, turn, flex,
forelimbs touch soil.
A breath of thanks wisps out
from an elongated snout,
then the muzzle tilts up to scent the air.
Step three is movement.
If there is pack, go to them.
If there is prey, seek it.
Roll on your back in the dew-damp grass
and sing love songs to the moon
in a language that doesn't need words.
Step four is stillness.
When all that is to be done is done,
then stop.
Wait.
Morning approaches.
Neither flee nor chase it.
Step five is the rending of flesh.
Again, one's own body is torn.
The wolf dies to make way for the wyf or wer
at least for a time.
Then, rise on two feet
go back to your house of brick and bone
and live one life until the other calls you back.
Not the flesh of others, but one's own.
For a wolf to be born, the wer or wyf must die
at least for a time.
Fur breaks through skin
like a chick's beak through eggshell
or a moth from its cocoon
Step two is the stretching out.
Old limbs made new extend, turn, flex,
forelimbs touch soil.
A breath of thanks wisps out
from an elongated snout,
then the muzzle tilts up to scent the air.
Step three is movement.
If there is pack, go to them.
If there is prey, seek it.
Roll on your back in the dew-damp grass
and sing love songs to the moon
in a language that doesn't need words.
Step four is stillness.
When all that is to be done is done,
then stop.
Wait.
Morning approaches.
Neither flee nor chase it.
Step five is the rending of flesh.
Again, one's own body is torn.
The wolf dies to make way for the wyf or wer
at least for a time.
Then, rise on two feet
go back to your house of brick and bone
and live one life until the other calls you back.
