Rainbow Mother,
your voice draws a path in the sky,
your face springs to life new light.
Stepping out across shorelines,
you drink up sea water
over the mantle of our world.
Oh Mother,
fade from center to soft colored edges again,
you are a map leading us back
to warm earth under wet shadows,
a primordial labyrinth
winding inward
we sing of beginings,
freedom and peace.
Sure to awaken the formative power
like sand practicing to draw herself
a deep note- crystalline and organic
bringing forth echoes of
reflected light
cow-goddesses dancing
evanescent.
Nothing shall stop thee guardians
to protect your sweetness
like jewels consecrated,
silent incarnations
of infinite descent.
Here I whisper of eternity.
They claim the freedom
to grow where they want
and twist and bend
and thrash against shadow.
I was raised by the tall stalks of the cornfields.
My kin the cycle of reap, sow and grow.
Gentle contours of the earth was my mother.
Dusty roads led to sunset wherever I’d go.
The stars breathed life into my body
Possessing me to run barefoot,
Leap backwards
Dance sideways like snow.
Coyotes- they were my lullaby
Midnight cantos
Pale moon milk
Seeped through my window.
A lineage of osage, black raspberry and hedge trees-
They guided me to take it slow.
But still to this day I yearn for cornfields:
Black soil, green leaves and aging brittle gold is what I know.
………………………………………………………..
This post was inspired by Dana Tate Bailey at the Southern Herbalist
What is your nature lineage?
Cherubs hover
teeth ache
blue eyes brighten
Come together.
Wings warm
cities howl
lights burn
Touch another.
Trails fade
crystals break
roofs cave
Leave each other.
Cheeks warm
hands shake
seeds speak
Forgive another.
in the mother
i feel safe
layers and layers
white lily gauze
protect me,
sparkling pink
i’m growing,
swimming child
keep singing
secret light of mine
There are beings across the hills
who speak their names through streaming swills:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.”
They walk the clouds with their drums
of solid misty darkened hums:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.”
It humbles men to hear their call
a sound loud enough to make us fall:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.”
A story swept away by centuries
all listen between hoof and wing:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.”
Storm song raging in the west
we huddle closely in our nest:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.”
Primal blood of the sky
we honor the ancient thunder cry:
“Remember, Remember
We are the Ancients
We are the Ancients.
Lead me to discoveries
of rosy, brighter hues.
A search that is uncovering
roots that I once knew.
For a world has been here all along,
a place behind the clouds,
where moments hold a precious song,
you want to sing aloud.
For only in the present tense
can we really be free:
Explore, create and fully sense
and then you too will see.
Secret identities
cry out
amid arms reaching out
for more instruments
to hold new songs
searching skies
for new suns
while now
your pockets weigh you down
below the mud
you birthed in
ready to reduce you again
to that one true essence
you had been
trying to get away from all along.
The Roaring Rabbit 