Palabras Press

Home

Publishing

Bookstore

Courses & Workshops

somewhere beyond

poems

dancing with godde, god, pilgrimage
and
pulsating love

hekate

Illuminated by the moon, Phoibe,
The scent of your neck appears before me,
And I can see into the depths of your origins.
Your inner being is the caves in which I have
walked for millions of years, stopping to
sip from small, trickling streams, to quench
my savage thirsting.

Heaven, earth, the underworld are my domains,
Yet it is the domain of the heart for which my
arrows aim, the domain of the soul, for which
I gladly empty my quiver. Much more than once.

Birth, life, and death, the whispers of all
the vast mystery in which dancing never
ceases, do not reduce me, but rather fill
me with burning and fertile need for seed and
endless planting. Nourishing rains come.
Dark, wet mud, signals life, swells with
growth. We dig and dance and eat.

In my prophetic dreams, calamity is but
a drop in time, for as a funerary priestess,
I assist souls, newly dead, to find flight.
Burial grounds do not fill me with fear.
Crone wisdom begins to mark my journey
with you as we couple in the dark of the night,
eating lust in dawn's fresh waking.

No danger is there to my sorcery. Melting
words, dripping yearning, forever planting
love. For all that I am, I am no tortured nightmare,
no lack-lustre trickster. I wear the beating hearts
of the nine million of my gender, burnt as witches.

I keen in the dead of daylight for the healers and
seers, the vital pulsating kin, whose energy
lives still, and lives still. You know it too.

In wanting to bridge the fiery chasm
between love and fear of love, I walk
with my three heads, and do not have
to turn, to see your walking quickening
behind me, trying to catch up, resting
from tiredness, reeling from thirst.

A thirst that will be quenched for a
time before the new one comes, by
your risking to answer what seems most
difficult to answer. Pull the secrets you
know from beneath the very woods in
which your wood is chopped, and your
hot sweaty flesh mingles with calm, cool
air, and your over-flowing green vision.

Let the present illuminate your knowing,
speak your vision, whisper your song.
I will listen. For we already know.

Canada $17.00 CAD

Back to Bookstore