New moon she is virgin.
Full moon she is mother.
Waning she is wise,
healer and transformer.
She rides a white chariot to watch
the tides of sea and woman.
Her wheel takes souls to death
and possible rebirth.
She hunts me and she haunts me
while, sprinkled with her dust,
I am a satellite, enslaved
to orbit her.
I let my eyebrows grow and howl,
dress in white as she wanes,
red when she is full
and my tides run blood.
As an owl she reads my soul,
stretches out soft wings of healing,
gives insight into previous lives
and solace for the present.
New moon she is virgin.
Full moon she is mother.
Waning she is wise,
healer and transformer.
**
(Reposting from back in 2006, also previously published in both Curlew and Moonstone poetry magazines)
7 comments:
Powerful piece of work. Thanks for sharing.
Hi there! Thanks for your comments!
very profound imagery. :)
That's a nice bit of writing, I love how you tie the moon's cycles into life. Living back on the marsh, where I have views of the moon in both horizons and in an area with large tidal changes (up to 3 meters at full and new) I feel that pull more than when I lived in the desert and could watch the moon change.
So good to know another person lives by the seasons and tides. If you don't mind, I will save this poem to read again.
Many thanks for posting this, I enjoyed it very much.
All the best Jan
Hi Sandy, more than happy for you to save this to read again!
Post a Comment