Manehead
A poem about falling apart, reassembling, and finding Goddess
Going To Seed
My strong nature, as with all strong natures,
Shattered from the inside. My body,
Her leavings, melted, and gently folded to the floor
With one long buckle
Of knees, spent: my lease
On rootedness, my grip on common consciousness.
Overly strong, that caught hold of the Sun,
That was still for so long
Finally broke its filament, shook and glittered into firmament.
The Blossoming
I rolled, my pieces strewn in the swell. Twinkling,
They approach the shore
Rushing the rocks, their lights search about,
Seeking the woods, and the paths down below.
And still I roll. The pieces run together
Into the seeds of apple, pomegranate,
To be cherished within the trees.
I dropped my leaves. Glinting
Gold flecks, rose to race down rabbit holes,
Nameless black burrows. Where I followed the roars,
The ones right to the core,
To see Her standing, coins collecting at the paw.
The Pearl Of Great Price
The black lashes fixed me.
Fierce face, river-stone rounded; her mane mangled
With the grains of Kore condiment.
All these ones I come to,
All women of war, all roar at the core
All adorned, all gentle and mature
And I am sure, I am sure
I will be drunk (blood substitute)
And I will be no more.
Thank you to D.H. Lawrence: “So it is with strong natures today: shattered from the inside.” — The Ladybird
