Wings and Eyes and Scales

The Hagia Sofia falls to fascist fires
children cower in minaret crumbles, cry
out help us, shield us, and I answer,
spread pinions of rose and take to sky
a battle cry, flaming eyes, seraphic
dragon that saves the slaughtered
I am burning wheel, opalescent scale
and my skin is chainmail. The children
stay close along the ridges of my back
and the Devil sends his legions to attack
the stillness of fallout, woods beckon,
we take shelter, Mother Angel and brood,
Pink Dragon sings a lullaby to refugees.

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What Is Sacred Endarkenment?

This ties in a lot to my spiritual practice. Excellent concept and article.

The Black Stone Hermitage

“I think the sacred is more readily available to us in the dark.”

~ Martin Lowenthal, Getting Enlightened in the Dark

“…some people say we should never, ever leave the light.  We should endeavor to be “light workers” who fill every shadow with light and eliminate all darkness.  […]  If the light’s on all the time, how do we get any sleep?  Do we ever get to close our eyes?  […]

“Pagans understand that as much as we crave enlightenment…just that much do we also require endarkenment.  The New Age just doesn’t seem to have caught on yet.  We pagans can help others see that without the darkness we cannot recognize the light.  We need literal shadows – and psychological and metaphysical ones – to tell us what’s out there.”

~ Barbara Ardinger, Pagan Every Day: Finding the Extraordinary in Our Ordinary Lives


Crypt of Sacred Endarkenment

I was raised in a middle-class white…

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From the Dregs of Wine

Your harvest is bitter grapes, on the windswept
hill with rock-tilled soil, we smash wine from
constellations and bruise-blacken the dregs –
for the wine is your blood, and your Eucharist
subterranean secrets where orgies of snakes hiss
whispering prophecies in frankincense fumes, you
are berry-dark, violet-eyed, Dionysian demon, and
I cannot stop fitting myself into your casks,
Thirsty.

Ring Around the Rosy

I will dance with your skeleton in the belfry
as your violin croons out a swan song swing
danse macabre like posy plagues, night-swimming
the Grim Reaper takes the lead, and I am adrift
between a necklace of stars and swords of trees.