Hymn to Uriel

Uriel is earthen skin with sandy freckles,
graceful as the light of dawn, toothy grin,
shifts all the colors of man, cycles days,
divine protecteress of all meek creatures,
fierce wolf mother, Warrior of Heaven,
clad in blue and white, beneficence gown,
armor of silver and voice like chapel bells,
hair a mane of joy, her spear is revelation,
and she is of the earth but also God’s Light,
she taught me the values of humility in youth,
in observing and nurturing the heart of storms,
she is the eye of the hurricane, potent power,
weather goddess, eyes green then hazel, brown,
all the banners of her forests, elk and hares
cuddle up to her warmth in winter frost tides,
sweet elder sister, I offer you peonies and
wine, the oceans you so love, friendships you
guard, in your realm all is crystalline light
and tropical day lilies, Caribbean breeze,
your form is cerulean splendor, blue flame,
oh Uriel, how sweet you are, how tender, but
you burn as fiercely as a star, so homage to
the Heavenly Firemaster, Light of God, Hail!

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The Thousandth Poem to the Sun

Tender is the night, but long our days –
long as ladders to Heaven, you lift me
up over a thousand suns to fly ascendant,
I am your red-tailed fledgling, soaring
aloft on your shoulders, but I fly back
to my nest in your heart, you never bend
in the wind, it is always autumn within us
your mind is a galaxy of burnished orange
and gold forests, cedar mist, trailing pine
I love you, I need you, but do I give back?
I take your succor and you are my shield,
my master defender, my champion, light of
all my lives, a seed of you in everyone
that I love, I look in the heart of All
and all I can think, Who is Like God? Who
could carry a burden of roses, waltz with
pain in every step, if I am Icarus, you are
the light I flock to, you always carry me,
why can’t I carry you? Let your guard fall,
rest, Michael, be at peace, I have never
seen you cry except when my broken body is
cradled in your arms, even when I am gone,
you carry me, your load is a Babel Tower,
and if you keep building the cross higher,
it will crash, so please, just let me in.

The Mother

I stroke broad white eagle wings up to the sun, torch in hand, into the Heavenly Throneroom, and steal Holy Fire.  The court is empty of angels and demons.  My hair is long and curled like a brass candelabra and my gown white and glistening as if dew is a second layer on it.

I come to the waterfall gateway to Earth and jump down into the Deep, away from New Jerusalem, my wings skirting skies of velvet red and violet.  Clouds dampen me and the stars stretch out like an elegy.

I come to the humans that amble about Africa without warmth or a way to cook their food.  I descend as lightning, and Jophiel’s eponymous torch strikes the brush and lights bushes on fire.  The ancestors of modern man marvel, kindle torches, and the fruit of the Tree of Life which I guard is given against God’s will.

I ascend back to Heaven, but as I break the boundary between the physical and the immaterial, I hear the cry of Heaven’s general, the shriek of a red-tailed hawk, a raptor of red and cream brown feathers, and he rises with the moon in the desert and dwarfs me, the size of a roc.

His eyes are not his own.  Michael is possessed by Divine Will, whether Sophia or Demiurge, I cannot tell, but the urge to run courses through my limbs and I flash serrated wings and fly on a gale away.

Dart, dodge talons, but soon his beak is around my throat, squeezing the breath from my throat, roc throttling me until a white ring of a collar scars my neck and my torch is dropped far below to the abyss.  For I have stolen from Heaven, and God is displeased.

Blood is hot on my breast, and I know in his divine berserk madness, it will take a miracle for Michael to hear me.  I scream his name, over and over again, pleading until he breaks and shifts to wings and man, and then he sobs, over and over, clutching my rag doll body and broken wings:

“I’m so sorry Jophiel.  The Mother told me to kill you.  I wasn’t myself – your screams awoke me.  Please, forgive me, forgive me!”

In that moment, Michael questions our Creator – or more properly, Creatrix – for the first time ever, and I clutch his face and kiss him.

“It’s okay, Michael – your madness has quit.”

He rocks me to sleep best he can as he sets to healing me, tears bright in his eyes.

“Why do we always hurt the things we love?”

Raphael’s Smile

Golden robes like the sun after a rainstorm
Raphael is a supernova smile, megawatt man
his brilliance outshines all of Heaven, his
halo blinding, but it is a good kind of burn
not sunburn, not radiation, but healing light
to me he is skin the color of ebony, cropped
black curls, amber eyes that crinkle laughing
I am a child in the dream – he pulls me in a
red wagon, we build sand castles at the beach,
and I am full of the joy of a small girl, with
my brother and bosom guardian pushing me
in a swing – it is such a blessing to spend
quiet hours with God’s foremost physician, angel
of cures to all ailments, quick with a chuckle,
quicker with a hug, showering blessings on mortals
like his love for Tobias, no demons tread here
on the strand of the City of Luz, for Raphael is
the bane of all evil, breaker of chains, freedom
encapsulated in a hearty chortle, my main man.

Uriel’s Laugh

We revel in spring blossoms, cherry trees
sweet on the bud, my soul sister with wind
wild coils of black curls, skin like earth,
eyes afire with babble brook joy, I put a
fragrant white flower behind her ear and we
talk of the hereafter, of the future, of the
impossible, improbable, and miracles that rain
down from the sky like prayers, Uriel is the
Light of God because her laugh is lightning,
her smile a bonfire, her all-encompassing
presence unfettered celebration of life, and
though her trusty spear is at her side, her
true weapon is a disarming grin, for who could
ever war with the elder sister of the angels?

Red Pill Angel

Wings of mercy, garlands of pain
the red pill angel strikes again
carrying wounded to heaven high
up to hospital beds in the sky.

Her wings are crimson, ruddy dew
heals the sickness haunting you
presses salve, staunch the wound
while she sings a healing tune.

Her hair is rosy, lips are true
when she kisses patients through
their tears of struggle, she will
save them from the poison pill.

Alice in Wonderland nurse is free
to heal hate twixt you and me
her song and galdr mend all bone
and make you strong as ancient stone.

The red pill angel has no name
her flight is true, her hair aflame
she visits sickly, ends all pain
the red pill angel saves again.