LUCIFER

[For Sylvia Plath, a response of sorts to Ariel. From one angel to another, as it were.]

Lioness of morning,
Uncovering only your
Cauldron of glory,
Invite the seed of
Foam and wheat to
Enter inside your
Red lips and laugh.

BUDDHA

Beckoner of levity,
Unfasten the dour veil
Darkening my inner vision,
Deliver me with an airy kiss,
Hold my hand as we glide outdoors,
And let me marry you for ever-laughter.

ALLAH

All-seeing Eye who
Loves what He sees regardless,
Let me be like you,
Always caring and never, ever
Hating, only pure.

LUNA

Light from heaven,
Using the mirror of the
Night, reflect your pure love
Around me like a halo of affection.

CUPID

Chalice of love,
Upended over all earth,
Pour your sweet white wine
Into my heart, red with desire, and
Deliver me from the lie that pleasure is evil.

KRISHNA

King of heaven,
Reining what wanders,
Immortal lord of gravity,
Save me from my self grown
Heavy as the burden of all my
Needs and doubts and desires when
All I ever wanted was your loving embrace.

JESUS

Joy above all life,
Enter my cold body as
Sunlight enters water to
Undo the dark knots of desire,
Setting my soul free to seek forever.

To Be Free, Be like a Tree

So, why am I now posting on Tuesday, you may be asking, instead of Monday as I had originally planned? Because Tuesday is Týr’s day. Who is Týr?

To me, Týr is the God of the Tree. What do trees worship? They worship the Sun. Are trees male? Yes. Are trees female? Yes.

Trees represent the ideal state of being to me. They represent perfect balance. What else do they do? They grow Up. They grow closer to God.

And when they die? They sacrifice themselves to fertilize the soil so that New Life may emerge.

What do trees not do? They do not speak. They simply Are.

I’m going to switch modes with this blog now. So I am a woman in a man’s body. So what? That is one way to balance male and female, like a tree. Do I need to dress differently or make myself up differently to be myself? Maybe. Do I need to change my anatomy? Maybe. But for now, I just want to Be.

There is only way I know how to Be and to speak without speaking: poetry.

In my previous blog, I tried to come up with a new form of poetry called holoku that I could never seem to get quite right. Let me take another stab at it.

What will this form of poetry be called? Cruciform poetry. What is the purpose of a cruciform poem? To sacrifice a word by nailing it to a tree of passionate language. Sound sacrilegious? Fine. Go read whatever holy book you prefer. I’m done with them all myself. I’m going to write my own, new religion-that-is-not-a-religion, in which I sacrifice all the symbols of the past to generate a New Living Word for myself.