waiting just outside the lion’s den

21july2010: ☉in ♋: ☽ in ♐

fnord! (h/t 2 boing²)

silencing the scientists so they can cover their oily ass in the gulf. corporatism is the problem. moving to amend their “human” rights is the solution.

daugters of darkness‘ an arab strab track reminding me of a an easter’s eve in sligo when “bats cracked heads” outside the disco (via pitchfork)


last night’s feast of brighid was beautiful
good food, fair friends, and plenty of shining verse
(the rarebit and candles not so much)
planting seeds for the coming year – to heal

in the circle i shared a bit brighid’s folklore
of she and cailleach exchanging a wand to mark the year
like an invocation of the crone she came – dark
she had come to take away one of her own – light

thinking of the callieach and her creel drippings shaping the landscape
some mountains and others valleys, a mound here a shallow there
like a matriarch at her extended family, each feature shaped by her hand

here is a bit of verse i wrote for my father’s mother
i share it with you in honor of catherine, my mother’s mom

Her Owl Eyes – for Izzy Kukyendahl Mabus
21 Sep 2003: Astoria

not a god of severity or mercy
no angry fire and utter damnation
nor the sorrowful joy of gethsemane
hers was a god of growing things
both those of the seed and those coeval

in her compost pile we tasted sweet
the smell of earth becoming warm
becoming from the fecundity of decay
the rich loam which made camilla leaves
a most uncommonly large elephant ear

while she wrestled words into blocks & squares
i became an expert hunter of spiders
pecans rained like hail on the shed’s tin roof
in dark corners of cigar boxes & coffee cans of nails
the fell prey to my jars gaping maw

like some idyll we swung on her porch
watching as she fed her charges
watering the rows of backyard veggies
on fence posts leaving bread and nuts for squirrels
an unusual queue of critters in her yard

but it wasn’t all arcadian delights
there were hours bent down on our knees
scrubbing accumulated dirt from floorboards
of rent houses betwixt the flow of tenants
honest work was the severity of her hand

spite and malice marathons on the driveway
always and everyday soap operas and a nap
there was this break in the day – quiet
to soothe a heart as the day sped away
a siesta in the balmy heat of the houston heights

the click clack of bones on stone tables
or the clatter rattle of dice in a yahtzee cup
her games where the constant throughout
whether we were camped at the lake
or under the pecan heavy trees in the waning of summer

Brighid’s Day 2010

brighid's mark

so today is brighid’s day, imbolc, candlemass.
this last year i put a mark  upon my left calf
to denote my devotion to this fiery goddess of the sidhe.

this evening there will be a circle of feasting and poetry
and candles made among the workers of wonder.
i have prepared grace neill’s guinness brownies to share
and very likley some rarebit on sourdough to accompany
a nice white wine and some delicious potato leek soup –
the latter made by the hand of a crimson haired muse.

this weekend there is a brighid faire and ritual among the fey,
held by austin’s reclaiming witches with aid from their allies.
in honor of her and the quickening of the flame
i am sharing a bit of verse, a song for the seeds
and the trees and the bees that make sweet mead.

what seeds will you plant tonight to bloom in the coming light?

Bees or Trees (9.23.09: Austin)

Whatcha wanna do that for, hmmm?
I saw that agro truck come by today
I see that yellow box on yo tree
And my bees know you done sprayed
Mmmhmm that’s what they told me
They come back from yo tree all tipsy like

Mmmhmm that’s what they say
Mmmhmm that’s what the man will tell ya
Yep, they told me the very same thing
But you gotta decide – not them.

Here’s the story as it goes see
These bees here they feeds us
It’s the wild Sufi dance that they dance
Spreads the word about the good herbes
The fruits that’s grown on trees like yours
And all the vegetables we eats
And all the grains we feeds our meats
Without them bees          Pollination don’t go
And if there ain’t no bees dancing
Not a damn thing is gonna grow

Yeah I know about their bug
Another outsider greed done brought here
Like my people done come on the Middle Passage
Us minding our bees and ewes all steward like
And greed gonna snatch us to this misery
Cept that bug comin here that was an accident
And like chickens come roosting we wants em gone
Still    somebody is making a profit
Most likely the man that say you gotta spray
Or when the bug kills the citrus trees
Thems that’s got seeds and healthy bees
Coz that bug, that lil’ sucker
Fucker gonna kill yo tree    It happen before
Where they gonna get the world’s citrus then?
Not    CAL – I – FOR – NI – A!
Nowhere that’s where
Coz the bees gonna die too see

I told you they all tipsy
Coz when the sniff yo flowers
Well they get somma dat spray too
They fly it home to their hive
And the whole community gonna get sick
Just like yo tree gonna get bit by the bug
My bees they smart though
They done danced a dance telling each other
Dumbass there with the big green lawn
He done poisoned his own well
And guess what neighbor, they know now
When yo flowers don’t fruit
You gonna know it too
So what you gonna do? Tree or Bees?
The tree, see it’s gonna go
Happens everywhere that sucker showed
GUARAN   TEED! like Summer fading to fall

Here it ain’t all bad     Pull on this
That’s mead      Honey wine     DI  VINE!
Tastes like Summer in a glass
Smells like Spring flowers in bloom
Yeah  –   My bees made that honey
So I guess I got me a stake in them –
keeping at the Sufi dance that they do
Warm innit? Like sun sliding down yo throat
No No You have another You gonna need it
See yo tree dying that is gonna happen
My bees, my bees, now that is the question

You stop sprayin and let that tree be
Takes it out when it goes and plant sommin other –
than what that ‘lil sucker has a taste for
Then my bees they gonna stay and dance
Givin’ yo flowers a reason to fruit

Yeah that delightful sunny sweetness
A ‘lil eden in a sippadat – like all yo food
Like all the food everyone eats everywhere
All made possible by those crazy dancing bees
So what’s it gonna be
Your own private orange
Or the end of mead?

posted to the 5th annual cyberspace poetry slam for brighid 2010