Red Moon Rising

Red Moon Rising

Dance in the flames of the night
Red Moon rising……
Dance till the old falls away
into the Blood Moon rust ……
Transmute the flames and rise,
rise till your Soul flies in the
face of this night and
howl, the Alchemist that you are,
till all energies are purified
in the crucible of capacious
and infinitely exquisite Love.

Thanks to http://padmabella.blogspot.co.uk/ for the photo

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Fantasy of an Old Girl

Fantasy of an Old Girl

There is a playground
in my comedic soul,
where heart and bone,
muscle and blood
come together like
Cow jumping over Moon….
pirouetting like a deer.
Little dogs do always laugh
when I lollop on by,
trying to catch a
dishy old dish and
spooning round spoon….
Ah…. an ageing old girl
catches the tail of that moon;
It’s the quickest way to heaven.

 

Dedicated to Peter Thompson, The Old Boy


Pushing

Tears come –
a leak in my
soft, weary eyes
paints the mural
of my life.
Salty stains fall
silently on my
worn out canvas.
Often we push
ourselves beyond
our Soul’s desire
and the body
screams for us to stop.
But I wonder what it takes
to ‘do’ nothing when the
world demands we ‘do’
it all………….

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The Flaming Pyre of Shame

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If all we can sound are tears,
then let us weep.
If all we can say is no,
then let us shout it out.
If all we can do is weep and shout
and then walk on the other side of the road,
let us hang our heads in shame
for we are no better than the
traffickers, thieves and jingoists.

If …this ….is …so,
then let us make an altar of bracken,
lay ourselves upon it, offer up
our lives for theirs……
a body,
…. upon a flaming pyre of shame.