These Are My People: Lydia Khandro
Dried brown leaves and gray branches of solemn cycle
ignite to become golden lakes of wild hip-deep depths
The Blue Ridge Mother bears twice the ritual witness
standing cool, wrapped in the garment of her ancestor,
cradling her Divinity with skirts raising winds of power.
Her hair halos with the light of life, love, and nurturing.
She is the Great Mother bearing her Winter-born in holiness
The turning of the Wheel is honored in her space
the breathing of the seasons accounted at her grace
With eyes the color of summer sky she observes the holy
Appreciating each season as its revealed so slowly
Her hair is the color of bonfires, of cider mills or pumpkin pies
When she laughs, I mean really laughs, it could make you cry
She sees the world in music, notes upon a page,
Not a moment passes by that she’s not fully engaged.
She can make a piano dance a jig or an organ sing to God
But she believes, somewhere inside, that she is somehow flawed.
When she gives the gift of her, in whichever way she does,
There is never any doubt in mind, that you are truly loved.
A beautiful spirit cloaked in kindness.
There is a legend from the ancient fires
That when a body dies, the soul does not expire
But it continues through the ages, grace upon graces
Changing its location, wearing different faces
When two souls their paths abide
Return to gather in eras of needed tribes
The powers that be return them there
So they may uplift, gather in prayer
That they may break bread and commune together
Hold the umbrellas through storms and sunny weather
And sometimes it’s seen as a gracious boon
That one knows the other never too soon
They see the smile, the movement in grace
They feel the love returning from their own face
The one from where the legend of ancient fires sprung
And they know that the cycle has once again begun.
My friend Sarah HunterShe was born with a baby on her hip
A jaunt in her step that moved her like a cradle
A smooth line smile that granted mother’s milk
While soothing ruffled feathers of frustrated ilk
She slithers with grace leaving trails of wildflowers
Carefully disguised as children, her daughters
She was born with a baby on her hip
As if the earth were not solid but a slow rolling ship
A reckless follower of her hearts intensity
Gives birth to her gift from her sacred humanity.
Always!
Love is an active participation one to another.
It is a tribute to those who taught us
who moved our spirits
who shook up our souls like a snowglobe scene
we kept dusty and hidden on a shelf that we don’t remember building
but suddenly are embarrassed to realize was there all along
Love is an active embrace of warm energy
It is an honoring of those who taught us
who helped us realize our worth
who took our broken pieces scattered everywhere
and meticulously hugged each one until we learned
until we believed that we were worth the love they gave.
Love is an active bond between two spirit kin
It is an abiding reminder of those who taught us
who helped us understand what forever means
who took the disappointments and broken promises
and ALWAYS loved us no matter what.
Love is Always.
Always love is the greatest gift I can forward
because it is given to me every day for always.
A Love Note
Goddess
Her hair flows like cool rivers around her shoulders
brushing softly at my cheeks
she leans in to touch my arm
whispering thoughts that caress my ears like a song
Her scent is musky rain with a hint of sandalwood
It cloaks my breath with its subtle incense
My heart shudders, bounces, tossed as if on a rolling sea
Her soul floats openly in her kaleidoscope eyes
Her tranquil gracefulness is haunted
with echos of vulnerability and pain
She glows like an oil lamp, flickering, heated,
fueled by a passion for life…and love
She pulls away and with a simple gesture of her hand
she proves herself to be exquisite, delicate, powerful
Her gentleness sweeps against my skin like a searing hot fire
Her giggled words, like cannons,
firing…exploding
encompassing me.
One kiss would damn me
One intimate touch would be my downfall
The consequences harsh and brutal
The risk too great
I hover, instead, around her light in hopes
that perhaps she might shine on me again.
http://www.monzeeki.com/
New York, New York
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Monzeeki
Just for today,
I will honor the knees at which I kneel
Taking preservation in wisdom dripped
From oceans of tears and millions of stars.
Just for today,
I will offer my actions without expectation
To those who suffer poverty in all ways
In their bodies, in their actions, in their spirits.
Just for today,
I will be grateful as I prepare my meals
Mindful of the preparation in my hands
Filling plates with sustenance, love, laughter.
Just for today,
I will hold a my tongue from anger
Keeping tolerance at the forefront of my mind
Defending against injustice with a considered heart.
Just for today,
I will hold the brothers and sisters of my spirit tribe
With compassion and kindness in the Light
That guides us to one another in graceful exchange.
Yule 2008
I know that you love me.
I feel it on my skin, in my skin, like my skin
In my spirit, through my spirit, with my spirit;
Snaking its way through my body
Like my breath and blood.
Unashamed to explore the recesses of my reflections
Sorting through my sacred spaces like a wild child on a spending spree.
Moving forward even when encouraged strongly to turn back!
Turn back and don’t look at that pile of filth, of lies, of dastardly deeds
Stacked in the furthest corners that I disguise with masks,
Masks that vulgar people disregard with acceptance.
You refuse my please with tenderness and compassion.
You gently pull back the world I keep hidden beneath my bravado.
You don’t cringe.
You don’t run.
You just coax me from beneath my veil,
Encouraging me to seek the day with a new, braver face.
That which is my own, truly my own.
Because of this trust you’ve established with me
In an agreement of lifelong complexity,
I comply with the oxymoron of trepidational courage.
And this, my love, is how I know without a doubt that you love me.
words. hearts. secrets.
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