Garden of Beltane

 

Early morning, the fertile daylight blooms

       as song sparrows praise the sun, these hours

       teeming with the Making-Magic of Earth.

 

Again cottonwood buds fill the air

with wild perfume. Their scent is a breath

of honey-sweet potential and no matter my age,

my heart skips and sings.

 

Amid Spring’s swelling promise, the substance

of my soul fills with unspeakable longing.

       Beloved Mother Earth, so many Springs

have smiled on my face, asking, angling, softening.

 

Beltane’s garden sprouts in the shimmering soil,

opening me again into possibility’s womb, a young Medusa

singing among her awakened serpents, Aphrodite

lifting her gown of flowers with a smile, Artemis

stroking the newborn fawn she will later hunt.

 

J. Pratt-Walter © 2023

That is You

I looked upon the white-coated mountain

and All that is Holy, She said “That is you.”

I lay in the shade of a towering maple

and All that is Holy, He said “That is you.”

I played tag with the ocean’s waves

and All that is Holy, They said “That is you.”

I danced with the fire by night

and All that is Holy, We said “That is You.”

I held an old, old kitty as he breathed his last breath

and All that is Holy, One said “That is you.”

I wept with a lost refugee

and All that is Holy, All said “That is you.”

I saw my reflection in a deep still pool

and All that is Holy, I said “I am You.”

J. Pratt-Walter, (c) 2019

Almighty

No matter who is pregnant,

nor how, within

the chalice of her body

the match is struck,

alight, and there blooms

the unspeakable goddess

Almighty

in a tiny cake

of cells.

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2017