P o e t r y      ~   S o n g s   o f   o u r   L o v e   ~ 

"Her Abundant Heart"



This is what it feels like,

when the Goddess awakens within me,

as I understand her to dwell in every woman,

when you have surrendered your hard defenses,

and I hold you in my arms, vulnerable at last,

finally weeping and courageous in your capacity to feel,

and from my human heart

such a holy river comes to flowing,

with a deep and potent honey love,

in wave upon succulent wave,

flooding and making moist

all the crevices of my being,

the eternally forth-coming pulse

of her loving of you.

As  I hold you in my arms,

your body in this moment a universe of suffering,

it is this that she seeks to give to you,

through the singing of my heart,

and for as long as  this honey-love flows,

I will strive to find a way of showing you

that which she longs for you to receive.



I willingly partake of these seeds

from your pomegranate gift.

The bloody juice of each perfect cell

exploding within my mouth.

I willingly step into the underworld with you,

knowing it to be the place of death and yet of life.

I am surrendered to life,

in service to love.


Inside of me, in the dark of your den,

the world is dying.

And outside in my mother’s garden

the world is dying,

As she mourns the light of the daughter submerged,

who is stolen from the hearth of woman

so that all that she thinks she is

can die in the realm of man,

in the heart of love.

And the mother’s tears are gentle rains

melting the manifest back to the formless,

washing the leaves from their branches,

sending the birds away

through the dark sky.


But in your den, beloved,

the fire burns,

radiant and warm,

and the soft amber glow of the heart’s honey

moving the darkness into dancing shadow

from which spring will be born.

and all is soft as fur

and gruesome growls of love

and matrixes shifted

and the deep enchanted depths of eyes

that never cease to fall through me,

falling so deep inside me

where the flowers are blooming.


Upon the earth,

in the winter dark of the solstice moon,

the earth is cold and the seeds are still

for when the world dies

it is love that must call life forth anew

out of the deep void of the womb

in which we truly dwell,

day and night.

From the inner-most heart’s pulse,

burst open and broken,

seeds of becoming spilt forth

no longer clutched in securities hand,

for safety was abandoned

in the now barren field

of the cherished world left behind.


But on the inside it is fragrant and sweet.

like the pomegranate’s wealth.

In my heart too a garden blooms.

Your loving is the sweet rain

that nourishes the seeds.

Your body the earth inside of me, surrendered.

The world must suffer the loss of me

as your arms become my universe,

your lips my only succor,

sweet and bitter with the juice of these seeds

that you gift to me,

of fruitful becoming.

So I die to your love and yet you offer me back

and all the world flowers anew,

for she that was sleeping awakens

and comes to know the cost of life,

the bitter sweet balance of the pain and the joy,

the risking of the death that heralds new life,

the dire risking of everything,

that is the power to choose love,

opening to the arms of life but never grasping there,

for always we must return to the earthen mother,

for there is no other ground.

Just this opening of the heart,

And this letting go,


And letting go



" The  Pomegranate  Seed "  




I feel the pull of you within me,

like a magnetic pole,

magnified surrender to sensation,

calling me more deeply into the divinity of the body.

The succulent pull

of the dark primordial womb of our loving.

Your claim on me

penetrating deep into the heart,

Spilling forth the impetus

 to drop and to drop and to drop

ever within,

 into this overflowing cup,

like the moon tugging at the tide,

like gravity you draw me down and in,

ever deeper into this mystery of creation.

Your body calls

 and the response springs forth

from my subterranean inside

to find the place that yields deeper

that softens further

and more completely

beyond all I’ve ever known. 

 Pieced Together Unity


Sometimes it feels like archeology,

this work of loving.

Painfully gathering back together

the shattered fragments of my heart

so that I can offer you something whole.

So many vessels I have made of this heart

broken now and discarded and buried here in these sands.

Sifting, sifting through the barren land,

through the multitudinous grains of sand

that lie between one longed for remnant

and the next.

In this wasteland

how I want to blame you,

to shame you,

so full of rage am I,

for the injustices done

to the innocence of my love,

now so deeply defended.

So far I feel from the wholeness of my heart

that once sang in the garden

beyond my remembering.

But as I gather them back together,

into myself,

these fragments of my heart,

uncovering the nectar

so long buried in the dark,

I remember again how to love,

how to open and to fill,

to pour and to hold.

And I offer you

this pieced together unity.

I hold it to your lips

and ask that you drink from me,

while I dig in the sands

of all that is not love

within me.

"Dancing Lovers"

" Sacred Lovers " 
 My Pelt laid bare


Beloved, bare me as I purge the world from me.

Listen beneath, as I snarl and gnash my teeth,

for caged is a part that once was wild,

bitter become the voice that once was sweet.

Forgive me when the anger of all woman,

past and present

courses through my being and in its despair

finds only you to recriminate.

Only you of all men, past and present.

Love me still and do not turn,

when I am ugly and raw

and help me to find another way.

Hold me through the fire of myself

so that I may see that the demon mask you wear

is indeed a mask and that in truth it is my own.

Help me to see you, the true face of man,

your eyes like ancient pools of remembrance,

reflecting the love that lived before the pain,

which seeded this barren defendedness,

this fierce lamentation of lack,

defending the child in me

so hungry for love and so afraid,

she will push you away before you can bite her,

before you can love her.

Just in case she’s not lovable at all.

Just in case it’s really your bite she deserves after all.

Beloved, love me when my heart is a fortress.

Sing from me the tears that remember

beyond the separation,

that there might be another way.

We might make a bed of sweet and tender reverence

where once the battlefield lay.

The shackled and frightful beast

made proud and free

beautiful and wild,

her undulating velvet pelt

blessing the world with a powerful love

for her mate,

who she mistook for the hunter,

the captor,

herself for the slave.

The Quenching


My body is the barren earth,

tinder dry, awaiting your rains.

The thirst so fierce it burns through

all the false fulfillments in its fire.

Time has ceased to be

and I await your fertile rain

in the timeless place,

knowing the timelessness of our union,

the eternity of the quenching,

filling me utterly,

seeping through the ground

made bare and receptive by my longing.

This solitude too, is the face of your love.

For all that is here, in this seeming poverty,

is all that there is to love,

and as I believe in you utterly,

always it is to love that I choose.

And so I am a field,

ploughed and turned

in the wake of this tender awareness.

Awaiting your seed and your fecund rain

to fall upon my opened heart.

So that I may know you

 in the most remote of depths

where the guard is falling,

dropping away in the simplicity

of this timeless loving

of your formless face. 

" Sacred Lovers  II " 

The  Dance  of  Creation  "  
 To Love We Return


And so here we are, my love,

as though my heart had never wept,

treading the path in the desolate dark,

lamenting the absence of you.

As though I had never feared

that you might not come.

As though our paths had ever been leading to this,

slowly verging toward the other,

until our feet fell in synchronized motion

beside each other, barely missing a beat

but home at last, each paired by the other,

the knowing of which is so suddenly certain.

For it was the exact fit of you for which I ached,

that now saturates my being

with such soft belonging.

I come to know this

even as our love grows form in my womb,

grows eyes with which to see itself

and ears with which to hear the sounds

of its sweet honey-filled sighing,

and feet with which to join us

on the path of our love's becoming.

Until the rhythm of the days

will play a different tune for our child,

leading him on to his own magnetic calling

 for yearnings satiation,

the blind path of our attunement to union.

However long the journey, however desperate,

always the deep knowing that we came from love,

and to love we are returning.