Praying at Dawn

Praying at Dawn

At dawn, a ruckus of ravens
tangles into my dreams
and wakes me into the light
of a violet sugar morning.
This house, wraps its wings around me
quiet and smooth as aged leather.
My body, still sweet from the lavender
soap of last night’s bath,
sings itself
into whatever may come.
I listen for the jazz-soul
soundtrack of my life.
And offer the same morning prayer
as the yellow iris,
the budding peach tree
and the un-mown grass.

The Angel of Sudden Thunderstorms

 

Enters with grandeur and trumpets blaring;

A sudden visitor on summer days,

A mystery which whistles through February.

 

Lights bruised green meadows,

Changes skies into a celebration 

Fit for the Grandfathers who bless everything.

 

Pirouettes across picnics blankets,

Scatters children and chicken-salad sandwiches

Like so many November leaves.

 

Baptizes blue, white and red parades,

Strikes fear in domestic dogs and insecure humans,

Offers some kind of salvation for the insane;

 

Wears a rainbow robe, a lightening halo.

This angel comes to the dreamers, the sleepers,

The turtles waiting to wake in the mud.

Winter Solstice Eve

The ox falls, his ransom showers the snow.

Ice drips the rhythm of Gaia’s lullaby.

The shawl of the winter priest crackles and snaps

as the scent of pine rises from the bonfire.

This is the fire dance of turning time

blessed by the moon and the raven’s gift.

The winter wren sings his love song

for the golden apple of the sun.

The head of Divine Child glows

with the light of two thousand suns.