2009-Poetry by Jamie Lynn
Goddess
Not created,
never born,
She is.
Joy, pain,
laughter and sorrow.
Life and death
in equal measure.
Balance always.
A tree blooms,
She is there
rejoicing in the color,
the smells, the life.
A man dies,
She is there
rejoicing in the color,
the smells, the death.
Dancing in time,
stillness in nature,
rejoicing in the pleasure
of Being.
Garden
Tomatoes red as
summer sun.
Ripe with promise
that sunlight brings. . .
In my garden
of growing things.
Zucchini, squash,
corn and cabbage.
Moss and fern
amidst mushroom rings. . .
In my garden
of growing things.
Caterpillar crawling
bumbling along.
Busy eating
building wings. . .
In my garden
of growing things.
Thorns, prickers,
vines and snares.
Ravenous aphids,
bumblebee stings. . .
In my garden
of growing things.
Sun, rain,
wind and weather.
Earth and seeds
bathed in moonbeams. . .
In my garden
of growing things.
Enchanting murmurs,
flickering colors.
Small bodies
of Faerie beings. . .
Oh! How my heart just sings
in my garden of growing things!
Human Culture
Fat chicks make me drag.
Now isn’t that funny?
In a culture where
different is bad,
wrong, strange, unacceptable.
Let’s all point and laugh--
they’re different from Us.
Too tall, short,
fat, skinny,
black, white,
they’re different from Us.
In a culture where
disabilities are funny,
let’s all point and laugh.
He’s blind, she’s fat.
Look at his missing leg,
her birthmark.
That baby’s got a cleft palate,
how funny!
In a culture where
unique is outcast,
the human culture,
let’s all point and laugh--
they’re different from Us.
Fat chicks make me drag,
now isn’t that funny.
Maiden, Mother, Crone
Warm summer winds
dance in meadows of flower.
Quick, thindery squalls
burst across the seas
like the tantrums
of a petulant child.
Ripe, moon-kissed feilds
bloom with youth.
Gentle autumn winds
caress trees heavy with fruit.
Soft rain perfumes the air
and wets the earth.
Feilds of grain wave in the breeze,
harvest time has come.
Winter's cold kiss
sweeps the bare trees.
The feilds have given their glory
and are now at rest.
Regal, elegant, and wise.
The dance of the Year
turns our Wheel ever onward.
Every station sublime.
Every stage celebrated.
