oblivietto: (moon and pines)
Peace and moonlight,
~O~




Barefoot (from Year of the Goddess)
Gabriel Rosenstock

The moon lies on her back
Mad drunk
Keeping the birds awake
They chat in a foreign tongue
A silvery river flows up the slope
Bearing with it the reflection of a fairy bush
You must be out walking, in Your bare feet





You were born during a Waning Gibbous moon

This phase occurs right after a full moon.



You love to let people in on the story of how things come together. You know the background of ideas and have a deep understanding of things others just touch the surface of. You can surprise people with your wide variety of knowledge, and they'll remember and appreciate you for it.
http://spacefem.com/quizzes/moon
oblivietto: (blessed be)
We've broken the record for Hottest May 10 Ever. It reached the mid-90's on the Iowa banks of the flooded Mississippi today. And humid? OMGs, I can't even describe it. The sky was hazy and smelled of ozone all day. Even as the sun is setting, the temperature is still near 90 degrees. My beloved lilac bushes are sweating out the sweet scent of May into the thick air of August.

Tuesday is therapy day. As much as I admire my therapist, I think the lilacs do more good. Who can frown in the presence of so much sweet purple?

ETA: My last A recent post marked the occasion of Beltane, one of the Sabbats in the wheel of the year. It's a festival of fire and fertility, a great celebration of consummation. In that spirit, I offer poetry. This lovely piece speaks to me of the opposing, balancing energies of the universe, as well as the passion of lovers. I imagine these words whispered in divine bliss, and it makes me happy.

Paris and Helen
by Judy Grahn


He called her: golden dawn
She called him: the wind whistles

He called her: heart of the sky
She called him: message bringer

He called her: mother of pearl,
barley woman, rice provider,
millet basket, corn maid,
flax princess, all-maker, weef

She called him: fawn, roebuck,
stag, courage, thunderman,
all-in-green, mountain strider,
keeper of forests, my-love-rides

He called her: the tree is
She called him: bird dancing

He called her: who stands,
has stood, will always stand
She called him: arriver

He called her: the heart and the womb
are similar
She called him: arrow in my heart.


Pax et bonum,
~O~
oblivietto: (poetry)
This poem is very special to me. I always hear it in the same dear voice, also lost among trees.





Lines Lost Among Trees
by Billy Collins

These are not the lines that came to me
while walking in the woods
with no pen
and nothing to write on anyway.

They are gone forever,
a handful of coins
dropped through the grate of memory,
along with the ingenious mnemonic

I devised to hold them in place –
all gone and forgotten
before I had returned to the clearing of lawn
in the back of our quiet house

with its jars jammed with pens,
its notebooks and reams of blank paper,
its desk and soft lamp,
its table and the light from its windows.

So this is my elegy for them,
those six or eight exhalations,
the braided rope of the syntax,
the jazz of the timing,

and the little insight at the end
wagging like the short tail
of a perfectly obedient spaniel
sitting by the door.

This is my envoy to nothing
where I say Go, little poem –
not out into the world of strangers’ eyes,
but off to some airy limbo,

home to lost epics,
unremembered names,
and fugitive dreams
such as the one I had last night,

which like a fantastic city in pencil,
erased itself
in the bright morning air
just as I was waking up.


Pax et bonum,
~O~

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June 2011

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