Light posting for the next few days; my circle's big annual retreat is tomorrow, here, in my mid-landscaping-mess of a yard! Datura seedlings need to be planted RIGHT NOW. Any of you with the keys, feel free to guest blog.
Here's a nice poem to hold you:
FROM FIFTH AVENUE UP
SOMEDAY beneath some hard Capricious star— Spreading its light a little Over far, We'll know you for the woman That you are.
For though one took you, hurled you Out of space, With your legs half strangled In your lace, You'd lip the world to madness On your face.
We’d see your body in the grass With cool pale eyes. We'd strain to touch those lang'rous Length of thighs, And hear your short sharp modern Babylonic cries.
It wouldn't go. We’d feel you Coil in fear Leaning across the fertile Fields to leer As you urged some bitter secret Through the ear.
We see your arms grow humid In the heat; We see your damp chemise lie Pulsing in the beat Of the over-hearts left oozing At your feet.
See you sagging down with bulging Hair to sip, The dappled damp from some vague Under lip, Your soft saliva, loosed With orgy, drip.
Once we'd not have called this Woman you— When leaning above your mother's Spleen you drew Your mouth across her breast as Trick musicians do.
Plunging grandly out to fall Upon your face. Naked—female—baby In grimace, With your belly bulging stately Into space.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."