I tried to write something about National Poetry Month, and poetry, and Paganism, and ecstasy, and Pagan Practice, but, you know, you can write poetry, but almost any attempt to write ABOUT poetry is doomed to awful failure.
Good poetry cuts through Talking Self, by diverting it with lovely or effective or unusual language, and goes straight to Younger Self, and, once in a while, when you're giving as much as the poet, straight to your Higher Self.
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 . . . ."