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My blog--I pull a card--if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it is for you?
I pull a card...if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it was meant for you? *Heart*

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How to Read the Tarot

Begin by brewing a cup of tea,
a nervine, lemon balm or chamomile,
this is after all, your future.
A reading at the dark of the moon is best,
before the night creatures crawl
and bad humours fill the air.
Pick a circular deck, with a fairy-tale motif,
and no reversals.
Hold a question in your heart,
shuffle the cards and place them on the table.
Choose only two.
Like the ancient Israelites,
these are your seer stones, Urim and Thumimm,
black and white, yes or no.
Isn't that all you were asking?

the golden mean

Previous ... 4 5 6 7 -8- 9 10 11 12 13 ... Next
January 3, 2019 at 3:43pm
January 3, 2019 at 3:43pm
Celery Fields

Mastodons once walked here
in the middle of Sarasota.
Later, they drained the fields
and grew celery.
Now, a man-made mound
surrounds waste water ponds.
From the boardwalk
a shy purple gallinule hides
in marsh grass, a wood stork
preens on one leg,
I imagine I can see the Quadrantids.

Tarot of the Crone--Seven of Swords--Imagination--Even when you create the journey, the place you arrive is real.
December 29, 2018 at 12:05pm
December 29, 2018 at 12:05pm
Ronka 1

Poetry is just a game of course,
easier to spin a roulette of words
a happy collision of form and meter,
you are the croupier, and the gambler.
But in this house, everyone's a winner.
December 24, 2018 at 5:12pm
December 24, 2018 at 5:12pm
Holy Night

My childhood church
is shuttered, has shattered windows
and empty pews.
I still can smell the incense
and hear the bells,
memories of this thin place
a step or two between
heaven and earth.
It is still, a holy night.

Tarot of the Crone--Four of Wands--Command--Exchange serendipity for power that can be controlled by your own, strong hand.
December 17, 2018 at 10:40am
December 17, 2018 at 10:40am
Blood and Lace

Grandmother, when you moved in
you hung your delicate crochet curtains
at all the second-floor windows.
Light filtered in from the street lamps
turning on at dusk.

The Japanese have a word, komorebi
for the interplay of light and leaves.
I have not found a word for your curtain dance.
You taught me to make and eat czernina.
I never mastered crochet.

You never bought us presents.
But I can thank you for your gifts.
Like you, I am both blood and lace.

Author's Note: Czernina is Polish duck-blood soup.

Tarot of the Crone--XIII--Death--Something has to change. That something is you.
December 10, 2018 at 10:37am
December 10, 2018 at 10:37am
Emily D.

Envelope poems
catch light,wind
transpicious soul.

Tarot of the Crone--Eight of Wands--The world is waiting for what you have to offer.
December 3, 2018 at 10:14am
December 3, 2018 at 10:14am

Red-shouldered hawk
rests in Grandmother Oak
among wild sunflower fields
shining in rutilant light.

Tarot of the Crone: Beast of Wands--Cat---Go for what you want with simple, natural, strength.
November 27, 2018 at 10:45am
November 27, 2018 at 10:45am
Rust Never Sleeps

Rust never sleeps
but marches on
as inexorable as time.
Will my titanium knees melt
when I am cremated?
Perhaps the grandkids will
bury them,like an afterthought placenta.
Marcescent leaves cling
to the hornbeam trees through winter.
They will fall when spring buds push through
and carrion crows announce
Persephone's eternal return to Earth.

Author's Note: I took the title and opening line from a company in Fort Myers, FL that deals in architectural salvage.

Tarot of the Crone---Beast of Swords---take a higher view--look at all the available paths.
November 23, 2018 at 8:49am
November 23, 2018 at 8:49am

The closest we come to snow
in Naples are fake flurries
on Third Street South at Christmas.
And I have waited in line
for the kids to plunge
into machine made white in Golden Gate.
In January on Sanibel, the feathers
of white pelicans on southern hiatus,
egrets, herons,and other pond scoggins
turn the palms into a blanc mange.
I shake my plastic snow globe
bought at the Dollar Tree
and conjure frosty dreams.

Tarot of the Crone--XVIII--Moon--the power of dream that goes further than imagination
November 14, 2018 at 10:36am
November 14, 2018 at 10:36am
November Trees

Our summer bodies
are more porous
and we bud and blossom
without restraint.
November comes
and we pine for snow
like a sleepy child
waiting to be carried to bed.
We dream of ancient, foreign
baobab trees,
our trunks storing water
for the coming drought,
our limbs gathering air.
Waking to morning chimes
we watch our leaves falling.

Tarot of the Crone--Ten of Disks--Age--Value the wisdom of your body.

November 12, 2018 at 10:41am
November 12, 2018 at 10:41am
Burnt Orange

The raw, dark truth
is that politics matters.
I would not bring a conservative
to my bed.
Contentious pillow talk is not for me,
though Carville and Matlin
seem to make it work.

Meanwhile, our Lady of the Glades weeps
as the river of grass dies.
She does not care if you are red, or blue,
as whitewashed, monetized politicians
impede her paradise lost green flow.

Ballerina pink pussy hats
march, move on, advance, retreat.
The rainbow people are screaming.
In Germany, enemies of the state,
wore yellow stars.

Climate change is real.
Sea level rise is real.
We are inhabitants of a fouled, crowded world.
Democracy is burning.
The raw, dark truth
is that politics matters.

485 Entries · *Magnify*
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