High on the Sacred Mound

In the bare grey branches of the apple tree
     high on the sacred mound,
the Goddess.

In the patches of pure white snow,
     still lying deep in the grass despite all day’s sun,
the Goddess.

In the twists and turns of the fallen tree
     reaching back into the Earth,
the Goddess.

In my hand putting pen to paper,
     gloved and warm in the bracing sunshine,
the Goddess.

In the curve of the Earth above the mound,
     where land ends and deep space begins,
the Goddess.

In the last butterfly,
     still hunting merrily for blossoms in the cold air,
the Goddess.

In my lungs, deep and warm under layers of clothing,
     inhaling this sweet and precious air,
the Goddess.

Is there anywhere She is not?
Doesn’t She know us in every way?

In the profound quiet of this November day,
     halfway to winter, the pure air on my skin,
     I have Her, I’m with Her, She moves me,
     She impels me to live for Her passionately,
my Queen, my Goddess.

Annelinde Metzner
November 9, 2012

 

This Fire Blazes

This Fire Blazes

This fire blazes, crying “I will defend You!”
My mother, Earth, I will defend you
      when greed fouls your waters with black oil,
      when ignorance and pride leak radiation into your soil,
      when desperate fear invents “fracking”
      to rape you deep down to your core.
This fire arises in me, crying “I will defend You!”

This fire defends the world’s women,
      when a seventeen-year-old is publicly beaten
      for wearing pants under her burka,
      when five-year-olds are bred for slavery and prostitution,
      when women cannot count upon a safe night’s sleep at home.
This fire arises, crying “I will defend You!”

This fire defends the Goddess.
      Exquisite one, source of all Life,
      within our Earth and within our Bodies,
      Giver of Love and Abundance, holder of Power,
      I am your warrior!
      Not on my watch will You be the harlot,
      the evil witch eating children.
      As we once were burned for Your love,
      so our Fire will restore You,
      Your warmth, Your brilliance,
      Your Fire.


Annelinde Metzner
August 20, 2011


Listen to Annelinde reading "This Fire Blazes" at our concert, "Lady of Ten Thousand Names" on August 18, 2012.   CDs and DVDs are available- click the BUY tab!
  

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The bone drum

Peter Metzner

The bone drum                                                    

On my living room floor sits the Bone Drum.
One Christmas, long ago,
my bright flaming son Peter,
all of seventeen,
brought home this gift for me.
A slit drum of wood, meticulously carved
so that the rounded joints of the bone
play tones!  One side minor,
one side major, all interlocked,
drawing the player into a numinous soundscape
of warm, rounded maple.
In another room, in a small wooden box
are little bones, tiny pieces of bones
too big to burn in cremation’s fire,
all that’s left of my bright flaming son.
How this world is a mystery!
My bone drum speaks from my living room floor,
calling, calling,
saying, “Play me! I am not just pieces of maple,
polished and pretty.
I will carry you with my magic tones
beyond and beyond and beyond.”
My son’s bones sit in their tiny box, calling to me too.
“Fly, Mom, fly!  We are not just bones! 
We are so much more.
We rise like the Phoenix in orange and gold.
From this one tiny point, this bone, this life,
we expand, we dissolve into everything!
We are everywhere, Mom, do not forget,
Augra was right, I’m the drum, I’m the tree,
I’m the eyes of a child, I’m a doorway.”
Out of this amalgam of minerals and ash,
borne from the shape of bone and drum,
we fly, we fly, we sing!




Annelinde Metzner
November 16, 2012

The bone drum

Jubilation in Kenya

At 3 AM, I awake, remembering the day,
and turn on the radio.   Jubilation in Kenya!
Barack Obama has won again, in the USA,
Kogelo village’s own “greatest son.”
A night of dancing and ululation
has given way to a bright morning,
more dancing, more of this joy.
“He has the knowledge to love all people,”
says Mama Sarah Obama, the president’s step-grandma.
“He doesn’t have the knowledge of division.”
Sitting patiently together, watching the results come in,
the people lift their plastic chairs in rhythmic celebration.
“I am beyond joy!” says one.
“God chose Barack, it is his time,” says Mama Sarah.
“I had full faith and confidence he was going to win.”
Laughter and jubilation, confidence and joy.
Schools close for the day, a giant feast is planned.
“Obama cannot forget us.”


Annelinde Metzner
November 13, 2012

I cannot grasp Her power

Hurricane Sandy from satellite

Beneath us, quiet as it is, this power

links directly to my heart.

Fresh, cool, down in the layers,

the emerald, the sapphire:

the power of the mountains is with us, everywhere.

Today, as if posing for a portrait,

She is holding still, so still,

holding each branch forth with her immense grace,

available to us, almost shy.

The mountain, enshrouded today, is retreating in heavy fog,

head in the clouds, really.

She is seen, and She fades.  She is seen, and She fades.

As for me, I’m but a puppet, magnetized,

a whirling skater upon a mirror,

a slave to Her power.

Autumn and Winter, Spring and Summer,

pulling the Moon, and being pulled,

She turns so slowly, so beyond our ken,

each minute shift is an avalanche on Denali,

a hurricane in Cuba, a rock slide in Tennessee.

I cannot grasp Her power.

Now and then, a turn in the path, a change in the weather,

and I glimpse the mountain’s power, the ageless magnetism.

I feel Her pulling my eyelids down at night,

pinching me to leap for joy in the day...

but She is so far beyond me to know,

I am only here to witness, to glimpse and guess,

to be propelled through my life, a leaf on the wind,

at the mercy of Her grace.

Annelinde Metzner

Wildacres Retreat

October 29, 2009 

Grandfather Mountain in clouds