Holle

Snowstorm today

The hard wind tearing through the Nantahala Forest
is the big swift hand of Grandmother,
getting crumbs off the table, thoughtlessly,
readying for the next thing, washing clothes or serving soup.
In the hollow, under the cold wind, you are the crumb!
You may like it here, but you’re gone!
Loud and long the fierce winds howl through the deep forest.
She brushes Her hand, and ancient oaks crash, 
obedient to Her will.
The Rhododendron stands patient through eons and eons,
accustomed to the Grandmother’s whims.
Her brown and mossy stems meet and turn exquisitely,
solid, rooted, yet reaching for air,
a ballet on the brown forest floor.
Her leathery broad leaves are good for all winter,
each whorl of leaves a brilliant, fleeting thought.
They call this Rhododendron Hell:
Hell, Holle, the Holy, the One Who Lives Death.
Plants and animals die here, ecstatic
to feed Her, to become the next thing.
I, too, would die for Her, 
here at Her feet in the Nantahala Forest.
“Guten abend, guten Nacht,” sings Grandmother,
tucking me in as I dissolve into nutriment.
Here at Holle’s side, Her perfect whorls elegant,
I’d wash into dirt at the first icy rain, 
rejoin the family of all being,
sing the green songs of the ages.
Fierce winds tear through here, uprooting oaks.
I sleep at Her feet until whenever She needs me.

Annelinde Metzner
October 29, 1995

     I dedicated this poem to Holle, the ancient Germanic Earth Goddess who is said to create snow in winter-  by shaking out her featherbed!  
     Here is a video of my song to Holle, the Winter's Queen, being sung chorally by members of Sahara Peace Choir. 
     As synchronicity would have it, here is a beautiful video with some of the ancient attributes of Holle, or Holda, of Northern Europe.  

Holle is shaking out her feathers!

My snowy yard today

The beautiful rhododendron in warmer weather!!

Autumn Fullness

The abundance of Autumn.
Apples ripening, apples of Avalon,
every grain at its fullest,
amaranth, oats and wheat.
Milkweed pods, ready for Monarchs,
about to burst open and float away.
Goldenrod flowers bend on their stalks.
Blackberries, raspberries for the bear’s delight.
There is no coolness yet, no frost,
but still, we are storing away,
all living beings, storing away,
aware at some level of the icy cold to come.
Autumn! Why have I not seen your fullness,
your round abundance, your gifts?
Seed after seed on the underside of ferns.
Burrs clinging to our clothes.
Dragonflies dip and soar across the field,
bees and hummingbirds gorging.
Oh, round fullness of Autumn!
My mouth opens:  feed me.

Annelinde Metzner
September 1, 2015

St. John's Wort

Aster

Burdock

Plantain

Milkweed

The Wheel

"Celebrate Women" pot by Nels Arnold, 2002

At night, when the charges had drifted off to dream,
we counselors were allowed in the craft rooms
to awaken dreams of our own.
At the wheel, a good big slab of clay,
my thumbs, fingers, water, slip,
centrifugal forces flinging gray matter away.
My fingers slipped from node to node,
my touch creating change in quantum.
A gain of height, of depth, of shape,
gray tree evolving prestissimo,
trimmed at the base, lipped at the summit,
and voila!
Done for the moment,
but then there’s glaze!
Pots of possibilities and combinations,
and what of the fire?
A test, a trial of color at the lip,
yellow like dandelions
upon the red of my young womanhood.
Through trial and heat emerged a chalice,
a crimson vessel spilling over with promise,
and the beginning of a creator’s life.

Annelinde Metzner
January 1990





In December I attended a birthday celebration for Nels Arnold, my long-time friend and co-creatrix.  She is an inspired potter, reader and actor and we have pushed and motivated each other's creativity for many years.
     The above poem, recalling my camp counselor work at age 17, full of self-discovery, was inspired by Nels.  The pottery piece at the top was created by Nels for me after our performance in 2002 of my music and poetry of the Divine Feminine called "The Mountain Moving Day." The entire cast sponsored her creation of this beautiful piece featuring women of the world.

Nels' crane plate on my stove

Nels Arnold narrating

Nels' pot, "Women Dancing"