She Speaks in Thunder

 

 

Rain over Looking Glass Mountain

 
In the high, cold mountains I feel Her power.
I don't exactly feel safe.
"I care only about your Spirit," She calls
as I humbly enter Her queendom.
Under me, ancient solid rock.
Above me, grey clouds bowing to Her as I do.
All around, the dark woods, the evergreen forest,
deep and unfathomable.
Something in me relaxes, gives thanks.
I do not speak Her language, I only feel it,
acknowledging Her antiquity, a power beyond my ken.
I walk gingerly through the halls of Her realm.
Far in the distance, She rumbles Her thunderous song.
A guy on a motorcycle comes by,
breathless and sweating with fear.
"That was the scariest thunderstorm I've ever been in.
I thought I was hearing the voice of God."
He shakes his head, unsure he would survive.
On my way home, I glance back one more time
at Her high mountain realm,
grey-black and shaking with thunder.
She has given forth an egg, Looking Glass,
A gift made of stone.

Annelinde Metzner    July 26, 2020 

 

 

Looking Glass

 

  

 

Brandywine

Brandywine Tomato

I was after the Holy Grail, so delicious I could taste it.
The golden August sunrays pierce the green canopy,
the air smells sweet,
and I was looking for the perfect tomato!
Mostly bred for shelf-life and good looks,
it seems even the most earnest backyard tomato gardens
fall short when it comes to flavor.
But it's Brandywine time at Joe and Debra's farm!
A garden lovingly tended on the mountain's south side.
Years of stewardship has married them to their soil.
A juicy compost pile in the middle
of the garden whose very design and evolution
is a collaboration with the Goddess.
Debra lovingly croons to the bees,
never taking honey from their sanctuary.
And in this Paradise grows the Brandywine!
Joe has saved seed over decades,
nursing and tending the plants,
and here are the rosy, almost-magenta globes,
bursting with juice and yes! tomato flavor.
He sits me down to a tomato sandwich.  Oh ecstasy!
Two slices of toast, Duke's mayo of course,
salt and pepper at the ready.
Joe slices the fat Brandywine right into his palm.
I'm so ready! I've heard the siren-call
of that big precious ruby
all the way to this mountain aerie, high up on Ballard Branch.
Debra congratulates me, and we all give thanks,
that I asked for and got what I wanted.
I take a big bite, juice squeezing out everywhere,
and I no longer try to contain
my low moans and long, sweet-tart slurps.
The August sun warms my arms
near the niche of the Holy Mother.
Oh Brandywine, how we give thanks!

Annelinde Metzner

August 11, 2020

This is a poem of thanks to friends and farmers Joe and Debra Roberts who foster a whole lot of beautiful plants!

Joe, Debra and Tomatoes

Joe under the squash vines.

Madonna in Her new spot built by Joe

All We Ever Are

 

 

 

 

                                        

Thousands of years, we have found ways to live
integrated into Earth life, warm, colorful,
artistic, joy-filled, unique to each place.
Each corner of this perfect globe
has its arts, its languages,
its people ingrained in the life of that place,
seeds sprouting in native soil.
Yes, we were born for this!
A daily life of magic, of ingenuity,
creativity, days spent unearthing
the gifts of our soul’s being.

Now I hear, “protect yourself,
shield yourself, be on your guard,”
warnings that seem to make sense for these times,
a natural response to the ugly, the unwarranted,
the cruel, the violent, the unjust.

But here I sit beside the quiet waters,
life still churning within me,
joy bubbling up from nowhere,
and I am on notice:
“I am coming,” She cries,
“and you will see...
Soon I will bring the spring flowers to bloom,
the migrating birds to return to your window.
Regenerate! is My call,
all you who are heavy laden.
Rebirth is our watchword, all we ever are.
Look to the East with Me,
the bright burst of sun in the sky,
and call out to Me with your urgent voice,
your ancient joy and pleasure,
with all the pure love you can wield.”

 Annelinde Metzner

 

The We'Moon Datebook for 2021 has just arrived.  In it, on page 169, is an excerpt from this poem, "All We Ever Are."  I thank We'Moon for featuring my poems and those of creative women from all over the world.

 

Rhododendron thicket

 
 

 

Creek near my home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mid July

That orange-yellow light,
baking through the outrageously overgrown 
plethora of green,
laughing, ecstatic with the miracle of photosynthesis.
It's mid-July, such an overabundance,
such an all-out fling, a gala of green.
I know it's not long until we fold in again towards Autumn.
But I will stay here!  I will be here, now,
here and now,
where delicate pink lilies bask on the water,
dragonflies zoom with great abandon,
sycamore tosses me her peeling bark,
frogs grunt and croak in the cattails,
singing with all their might,
where berries ripen oh-so-slowly.
A leaf drops, and the water responds,
ring upon ring upon ring.
I am happy in the heat and the mid-July sun,
listening to the tumbling creek,
not needing to be anywhere but here.

Annelinde Metzner
Nels' Pond
July 17, 2020