Water

 

 

 

The graveyard is still, still,
    the quietest I've ever seen.
The Day of the Dead has been and gone,
    and I am here, belatedly bringing flowers.
Slowly the oaks have released their leaves, one by one,
    but Mama and Daddy's names greet me plainly,
    unhidden by the crinkly brownness.
I bring the pure white Christmas flowers,
    and the blood red.
Suddenly I'm pouring out my soul,
    thanking them, remembering them,
    revealing myself, and weeping.
How I miss them!
Their struggles, their troubles, pervasive as my own,
    all of us on this path called Life.
I sit for a spell nearby.
One leaf falls,
    one bright yellow butterfly, all alone,
    zooms by my cheek.
And then water!  A spigot up from the ground,
    fresh, cold water, never before seen here.
I wash my face three times in the icy coldness
    and hold my face up to the November sun.

Annelinde Metzner

November 21, 2020

 

Mom, Dad and niece Emily

 

Mom, Dad and my son Peter

 

Family on the Catskill farm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grandmother Oak Speaks

 

 

I climbed the steep dirt road
    behind the old farmhouse,
    the back slant of the roof caving in
    from snow, winter, neglect,
    bricks falling from the chimney.
There I was! in the land of the Fairies,
    the majestic Grandmother oak appearing to my left,
    bending gracefully to the sky.
To my right, my nephew's hunting camp,
    target practice set up,
    and a grill ready for the fresh meat.
I turned back to my Grandmother,
    moss rising greenly from Her massive roots,
    ferns bowing reverently at Her feet,
    Her huge old grey body bending gracefully
    up to the wide-spread branches high above.
I gazed upon Her, and a sparkling city
    rose from Her roots in front of me,
    translucent, silvery, rainbow.
"Let Life be what it is," I heard,
    imagining conflict, sadness, despair.
    The power of these Fairy beings astonished me.
"We promise always to do what We do."
Hands raised, long we exchanged energy.
I touched a small double oak near to me,
    through its own body sending great thanks.
I turned down the hill, bowing,
    and left. 

 

Annelinde Metzner

September 5, 2019

Catskill Farm

The Dark Goddess in Autumn

 

 

 

Hekate stirs Her cauldron,
     and no one knows what’s in it!
Bits of this and that,
     leaves, worms, cast-offs of all kinds,
     body parts, fears, worries and doubts,
     missteps, blind alleys and yes! a little blood.

Into the dark goes your last-ditch effort,
     your best attempt, your wishful thinking.
     Hekate stirs for you all your crap
     back into the pungent stew of all being.
Toss something in! It’ll end up there anyway:
     miscalculations, hopes and dreams.
Hekate may add a song,
     a howl or a hoot or a bark or a scream,
     eye of newt and toe of frog,
     She cares not!  Doesn’t give a damn.

It’s Her job just to stir the pot,
     break it down, boil it down,
     transforming, regenerating,
     down to the next thing, compost for the new.
And YOU?
Sleep, and get ready for change.
 

Annelinde Metzner

Asheville, November 1, 2014

Hecate is the ancient Greek Goddess who represents the wisdom of the Crone, the Elder.  She will meet you at the crossroads where she waits for travelers, accompanied by her dogs, owls and wolves.