Monday, December 24, 2012


This is the Lady Rae Facebook post for today:

MERRY WITCHMASS PEEPS! Saturn, the ruler of Capricorn, is in Scorpio, digging up all the dirt. But guess what, that is okay. Today is a great day to do a spell I call "There is no such thing as bad publicity". Have people trash talking about you behind your back? On some level that means that they have given you their power. Today, reclaim all of the energy that others have released into the world about you. Call it to you and then put it in a crystal or some similar vessel. Leave the crystal in a dish of salt by sunlight, and water by moonlight, for three days and nights, the day before, of, and after the full moon. Transmute and use the purified energy as you wish. Allow all things that are of you to strengthen you. Blessed be!

And I would add: 

This should also serve to neutralize  any relationships your enemies or nemeses have made based on "shared dislike" of you, 

The full moon is exact on Friday morning, and as you are purifying I would say start on Thursday at dawn with the crystal in the salt in the sunlight.  Wrap the crystal in a dark cloth and leave it on your altar or in the self or reputation area (feng-shui bagwa) of your house until Thursday morning.  

Today is a day when love and forgiveness, and the birth of Hope and Salvation is on a lot of people's minds.  A lot of the old angers and grudges are being released.  (That does not mean that you have to return to relationships that are outdated or toxic, just that those things are being reconsidered.  Not held as tightly.)

Moreover, right now is a great time to strengthen your view of yourself and your own opinion of yourself in your community.   Your reputation. Since this is a time where secrets are being revealed and also a lot of people are going through a shift where information that had previously withheld will be coming to light (often inadvertently), this is not a time to take outer action, so much as to align within.

Another good spell, really more of a meditation, is to spend some time really appreciating yourself and how much you have to offer the world.  Think about the good things you do for yourself, for other people, and the world.

Align yourself with your highest intentions and purposes.  That way you are positioned to receive only the best of the changes taking place.  

This will help, I am hoping, to lessen the shock of the really ugly, hidden things that are being revealed in the new light of higher consciousness that is the Dawn of the New Age.

Thursday, December 20, 2012


The Solstice occurs tomorrow morning at 5:12 AM CST.  Sunrise will be glorious!

The Dark Rift will peer into us, as we peer into it

Don't forget tomorrow is the global Costume Party and Flash Masque Mob for the End of the Thirteenth B'ak'Tun.  I will be wearing my alien anetennae.  If the Quetzacaotl Stargate aliens come back I want to blend. Also, if there is an actual armegeddon, I can be like oh sorry, not a Christian, see the horns?  ;o)

Also on December 21st at 12:21 PM local time is the 2nd Annual Laugh-In.

Wherever you are and whatever you are doing LAUGH!!!!!  We need this energy during the shift the way Santa Claus' sleigh needs Christmas carols in the movie Elf.  Give some laughter to the universe and to yourself!  Who needs an excuse to laugh? 

Tomorrow is also a great day to share a Pink Flyer!

On Saturday morning at sunrise, witches all over the world will be playing, singing or otherwise performing the song Age of Aquarius from the musical HAIR. Hope you will join us!!!!

Also, on the 22nd I will be giving free readings in person, via chat, skype, email, or telephone.  Send an email to if you want to schedule one.

Found this in the archives

I think this is one of the best things I have ever written, and I was reflecting that what Cole goes through in this movie is what the kids of Newton-- and probably their whole generation is going through-- being surrounded by adults that are less mature than they are.

The Indgo kids and Millenials, especially the Millenials, the world they live in is so beyond the old context most of us are still living in.  The horrors they must face alone.

Love and strength to them!

 Happy Last Day of the OLD AGE!!!! Let's party like it's the 14th B'ak'tun!!!!!

Monday, December 17, 2012


Have you ever felt like killing yourself and maybe taking out some other people with you? Some random people?

Have you ever felt like no one understands you, there is no place for you in this world, and the most you can hope for is to spread your own suffering to others?  To make them feel as awful as you feel?

I have.  It was just over twenty years ago.

I wanted to hurt other people because I felt hurt, and I felt like other people possessed a power that I did not-- the power to make me happy.  Just as my smile makes other people feel happy, and they therefore assume that I am happy, I thought that there was a set of instructions that I was not following.  Everyone else knew how to be happy, or possessed some knowledge or understanding that I lacked. They knew how to be happy and seemed to know how to love themselves.

Somehow, no matter how hard I tried, I could not love myself.  And no one could ever love me enough to make me feel better about myself.

I  did not shoot anyone, not myself or another person.  And even though it was a long journey since that night, I have made it to a place of unbelievable happiness.   I understand now the secret I thought everyone else possessed.   And I am in full possession and control of it. 

It is not the outer that has changed so much, either.  In fact, I think to most people the change is not visible. My life is really no better than it was twenty years ago.  In fact, many think it is worse-- I am still living on very little money, still trying to write something a major publisher will be interested in, single, alone, no health insurance, no savings, and still as strange, weird, bizarre and different as ever.

But I adore myself.  I still lose my temper, have bad days, and bad things still happen to me.  I can't seem to lose weight and in fact I am about 30 or 40 pounds heavier than I was then.

But I am happy now.  I love life and I love my life, even the parts that really fucked me up twenty years ago (or even two years ago). 

Sometimes well-meaning friends will try to shush me from admitting that these terrible murderous thoughts went through my head that night.  I will be marked, followed, watched, etc, they warn me.  Well, as the daughter of a woman that is mentally ill, and a former revolutionary political activist, I am already well-watched and documented by the authorities.

We are living in times where privacy is an illusion.  You can find out anything about anybody with a few clicks on your keyboard (accept what is in their hearts).  Law enforcement has the capability to follow your every move.  My suggestion? Have nothing to hide. (I actually feel sorry for the people that have to spy on me.  Can you imagine a FBI agent having to read all these esoteric ramblings lol?)

But it is more than that. I have had so many people tell me that my openness has helped them.  I know.  I wish there had been someone out there like me that I could have related to when I was so scared and alone.  The (imagined) ghosts of  Marilyn Monroe, Frida Kahlo, Virginia Woolf were as close as I could get. I had a few "Saints" that helped me through my longest, darkest nights.

This post and many others are my attempt to pay it forward.  To share myself the way others shared their stories.

I read a lot of books about madness and depression, and books like Man's Search For Meaning. But what helped the most was knowing that someone else had felt what I had felt, and in Frankl's case lived through much worse than I had, and somehow lived and found a way to be happy.

I wonder, whenever one of these mass shootings occurs, what would have happened to me that Tuesday night, if I had no attachments to people?  If there had been no one in my life that I had loved enough to feel their love for me? That would hurt for me more than I hurt for myself?

If I had been an overly-isolated only child, raised by a parent that was perfect in every exterior way but somehow had done nothing but nurture my hatred?  A parent that loved guns and taught me how to "respect" them? A child that for some reason could not form attachments to other people or socialise?

And instead of wanting to make mommy happy I wanted to ruin her life? Make her pay for loving her gun collection more than she loved me?  Show her just how evil her genes were?

I was lucky. I didn't know it yet, but it turns out the secret is to have something you love, not necessarily to be loved. Even if no one in your life right now loves you, you can still be happy.

Here is how:

Love something. Find something to love.

And hopefully, someone loves you back.  I hope that there is at least one person in your life that you care about, if you cannot care about yourself enough.  But you don't need anyone but yourself.

I hope that if you are feeling so hateful and hurt and unhappy and alone, you will read this and know there is a way out. I don't know what it is for you, but I know there is a way.  Maybe instead of finding the spirits the way I did, maybe you need to disavow them.  Maybe instead of counseling and psych meds you need to find another path-- meditation and healthy food.  I don't know.

I just know that there is a way for you, the same way there was for me.  I may not know you, but I care enough about you to write this and hope you will find your way to a better feeling place reading this.  I hope you will find a way to be truly happy.

Here is my story. 


On the night of March 24th, 1992 I left school and went to pick up my check at work.  I had been feeling awful for a number of reasons, but later I would recognize that I was miserable, and had been for a good part of my life.

No one could love me enough.  I felt so isolated and alone.  I was busy all day, never giving myself time to stop and think-- busy the way only a young person can be busy: non-stop from early morning to late at night.  I was a student, political activist, aspiring singer, poet, and I held a full time job.

I had within the last year stopped working graveyard. For three years previous working graveyard (and living with my boyfriend) I had staved off the nightly panic attacks that at that point in my life I had just learned to live with. They were constant and overwhelming and I could not sleep in the dark, even with someone in bed with me.

I would spend nights pacing back and forth, my heart racing.  Sick to my stomach.  Terrified that I was going to die, feeling like I was about to die,  and scared of the "something" that I could  feel all around me- the spirits- even though I was an avowed atheist and empiricist.

But science and facts and politics had quickly become cold bedfellows, once I was living alone and on a day schedule.  I had rented a room at the beginning of February, but then  in March my roommate had moved out (I'd learn later he'd rented the room knowing that he was leaving in a month, so that he wouldn't have to pay the full rent himself or wait to get his security deposit.)

I was left to suffer the nights alone.  I was tired of picking men up for one night stands. Sick of begging previous lovers to come over and sleep with me.  Sick of being exhausted from staying awake all night.

I had been working with a lot of feminist groups I would go to conferences and rallies and talk about my experiences as first a rape "victim", and then later "survivor".   But changing the label didn't change that I was constantly reliving some of the worst experiences of my life.

And working days at my job put me in constant contact with the male owner that liked to come up behind the girls while we were on the switchboard and give us neck massages.  I'd mentioned it at an office meeting, when his wife, the other co-owner, assured me that she would handle it discreetly.

She told him, and he openly confronted me about it, when I came into work the day after the meeting.  Shouting insults and engaging some of the other girls that worked there to band up with him against me.  "See, Dawn doesn't complain when I give her a neck massage.  What is your problem?  What are you saying I am molesting you?" Etc.

It was not just the obvious harrassment, it was also my own personal issues with men coming up behind me like that, and touching me.  It was a constant echo of those rape memories.

And I had no self love.   I hated myself, but I was too afraid of death and dying to do anything about it and just kill myself.

I was terrified more than anything of being alone. Dying alone. It wasn't even hell or the afterlife, it was just the thought of being utterly and totally alone with no chance of ever finding anyone to love me and be with me.

And that made me feel like the worst failure of all, that I couldn't be there for myself.  I felt like every other person on the planet knew a secret to life that I didn't.  I hated how weak I was. It just made it worse that people were always telling me how strong I was. What was wrong with them? Couldn't they see I was dying inside?

Even to my closest friends I could not fully voice the horror I was living with.   I was ashamed of the "hallucinations" (spirits) and  also the constant reliving of past traumas.  I had no control over my thoughts.

It was my inability to let go of the pain in my past.   And also that I was so sensitive psychically. My mother is mentally ill and I was so afraid that I was like her.  Even though the feelings and whispers and flashes of intuition were often right, that scared me even more.  There was no explanation for it. 

I wanted to die that night.  I had never felt such despair and loss.  I was filled with such self-loathing I could barely concentrate on driving.  One reason the memory lingers is that I had to force myself to pay attention to the road and so recall exactly the length of time at the stoplight, and the slow seconds as I drove through the intersection, as these thoughts and feelings went through me.

The thought that nothing would be better than to turn my car around and drive it back through the doors of the place I worked. Take out that disgusting boss and his stupid wife. With those images of revenge and destruction that horrible sad, dead feeling began to be replaced by a feeling of power and anger.

It felt good.  Anger feels better than depression.  It was suddenly clear to me that I was in a world of selfish, greedy assholes that didn't care about anything but themselves and stuffing their fat faces.  Fuck them all. Why was I working so hard to change the world and make it a better place? It wasn't good for me and never would be.  People sucked and I hated them all.

I would teach them!  I'd show them who they were fucking with!  I'd show them all!  I'd take back every bit of good I'd put in the world and then some!

I was not fully through the intersection, the thoughts were running through my head so madly and at such top speed, spinning out of control.

I thought maybe I should take my paycheck and go to Vegas.  Blow the money and then kill myself.

Maybe kill myself in Vegas. Maybe take my gun and take out a whole bunch of these selfish motherfucking people that didn't care about me, and THEN kill myself

I was just through the intersection as this thought went through my head. The nose of my 1974  Datsun B210 just rolling over the crosswalk.

The part of myself that is so hyper-aware I can never escape her pretty much shut down all thoughts in my head at that point. I had shocked myself. I drove home soberly. Numb and horrified.

When I got home I called work and told them I could not come back in. That I was having some sort of breakdown. I was crying and hysterical.  I could not be calmed.

After I got off the phone with work  I called my closest friend, who lived across the street.  He offered to come over.  I said no and lay there all night staring at the window, watching myself the way I used to watch my mother until the sun came up and the psychiatrist would be at the hospital to admit her.

It was relief  in a way, to just say "yes, I am crazy. Something is wrong with me." I didn't have to hide or pretend anymore.  It was awful. But it was better.

It wasn't over, not by a long shot, though.

I worked for an answering service and we handled a lot of doctors and clinics.  I knew right where to go. The problem was I barely made enough to get by, and I had no money or savings at the time.  I had a few credit cards but the payments on them were already hard to manage.

By threatening my bosses with sexual harassment, they gave me disability and leave.  I didn't have the energy to fight them for worker's comp or a suit, even though many thought I should.  I was happy to just not have to go in there and deal with those hateful people.

I was paying out of pocket  for counseling at a place that had a psychiatrist sign on. I was put on anti-depressants.  I began smoking cigarettes again and took up drinking every night.  I'd get so drunk I'd just pass out at night.  A fifth a night I think, usually vodka. It shut out all the hateful voices in my head.  My whole mind was now united against me.  Something had to be done about me. I was an evil, sociopath that dreamt of murder.

I hung on from week to week. I kept going to school.  I wasn't doing very well in my classes, but I was not used to idleness.  Either right before or right after the Verdict in the Rodney King beating that would result in the riots, I went to the Free Clinic to seek long term care.  I know there was ash in the air on those days.

I was denied by the Free Clinic initially because of what I call my "Marilyn Monroe smile".  I had long learned that my smile made other people feel happy.  They mistook this for MY being happy.  More than once someone has said to me, "how could you be unhappy with a smile like that?"

I also happened to be organizing a huge demonstration regarding the verdict.  I suppose I did seem perfectly fine.  No one could have known that organizing a march, rally and demonstration was easier for me than lying in the dark at night by myself. (It didn't really even make sense to me.)

I didn't realise that I was so convincing as a sane and happy person that the young intern would think I was just trying to get some free disability and get our of work.  They rejected my application, informing me by telephone.

That night  I decided to kill myself.  I had no strength left to go on.  The pain was unbearable-- even with the drugs and drink.  I sat down and wrote a long letter about what I was feeling and how scared I was, and I how I could not afford treatment.  I couldn't seem to find another roommate and the landlord was breathing down on me for the rest of the security deposit and the other half of the rent. (Money has always been really overwhelming to me. It send me to despair faster than anything else, even love and violence.)

I could not afford to pay for the counseling every week.  This was making me anxious.  The alcohol and cigarettes were becoming expensive too. But the counseling was the only thing I had to hang onto.  I needed to have someone that at least once a week I could confess my fears too.

And I had to stay on at least once a month with the pay clinic anyhow, to get the anti-depressants which I had to be on in order to get the disability and worker's comp. (You aren't sick in this country unless you are on prescription drugs. Ironic, isn't it?  I should mention that at the time I did not smoke pot and actually hated it.  Weed heightens how I am already feeling, so if I am unhappy or paranoid, it just makes it worse.)  That monthly payment was even getting harder to manage.

I wrote the suicide letter, and then I went upstairs and I got out my gun, a handgun, and it was either the handgun that Bond uses, a Walther ppk, or a Colt .45, I think, I don't remember, I had more than one gun at the time.

It was heavy and cold. It was decisive and certain.

I loaded it with hollow point bullets and pointed it at myself, touching my forehead, nose, mouth and under my chin,  It felt partly reassuring.  Whatever was going to happen, it wouldn't be more of this awfulness, at least. New awfulness, but not anymore of this.

I was lucky that I had people I cared about and that cared about me.  My best friend lived across the street, and four year earlier another friend of his had killed himself by swallowing a shotgun.  One thing we had talked about a lot was how horrible it must have been for his father to find the body.

I thought about my friend being the most likely person to find my body.  I thought about him calling and calling until he would decide to use his key, to come check on me.  How awful it would be for him, and how sad he would be.

I put the gun down.  I could feel the presence of spirits around me, and I decided to not resist them.  If they were demons waiting to descend on me the moment I gave up the ghost I just decided to let them have me at that moment.

I admitted to myself that even if I was crazy, or worse, a hallucinating idiot that had to believe in bodiless spirits because she was so lame she could only find comfort in imaginary friends, that at least I was not alone anymore.

The next day the Free Clinic called back and told me to come back in.  They had discussed my situation after the phone call and an experienced psychiatrist had reviewed my file. I was assigned to a wonderful therapist named Elizabeth.  I was her patient for the next three years.  (Until my grandmother died and I moved back to St. Louis for a year.)

In the coming weeks I would be diagnosed with Post traumatic stress syndrome, or shell shock.  In the coming years I would learn that I had a dis-associative memory disorder as well.  I will not only block out things altogether, there are certain memories which I cannot hold simultaneously with other memories.  I will remember one set, or the other.  I remember being raped on A and B occasions, but not C and D, or C and D, but not A and B. Only because a counselour was recording everything I said did I ever find that out.

My life did not get instantly better.  For one thing, I am a really complex person, and I had a lot of damage to work through. I have actually been suicidal since then (in 2000).  Only in the last few years have I really come to resolve all my past issues ("I don't have issues, I have a subscription!") and I have a way of living in the world and dealing with life that works for me.

I am not afraid of the dark or spirits or the voices in my head or dying or death.  I don't believe that anyone has power over me without my consent.  I have faith that I will be guided to what is best for me and I have faith in myself to control my emotions and live a life that is fulfilling.

I am in control of the thoughts in my head, and even if something random and alarming runs through it every now and again I am able to discard it as something alien, and unwanted.  I choose what thoughts I entertain.  What thoughts I act on.

(And as a psychic I have to say, a big part of my problem was picking up the creepy thoughts of other people without realizing that was what was happening to me.  And there are evil spirits that go around and try to get spirits in bodies to do evil things. See the links below my signature. **)

I have survived. I have triumphed. I have "shown them" and "shown them all".  But more importantly I have shown myself.  Shown myself how to have a good life, no matter what.

I was lucky that whatever makes me so strong and self-aware, I was able to continually pick up the trail of finding my way to happiness, no matter how off course I would become.  My life is a series of trainwrecks, even post-breakdown.  I love myself now enough to love even my inabilities and limitations.  I love myself enough to enjoy my life.

I don't know that I could tell anyone that is in that pit of despair how to get out of it.  I can only share what happened to me.

I was lucky to have someone that when I finally confided the mass murder scenario that had driven me over the edge, my therapist did not condemn me.  She helped me to see how far down I had gone.  She showed me that I could not compare myself to other people, that I had to find my own way.

She taught me that I should never be afraid of the thoughts in my head.  They were just thoughts until I chose to act.  And far from condemning myself, I should congratulate myself on being so self-aware.  

And that no one had the key to my own happiness but me. Far from being distressing, this was empowering, even though it would take me another twenty years to figure out what being happy actually meant to me. 

Deep inside we all want to be happy, we just don't believe we can be for whatever reason.

You are not your thoughts.  Just because you are thinking about killing yourself or someone else, you can stop thinking those things now, and start thinking something else.

What you really want is to feel better.  It is not the death of yourself or other people that you really want.  What you really want is to feel loved, and happy, and whole, and connected.

You want to feel good about yourself.  You want to feel the way you imagine other people feel.

You want to be happy.


Start thinking about that, to the exclusion of all else.

Begin to plan and plot your strategy for happiness.

Instead of thinking about what a relief it will be to be dead (and that is a whole other post, about suicides and murderers, and what the after-life is like, and from what I know now, killing yourself and other people actually makes it worse, not better***), start thinking about how great it will be when you have worked through this.

EXPECT life to be great when you have worked through this.  One thing I have learned, that I wish I had known years ago, is that life will try to conform to your expectations.  Expect good and good will come. Expect bad and it will find you.

You can REALLY "show us all".  Show us how to triumph over the hate and hurt inside.  How to turn the tide of murderous thoughts.

Show yourself.

It starts with loving yourself enough to put that gun down.  It starts with putting the belief you have that pain and death will end your suffering, and applying it to your own self-love.

Find something that you love: eating fresh peaches, a colour, breathing, clouds, your toenails, a video game, a hobby, a movie, a song, a certain view, and don't let go of it.  Hold it in your head with the same strength you hold your vengeance plan.

Put on blinders to things you don't like until you can get away from them.

The dawn always comes. And it will get better.

Trust me.  I know.

Lady Rae

*** from my old blog, on bad spirits and demons 

And from this post 

I pulled out this on suicides and also a note on the spirit of the suicide that "saved" me that night:

 One of the first spirits I encountered during my "I see dead people" upgrade was a man I used to know when he was alive. He had committed suicide and at one point he showed me how the suffering and despair that he had felt while he was alive had actually choked off the pipeline of good energy and helpful assistance from the Divine. It is not that angels and spirits were not trying to reach him and help him, but that he was so filled with negative energy nothing on the other side could reach him.

He also showed me how the continuing love of a friend of his (our mutual friend) had in fact "saved" him from the "hell" that suicides get stuck in on the other side. (It's actually the same hell they were trapped in here, but with nothing else at all, and no hope of escape.) The prayers that Catholics say for the souls in purgatory is not off the mark. Even an atheist who continues to feel strong loving thoughts for someone on the other side sends healing energy to a spirit (as is the case with my two friends, actually).

(I've said this before, but I am going to say it again: no matter how bad things get, suicide is not a way out. Someone who commits suicide basically traps themselves in exactly what they are trying to escape from. You can only make changes to this life from this side of life. Most of the spirits that are still "here" are trying to fix things that they failed to do when they were alive. That problem is multiplied times a million for the spirit that committed suicide. And in my personal experience, people who died in traumatic circumstances--suicide, murder, etc-- have so much negative energy around them it can be difficult to hear them. They have a kind of static surrounding them.)


I have been trying to write my own versions of these essays/editorials, but I think I will let these three speak for me:



And on a slightly different bent, but for real:


Thursday, December 6, 2012


This was a Holiday greeting and a spell for the year ahead, if the recipient desired it to be so.


Tis the season --again and time to be merry!
And to give more gifts than one can carry;
So many things that I should be buying,
I'll work double all year, or die trying!

I do love beads that are shaped just like holly;
And baubles and bangles are fun and jolly;
But I'd rather the time to compose these puns,
Than work long hours to earn big dollar sums.

However, it does make me a bit blue
That I have no fine gifts to give to you;
More than just holiday words that are said
I offer you these happy wishes instead:

The laughter of children far and near;
A lover whispering songs in your ear;
Spring flowers blooming a fragrant perfume;
Scent of freshly baked pie, filling a room.

A warm, loving hug when you feel beat;
Soft, summer grasses beneath your feet;
A surprise morning kiss-- minty and sweet;
Autumn ripe apples, such crispy, ripe treats!

A welcoming smile from an old friend;
Bright winter sunsets at dark days end;
And because I'm a writer and have the need,
I hope you'll enjoy at least one good read.

It's true that these presents don't cost a cent
But I think you will find them Heaven sent!
All the most precious and best things are free,
I just wish I could leave them under your tree!

Copyright 2003


Who is the Caesar whose empire is crumbling?
The Martin Luther to send church towers tumbling?
From Cape Canaveral will a new Columbus set sail?
And where are King Arthur, Merlin, and The Grail?

Copyright 2005


I am the cock's scrotum sac,
Listen and hear my plea:
I am handsome to the ladies
Best aquainted with me!

Those that know me well,
Squirm in pleasure at our greeting!
And weep and cry, and moan with delight
Upon the occasion of our meeting!

September 22, 2006


I went through a period in the first part of the 21st Century where I wrote almost entirely in rhyme.

I don't know why.  

Oh, and I recall now that the first draft of it, which I might have written as early as 2003 and posted on my geocities page, was called "Companion Planting For The Organic Gardener" as originally it was more about weeds and roses, growing together, etc.


Weeds grow much faster in poor soil
Than roses that need labour and toil;
Add mulch, compost, and old coffee grounds,
Then to each thorn sing heavenly sounds.

To harvest miracles from seed possibilities,
Sow them among life's uncertainties;
Fertilized, faith flowers in trouble’s field
Like divine pearls culled from irritation’s yield.

This is the cycle of our life here on earth:
To sow thanks, husband blessings, and reap Love’s mirth.

© 2005


 (Clap when you read this)
Harvest and feast in Autumn’s devotion!
She is dying summer’s last chance,
She is the debutante leaf’s last dance;
Clockwise around the lantern prance,
Catch the Mystic wind when it blows,
Consider your suitors and your beaus,
Look to see if your pocketbook grows;
In a magical cauldron brew a potion;
Harvest and feast in Autumn’s devotion!

Copyright 2005



In my grandmother’s
Twilight hours
Dreamt of
Dark dusty night:
A long journey
I walked alone.

I arrived
Cottage of my own sunset;
No light from the window,
No arms at the door.

Let myself in
Stirred ashes
Stoked fires
Made dinner.

Wept in silence
At the solitary hearth;
Shadow play
On my wrinkled hands
Reminded me
My body in youth:

Straight bones
Clean blood;
No stretch marks
No sag
Smooth skin.

Skyward curve
Of breasts and buttocks,
Before men
Before fear
Before (look away, say quickly in one breath)
Drugs, rape, pregnancies, pain.

Before a broken heart.

I had this dream
Before Nonny died.

Then a dawn came
My grandmother
Did not return from

I came back
From this Carnival
To this
Lush land (where silent snakes curve
deadly like
and my reflection lies
coiled in eyes
I’d rather forget;
I remembered why
I left
the moment I returned).

I am a ghost;
I can remember
Before I was born.

Old Grandmothers,
I remember,
Walked Highlands at dawn,
Beaches at dusk.

I remember
A new country
A missionary’s life;
I remember
Boston streets
A wealthy Englishman’s wife;
I remember
White frame house
A poet and painter.

I must not forget
A candy maker
Whose hands
Lie folded
In my lap.

I remember
First Grandmother
Drank scotch,
Danced a jig,
Cursed First Grandfather.

I remember
What First Grandmother
Told her daughters;
I remember
First Grandfather
Never returned for long.

First Grandmother
Never told
Of lonely twilight
Into night,
And no fire kindled
At her last hearth.

My own grandmother
Whispered it sometimes
When she could find me;
And how rare that?
Me, whole,
Away from Circus;
I have wandered so far.

Her gnarled hands
Would grip mine
Like tree roots
Seeking earth;
Time to stop these
Generations of roaming,”
She’d say;
I have my
Hopes on you.”

Then she’d
Teach her crafts:
Candy-making and story-telling;
Different from those
Her grandmother taught her;
But, “Any craft will do,”
She’d warn me;
Something to exchange for
Welcome at another hearth,
Even a Tinker’s campfire.”

I’d look away
If she knew
How many
Gypsy boys
My body nourished
Before I trusted
My own crafts.

I know why
Never my children
Cradled my arms;
I know why
Never I lay
Wrapped warm
In Highland Shepherd’s plaid:

Nomads, we
Whose hearts
Became brittle
When men failed
Firelight vigil;
We learned
To keep warm

Nomads, we
Who chase hearth fires
Of others;
Refuse to use
Broken bits
Of our own
Unforgiving souls
To kindle a spark,
Bring Grandfather back.

I drink old scotch,
And dance a jig;
I know how
To keep warm;
Still, I cry out
For Grandfather’s son
To return
Without shame.

I sleep with a new dream:
A twilight croft,
Two grandparents
Well wrapped
Lie warm.

Dusk deepens
Fires fade
Soon enough
Without a curse.

Final draft 20 December 1995



An acorn in the desert cannot grow,
Nor the cactus in an oak grove;
The orchid cold cannot withstand,
Or lovely rose bloom in sand.
And while it is a miracle to see
On arid dunes, a mighty tree,
How lonely the branches bare
Without forest friends nesting there?
Better morning glories upon Dawn’s door;
Heather blooming on highland moor;
Kelp beds bathing on ocean’s floor;
And mountain pines where eagles soar.
Every seed contains a destiny,
Encoded as a recipe
Of required environments,
And mixture of the elements.
For how much more we have to give,
When in harmony we do live!
An acorn in the desert cannot grow,
Nor the cactus in an oak grove.
copyright 2007

Wednesday, December 5, 2012















 NOMADS ( 1995)

Monday, December 3, 2012


I went to Chance Operations.  It was JK Publishing night.  This is all local poets.

They published Bob Reuter's new book. I really enjoyed hearing Bob!  He is a true Renaissance Man and is always doing something interesting. Photography, radio show, musician, poet.  He is also the subject of a movie!  He is a genuine St. Louis unique, nowhere else in the world, man. 

Chris Parr read from his new book.  Going to Find It. 

I read Seamus Heaney's "Undine".  I also read two poems of mine.  I posted them seperately.

The first was from my Holiday Greetings in 2004: Birds Of Prayer

And one I wrote with in the last week or so, mostly today.  (Chance Operations inspires me! :)

The Moonlight Tells Her Secrets.  I might be editing this one a bit.

As always, it was a great night!


I have shone upon you, and
upon all of your grandmothers,
every one.

I have lain among the fragrant
sandalwood forests with
dark-eyed men
and made romantic
the guilt edges
of their sharp scimitars.

I have caressed the breasts
and smooth thighs of
lush maidens on the floor of jungles,
and danced across the thorns of thistle
on moors
inhospitable and alien
without me.

I have touched the
rarest flower as she bloomed,
and also as her last petal withered and fell
to the ground.
I have ridden
the broad whale's back
as he spiraled above the ocean,
and as he disappeared into
the water again,
dove back down
far below
out of my reach

and left me to mourn on the surface
of the smooth sea,
for stormy weather and white capped waves.
You ask me
how can I love
such an ordinary place,
average people,
undistinguished streams and woods
without distinct character?

These few ragged weeds in an urban sidewalk
And ghetto palm trees,
their scent
blending with the stink of the sewage-runoff
wash that is pregnant with trash,
dry and stagnant,
rarely clear with stream--

How could I love such as this?

You ask me
because you think it would be better
if I had found you
gazing at me from the base of
the Taj Mahal
or beaches of Bora Bora.

Can you not see that
I love you all
The scimitar and the palm fronds
and the sea and the
dry wash, I love them all
the same.

I love you. And I love the kings,
and the sandalwood forests
and the soft bellies and backsides
of agile maidens. And I love
the sleeping larks,
swooping bats,
mating frogs, and

the drunk man ordering tacos at
jack in the box drive thru at 2 AM,
wondering if his wife will let him in
when he gets home. I love him and I love
the self-immolating monk
in Myanmar, lighting
the predawn capitol streets
with a glow that seems warm
and inviting,
from an ignorant distance.

I love the piles of rubbish,
and the empty lots,
and the ancient icebergs in the Arctic seas,
and the bloody battlefields
filled with fallen heroes.
I love the maggot and the murderer,
the wolf and the lamb,
the cockroach and the Kephri,
I love them all the same.

I love everything that you are,
and I illuminate everything
that you might choose your
path, and make your way.

I love you so much that I
would spend eternity
in the darkness,
my gaze mesmerized, turning,
over you as you stand beneath
those ordinary cottonwoods,
by that undistinguished creek,
in an uneventful city.

All have my blessing.
All are part of the night.
All may share the bounty
of my light.

I love and I find love.
I love and I find you.

I shine upon you,
and you shine upon the night.

Copyright 2012


From Within and from Without, keep Christmas a cardinal bright,
Among the evergreen boughs of Hope, the stars crowning us with Light.

On Christmas Day in the morning
Send not sailing ships of three,
But Peace doves, a pair for mating,
East and West o'er the sunrise sea.

From the North and from the South
Let the Happiness bluebirds fly,
In mighty flocks, soaring forth
Across the innocent pink-dawn sky.

And if it were true as Above, so Below,
No more would the war crows find
A place to nest or a place to grow;
At first light Joy to earth would bind.

As in all Seasons Past, until Evermore,
Sweet sparrows and wrens sing Good Cheer!
Hear this, my prayer, on Christmas Day morn,
For the newborn sun, blessed babe, and New Year.

Copyright 2004