tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36426742009-03-03T19:16:14.214+10:00Poetry CottageA small corner within Lemuria, inside the word weaving cottage, where a Lemurian poet, Soul Food's Poet Laureate, comes to read her work to fellow Lemurians.Heather Blakeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16569556563400820006noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1121236846043497152005-07-13T16:39:00.000+10:002005-07-13T16:40:46.050+10:00 Veils I walk this lucent pathway With the shadows of Myself Between the bright veils They brush my cheeks and soothe my Slumbering eyes My fingertips kiss their softness On each side as I walk Sleep is chiffon, melting easily With almost nothing in between The other side and I The breeze wafts fluidly China silk, crepe de chine I am here I am gone The dream veil wraps me round With a Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120736968496957482005-07-07T21:48:00.000+10:002005-07-07T21:49:28.503+10:00Duende Deluge Call from the chasm, black heart of night Walk backwards into deepness, reaching Yearning shadows paint the Dance of darkness Candle of creation, bloomed bone black Clear, clean, candent Dredged from darkness Sudden flaming fretted fire Up from the depths in breath suspended Throbbing beyond the beat of blood Powerful pounding sable shadows Spellbound, strong and spinning Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120712467380629472005-07-07T15:01:00.000+10:002005-07-07T15:01:41.340+10:00DuendeEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120712429212484872005-07-07T14:59:00.000+10:002005-07-07T15:00:29.223+10:00Dark Dance with Duende I don’t think I dance with Duende I think it dances me Like a puppet or a pawn Pulling strings in lurching, frenetic movement Or leaving them hanging Tangled, still and flaccid Do I drink darkness to dance? Shall I go seeking shadows? I half sick of shadows, she said I am past half sick of shadows Fully, 100%, in toto sick to death Disgusted with phantoms Repulsed by Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120712092840061132005-07-07T14:54:00.000+10:002005-07-07T14:55:55.583+10:00I began dancing barefoot,throwing words at the paper like a confetti of joyEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120712057229939572005-07-07T14:52:00.000+10:002005-07-07T14:54:17.233+10:00Remembering who I am, I remove my shoes. Oh no, my partner in this weaving dance I’ve never doubted your pattern, the purpose in your steps The Goddess is, verily, your choreographer The chaos is mine. Indeed . . . inherently, intrinsically, innately mine I was raised on free verse, free movement I began dancing barefoot, throwing words at the paper like a confetti of joyEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120211267234074732005-07-01T19:46:00.000+10:002005-07-01T19:47:47.240+10:00Onion’s Progress Such a small thing, full of layers To have turned us all to vile players Oh! The punsters we’ve become Because of Ascalonicum!! Poor Dilyn’s most nightmarish fears Come haunting from a vale of tears Soon we’ll hear the poor man screaming Chopping ‘til his eyes are streaming Gashing, slashing, cleave and cut Foul memories of Pizza Hut! And Bards who once were all so chic Now Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120211103256025792005-07-01T19:45:00.000+10:002005-07-01T19:45:03.360+10:00The Dreaded "O"Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120194065435201342005-07-01T15:01:00.000+10:002005-07-01T15:01:05.440+10:00SCRAMBLED!Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1120194029655621612005-07-01T15:00:00.000+10:002005-07-01T15:00:29.663+10:00 SCRAMBLED! Normal Normal, Norman Doorman, doormat Laundromat, Land-grant, Grant’s Tomb, Trombone, Onions, Bunion, Bunyips, Yipping, coyotes, whole notes, passing notes Passing out, outside, yard, yard-arm, Arm circles, cycles, circuit, CirceEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119804458953516382005-06-27T02:47:00.000+10:002005-06-27T02:47:38.956+10:00Feather-Stone Woman: Lit From WithinEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119804427376787112005-06-27T02:46:00.000+10:002005-06-27T02:47:07.380+10:00Maya “The power of illusion, false appearance The veil that deludes the Divine . . .” Not this Maya Here is a shaft of clarified light More real than any mirage of a dream A bright lazar of understanding Ceaselessly searching meaning Seeking deeper, casting further Questing clear Between spiritual reality And the physical world Not a veil at all . . . A lightening rod ©Edwina Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119611908311138782005-06-24T21:18:00.000+10:002005-06-24T21:18:28.313+10:00Sonnet to the Lemurian Abbey Be welcomed in these hallowed halls Let all your burdens go Feel peace within these hollowed walls Beneath the lamp lights glow Here time is quiet, time is slow Soft time to think and be This healing gift the walls bestow Unhurried guarantee And in this time creation flows From fingers and from quill Here art is born and words compose Deep essence to fulfil For a Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119611733033197462005-06-24T21:15:00.000+10:002005-06-24T21:15:33.036+10:00Mermaid and DryadEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119611701756449592005-06-24T21:14:00.000+10:002005-06-24T21:15:01.760+10:00From fish of the seas and birds on the wing Dryads and mermaids come to dance and to sing An earth deep dance washed with bright salt sting Flaming with autumn, while remembering spring This wet double reel filled with each kind of thing That seething sea or stable shore, hand in hand, will bring ©Edwina Peterson CrossEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1119611391017645762005-06-24T21:09:00.000+10:002005-06-24T21:09:51.076+10:00Haiga to a Carmichael SkyEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118782579627838082005-06-15T06:56:00.000+10:002005-06-15T06:56:19.630+10:00Memory in a MeadowEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118782184558836042005-06-15T06:48:00.000+10:002005-06-15T06:49:44.566+10:00MEAD MEADOW DANCEMead made from meadows that bloom in my mind At the top of tall mountains, whispered with wings Where honied winds blow with sunshine entwined And snow weeps down laughing in hundreds of springs Witches Broom, River Birch, Bitter Brush Burdock Brew it in deep vats, seal it in sapphire It will bloom in the darkness growing profound Bubbling with impulse and sure to inspire It Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118732353363762032005-06-14T16:59:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:59:13.366+10:00ARTISTEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118732310500179442005-06-14T16:57:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:58:30.503+10:00Artist I did not believe in the painting The dance, the words or the song But I believed in the Painter A belief that was solid and strong I believed in the Dancer Whose movement was fire to behold I believed in the Singer Whose song filled the darkness with gold I believed in the Actor Who could move souls with her voice And I believed in the Woman When she spoke of a different choice The Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118732163411444182005-06-14T16:56:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:56:03.413+10:00The Animus - MerlinEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118732093520100742005-06-14T16:50:00.001+10:002005-06-14T16:54:53.536+10:00~ One of Jung's interpreters held that the anima/animus character was only understandable to those who have known true love. ~ I am no Jungerian scholar I comprehend his thoughts in mist and metaphor His concepts in analogy and image I met him in the Dreamtime, walking But I understand the anima/animus Down to spit, pith and marrow It is a weaving I like, a net for thought I find attractive Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118731847289772282005-06-14T16:50:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:50:47.296+10:00Anglication I have been known to rail and fume Stand on soap boxes and wave my arms Over my own blind Anglicized education I studied everything from Bede and Beowulf to ‘Modern British Drama:’ Current, Mod, Contemp And back again and back again and back again From Romantic Restoration Victorian Middle Ages of Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Norman, Olde English, Middle English, Modern English and Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118731234228438932005-06-14T16:40:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:40:34.233+10:00A New DawnEdwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3642674.post-1118731093377130372005-06-14T16:36:00.000+10:002005-06-14T16:38:13.380+10:00The Amazon’s Ride Descended from Strife and Symmetry Warriors of ancient lore To restore health and Harmony The Amazon’s ride to War The Martial Queen with her ivied shield A strong memory of spiritual power Leads her warriors into battle At this essential echoed hour She faces the foe with the weight of love The blazing heart of a swan From the strength of a circle of women Comes the light Edwina Peterson Crosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07701210527171992485noreply@blogger.com