motherhood: the unparalleled choice, work, joy and privilege of my life
the threshold year when maiden became ʍօȶɦɛʀ and a spirit became Earthling.
maiden, ʍօȶɦɛʀ, crone:
the threshold year when maiden became ʍօȶɦɛʀ and a spirit became Earthling.
Author: ©️K.T.2026
Earthling, poet, crone. In planetary hospice.
the threshold year when maiden became ʍօȶɦɛʀ and a spirit became Earthling.
the May plow
the beautiful spring day that the fields are first plowed for the season is heartrending
the privacy, peace and space that non-human animals had on the barren 80 acres for the last six months is gone within minutes and hours
on the day they plow
the fields clear of last year’s stover
i stay quiet and invisible, indoors
there is a seen and unseen frantic attempt at evacuation, an exodus of
snakes, turtles, frogs, toads, rabbits, moles, voles, possums, weasels, marmots, skunks, raccoons, squirrels, mice, rats,
evicted without notice, again
geese and sandhill crane nests destroyed
over-wintered graves defiled
and newly-born deer crushed, plowed over and under
/this destruction, all,
for corn to fatten-up confined and tortured
pigs, cows, chickens, turkeys, salmon, catfish, tilapia
for human appetite, gluttony/
we are death eaters!
if i just stay quiet,
quieter than the snake and mole i saw yesterday,
if i just stay inside, unseen, all day ‘til Sun’s set, like the possum i saw last night,
then kin may seek refuge, find sanctuary here
to catch their breath
some of us have forgotten that they too breathe
and feel fear,
and scream, wail, and mourn
run!!! come, run here!!!
stay here, please, the roads to west and south also bring death!
i put all my faith into telepathy today
the gulls arrive
chasing and taunting the tractor driver,
he’s no farmer
his hands literally never touch soil or seed
a machine operating a machine guided by satellite
if only the gulls or crows would pluck out his eyes when he dismounts
if only, i would.
Continue reading “the May plow”Ƈɾօղҽ chronicles: ramshacklecore
“i smell sex and candy, here”
spring, lyrically
vow
and one way to manage
to preserve Their urbane marriage
was to vow to make me vanish
from Him – my face, my voice, my poems, banished
“fo-cus!!!
We’re off to Berlin — and Paris!”
but here i Am—- still
full of wild
&
full of warning:
that no matter how far They may travel
She knows He dreamt me in Her stead
so, i live inside Her head,
beyond Her dark, raccooned and vacant eyes
inside Their stale and fresh, new lies
shadowing Their past and future skies
Continue reading “vow”the falls
in the rearview mirror
i see it was a gift
an impromptu roadside picnic
a rendezvous along a fast-flowing river
we slip into a raft, built for two, gently floating,
taking turns describing what we see, feel/who we are/
entering rapids, our hearts racing, ceaseless throbbing/
then paddling furiously, having to steer/
and suddenly, the fear
nearsighted, you caught a life ring, rescuing yourself on a familiar and safe shore/
i stayed aboard and roared toward the falls
alone,
extending the ride, the adventure, the hope of it, all/
forcefully plummeting and suddenly submerged into dark and powerful waters
because,
Continue reading “the falls”Earth
“Do you realize – we’re floating in space?”
Our ancestors were born on a spaceship that never needed refueling, repair, redesign or course correction.
Earthlings have all uniquely adapted to their respective natural, geographical habitats and migration routes — except for the warring and dominant human regimes and cultures — that decided for all Earthlings that they should geo-engineer artificial environments and extract the blood and bodies of the ancient ones — for one species’ sole benefit — until Earth no longer feels or looks like Earth – and has become unrecognizable, unsafe or uninhabitable to most other species.
There are PCBs in the Atacama Trench and microplastics in fetal tissue of mammals – of humans.
Despite all the wonderful river and beach clean-up and tree planting projects on Earth Day, for me, it’s always a contemplative and sobering day.
We all have a stake—equally. Because if we do not save the environment and save the Earth, then whatever we do in civil rights or in a war against poverty will be of no meaning, because then we will have the equality of extinction and the brotherhood of the grave.
James L. Farmer,
at the very first Earth Day,
April 22, 1970
a study in forsythia
“one thing about Forsythia / she comes around and I get lost / against her yellow, I’m no longer me”
“Forsythia” ~ Veruca Salt
in the setting Sun’s golden light
from the kitchen window
April 19, 2023
Continue reading “a study in forsythia”
crone in blue linen pyjamas
taking her outdoor barn mirror-selfie
as interpreted by an artist-crone
April 2023
Continue reading “crone in blue linen pyjamas”
proof of life:
proof of life,
because sometimes I forget and hold my own true Self hostage
barn mirror selfie
april 15, 2023
Continue reading “proof of life:”
Cronehood: the imperative, work, province and privilege of becoming truth and living truthfully in the depths
Ageing is no accident. It is necessary to the human condition, intended by the soul. We become more characteristic of who we are simply by lasting into later years; the older we become, the more our true natures emerge. Thus the final years have a very important purpose:
the fulfilment and confirmation of one’s character.
- James Hillman
“Life is a farce if a person does not serve truth.”
- Hilma af Klint
“A crone is a woman who has found her voice. She knows that silence is consent. This is a quality that makes older women feared. It is not the innocent voice of a child who says, “the emperor has no clothes,” but the fierce truthfulness of the crone that is the voice of reality. Both the innocent child and the crone are seeing through the illusions, denials, or “spin” to the truth. But the crone knows about the deception and its consequences, and it angers her. Her fierceness springs from the heart, gives her courage, makes her a force to be reckoned with."
— Jean Shinoda Bolen
by a queen crone,
Lajuana Lampkins
"Women's most feared power over men is the power to say no. To refuse to take care of men. To refuse to service them sexually. To refuse to buy their products. To refuse to worship their God. To refuse to love them. Every therapist knows that sex can be forced, but no power in the world can force love from any woman who wishes to withhold it."
- Barbara Walker
“The Crone has been missing from our culture for so long that many women, particularly young girls, know nothing of her tutelage. Young girls in our society are not initiated by older women into womanhood with its accompanying dignity and power.
Without the Crone, the task of belonging to oneself, of being a whole person, is virtually impossible.”
- Marion Woodman
Continue reading “Cronehood: the imperative, work, province and privilege of becoming truth and living truthfully in the depths”
in the Limineen, on the threshold
"[S]he said that a [hu]man had to escape to the country to see the world whole and that [s]he wished [s]he lived in a desolate place like this where [s]he could see the [S]un go down every evening like [the] [g]od[head] made it to do."
~ Flannery O’Connor
in the Limineen of light and dark
as witnessed in The Great Lakes
of the North american continent
April 11, 2023
un/rest
am i seeded
or buried
forest floor or headstone above me?
the distant daffodils,
stoic sentries, craning for Sun
at the edge
offer no answer/s to my dark, muffled query
germination and decomposition
indistinguishable,
in the beginning
indistinguishable,
at the ending
in Spring’s cold soil
shaded,
unrelentingly,
by clouds or canopy.
Stationed on the Crosses
The CruX: historically, continually, and invisibly stationed by, and on the crosses of, men
women, womxn, womqn, womyn and girls have been both the cross-bearers and the crucified – ever since the unnatural and unholy “conception” of the Roman Catholic Church and all its subsequent patriarchal, misogynist Christian derivatives.
maundy thursday, daily
mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos
As I sat on the maple floor of my kitchen in Chicago on a Thursday evening in 2017, voluntarily polishing my son’s chukka boots for the weekend — it became a meditation on my own father, who was actually my second father — who would often offer to polish or freshen up my scuffed, dirty shoes
— first, my white Keds-knock-offs from Zayre, Venture or Jupiter stores — the canvas stiffened bright white, an absolutely unnatural brand new/ the distinct chemical scent of that liquid polish and sponge instantly conjured/ me smiling/ did I remember to say thank you? did I know (how) to?
later, when I was in high school, he would clean and polish my beloved and preciously expensive pair of Stan Smith white leather Adidas /or were they leather Tretorns? i forget;
then, when I was in college and always pressed for time or conversation, I began expectantly asking if he could please polish my black heels or black boots for work – but more importantly for the weekend — he always, obliging me.
but she tried, and she got better, each time
