The Children of Bast
Sometimes I ponder the lessons I’ve learned
Some simple, yet very profound.
Others complex and years in the teaching.
They force me to calm and slow down each day
Their presence diffuses some stress.
Furry bodies rubbing up on my own.
Their antics have taught me to laugh at myself
Even when coping wtih the mess
Broken possessions are often easily replaced.
Their personalities so different, so hard to discern
Without words or other insight
Have taught me to ponder the feelings of others.
Their joy at the foil balls and packing foam curls
The simplest of pleasures and play
Have taught me to delight in imagination and fun.
Helping every one that I find that I can
Compassion and caring for them
Has taught me greater compassion for my own.
Their passing and the tears when I have to let go
Have taught me that life is a gift
And to enjoy every moment, every purr and rub.
I thank you, Bast, for your children
Though only loaned to me for a while
Companions. Teachers. Friends. Cats.
For Nicodemus.
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Raven’s Hunt
Feathers ruffle against the breeze
Sharp black eyes pierce the night sky
Searching for movement, for color, for form
As her proud head cocks, listening for prey
Moonlight glints on her ebon wings
As she leaps into the air
Spotting a flash of color in the brush
And setting flight to pursue the small game
Soaring high on the warm thermals
Her talons flex and then spread
Her beak parting in anticipation
Of that moment when life meets death again
She patiently turns and circles
Watching her small prey below
She stoops, then dives as it runs for cover
Plunging down as the rabbit sees her there
It dodges and runs to escape
But she’s seen these tricks before
Not fooled, she closes in relentlessly
Poised to strike with her sharp talons
Then my clock wakes me with a start…..
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Across the Wires
I lay there staring at the ceiling
Should have been asleep long ago.
My mind is a jumble of thoughts, of feelings, of cares.
Where did all these emotions come from?
Why do I feel such a deep bond
I chuckle, then I weep at my own fears and desires.
I’m much too old and mature for this
It only happens in stories
I toss and turn as I ponder the patterns of life.
I try to convince myself I’m a fool
It’s all just a dream of a lie
Finally I get up, surrendering to my unrest.
I look at myself in the mirror
Trying to come up with a plan
I need some way to reconcile my head with my heart
My head speaks of danger and doubt
Of unertain paths and mistakes
While my heart talks of trust and of love never foreseen.
After hours of careful reflection
At last recognizing the truth
I realize that now I must take the next step.
I cannot predict the reaction
My fingers stutter as they type
As I give my heart to my Beloved – across the wires.
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My Gift
Your pain is as clear
As strong as my own
Or maybe they are the same.
For whom do I cry?
I hope for us both
Preferring that I bear the grief.
I’d give anything
To rid you of woes
Comfort the pain that you feel.
My arms reaching out
Across all the miles
Gently to soothe what I can.
As healer and friend
This promise I make
One that’s both honest and true
I’ll lend you my strength
To add to your own
To bear whatever may come.
I’ll stand by your side
Hold your heart close
Tenderly whisper your name.
My love has no strings
My heart no demands
This gift I give now to you.
You are loved.
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Samhain Night
On Samhain night, as darkness falls
I take out the small brass key
To unlock the box which holds my ghosts.
By the altar, box in my lap
I gently lift the lid
Parting the dark veil between the worlds.
Fingers tremble, then softly touch
Remembrances within
Small tokens of those I’ve loved and lost
The small gold ring my Nana wore
Grandpa’s watch, worn and scratched
A print of my daughter’s little hand
Granddad’s medal, won in the war
A lock of my cousin’s hair
The pearls my uncle had bought my aunt
Tags from my pets, both large and small
Some pictures and notes from friends
My fingers caress each one in turn
Tears fill my eyes, softly I smile
They’ve left and yet they remain
The love they shared my legacy
They are not gone, the live in me
They forged the woman I am
Then tenderly I refill the box
From my shirt I remove a pin
My father’s silver frog
And add it to the ghosts in my box
On Samhain night, beneath the moon
I turn the small brass key
My ghosts to love for another year.
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What is my Measure?
We are judged through our lives by so many things
From height to the color of skin
How strong or how fast, or what talents we have
Even the clothes that we wear.
What is my measure?
No miracle cures, no wonderous acts
No buildings for all to admire
No statues, no portraits, no honors to show
No medals or ribbons to wear.
What is my measure?
No great acts of faith, no daredevil stunts
No songs that make people dance
No novels of daring or poems of joy
No fans that follow my steps
What is my measure?
But when I am gone, my body is burned
The Goddess has called me away
No physical trace remains of my life
My presence is all but erased
What is my measure?
If friends think of me and smile at the thought
And fondly remember I cared
If they still feel may arms are hugging them close
And Love is what they recall
That is my measure.
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