Fire and Family

I thought I'd float forever on a sea of endless love;

I had long felt the comfort of a Divine rudder.

It was only when my children had no need for me

That I realized my mission had been that of mother.

Now that my motherhood ship has sailed,

The wind is stilled beneath my wings.

Even the grandchildren are outgrowing

Their capacity to freely, joyously sing.

How I miss the magic moments of solidarity

With the pure wonder of the light in their eyes,

And how I long for observing them,

And, by their brilliance, being ever surprised.

How wonderful were the days and years

When I was treated as a rock star

And for celebrations of family life

I never had to go very far.

I am now expected to act like a lady,

Have grandmotherly dignity,

Instead of enjoying with wild abandon,

Having no parental responsibility.

All I want to do is observe their growth,

While I watch their lives' celebrations.

I'd like to be allowed to share with them

The wisdom of my own generation.

Some act as if I'll harm their children,

As though I'm a godless, heathen whore.

Is this because my face of The Divine

Is one of which they aren't sure?

How can they not understand

Where my Divine Energy comes from?

They would know if, from the sound 

Of my words, they didn't continue to run.

It is true that I hold in my heart

Many memories which nobody should see.

My history is what makes me who I am;

I cannot from myself be set free.

This history reads like a Biblical account

Of the perversions of humanity.

It has been my life's lonely work

To keep my children, from these, free.

I am desperate, at times, to protect

The children from potential dangers,

Especially harm coming from family and friends,

More lethal than that from strangers.

I watch other families through my window,

Those that I cannot reach out and touch,

Knowing if I begin to love them,

I will surely love them too much.

I will care too much what happens to them,

Though, their lives, I have no hope of affecting,

And if my prophesies of danger come true,

It's me that they'll be rejecting.

I am so grateful that my husband

Still has wonder like that of a child.

The miracles of creation still excite him;

With him, I'm allowed to be wild.

He is not afraid of the Great Spirit

That abides within my deepest soul.

He says that my fire is the catalyst

That makes his existence whole.

Take My Typing

Holy Spirit, take my heart
Holy Spirit, take my head.
Holy Spirit, take my typing
And make my words yours instead.

Lost Light

As I sing the praise, they scorn me;
"She's quite mad," they say.
They seem to have souls that are
Eating them with jealousy.


I held my song until I burst;
My soul was completely broken.
They hated me in my brokenness,
As if my sadness was also a sin.


I cried out, "I love you."
They answered, "We don't want your love."
You have none of the saving grace
From our god above.


You may be our servant girl;
You will never rise in your station.
You were born to this fate;
It is your earthly obligation.


They used to let me listen
As they discussed their important work,
But they turned me away
When my questions began to perk.

You are not meant to think;
You were made to serve and entertain.
I am still eternally grateful
For the insights I have gained.

But no one wants to hear
The words of a sinful slave.
I continue to write them for myself,
So I'll not take them to my grave.

Intelligence and Information

Sails upon the water cannot compete on this earth
With the ultimate serenity for which we're given birth,
That must be mastered by those who are willing to learn 
The triumphs and tragedies by which we should discern.

There are few who are secure enough to teach the young,
Especially those whose wisdom has remained unsung.
If only we could get past the doctrine of false pride,
There are many whose ability to teach should not be denied.

The humility to say, "This is my experience, or what I understand,"
Is that which the ability to teach really demands.
Those who value respectful interchange of points of view
Are in a teaching arena in which there are too few.

Humility is not a sign of weakness; it's a fertile field.
Asking respectful questions will, new knowledge, reveal.
We teach by helping the seeds our students already have to grow,
When we start with honoring what our they already know.

Once people reach a point in life, past the age of eight,
They're informed enough to know that adults aren't so great.
I believe that it's better to tell them the truth about authority;
We're not so thrilled either with accompanying responsibility.

In today's world, information is at our fingertips;
As long as there's respect, we can together dip
Into the vast knowledge available to all, globally.
But, in order to learn, we must be prejudice free.

I have always embraced the exchange of ideas,
Even though, on this, my religion was so clear.
We should not entertain or dine with those
Who, by birth or choice, a different faith chose.

I am happy to report that my children grew up to be
Seemingly color-blind, and full of parental responsibility.
I only wish, when they were growing up, and questioning
I had all the information that the internet now brings.

People and Praise

So many people don't want to hear
About that which we hold most dear.
They will listen forever to our distress,
And our stories, they try to best.

They give advice that they've not tried;
Their prayers for us can't be denied.
They do not want to absorb any pain
When there's nothing for them to gain.

As far as our triumphs, they set out to see
If they can do everything better than we.
Can't we ever simply appreciate
That we each, some honor, should rate.

Praise doesn't have to make us vain;
It can simply help us to sustain
Our souls in times of tribulation,
Which befall all of creation.

Tear Down the Temple

When will the temple be torn down
Where they are sacrificing Jesus to Baal?
When will the pedophile priests
Answer to justice's call?

These wizards who deny the bread of life
To those who most need the grace,
How can they continue
And not perish in disgrace?

When a parent brings filth to the family table,
The home is, by the parent, destroyed.
These people should forfeit the right
To share in the family joys.

And what of the people who are so afraid
Of losing the family rituals?
They pretend not to see the filth
Of which the home is now full.

They continue to rejoice together
As the wounded look on longingly.
They cannot join the celebration
Until their own souls are set free.

But no one wants to look at the wounded,
And admit that the temple is defiled.
They protect the predators
At the expense of a dying child.

"We must uphold tradition.
Sins have always been around.
By crying out in pain,
You are defiling holy ground."

What We Didn't Know

When I was a kid, what happened in your own family was the way and the truth
We knew not it was wrong when, at the age of two, our mothers turned us loose.
We also didn't know that it was wrong to beat a disobedient wife or her children;
The fathers were expected to deliver the rod to save their families from sin.

When I had children, I had no model, of how to structure my day;
It didn't help that liberated women were prioritizing girlfriend play.
I looked to the women who seemed loving and righteous to me,
But they crumbled under the lack of societal empathy.

These were the days when society began to admit
That the old rules for our families simply didn't fit.
Women were scorned for prioritizing family and home;
Husbands and wives had begun to openly roam.

I had nobody to talk to, with whom to emotionally engage,
As in my teen years, I turned to putting feelings on a page.
There are few who read what I write; some say it's too dense.
Others simply declare that it doesn't make any sense.

There were doctors and therapists I went to see,
Who thought their bodies were the way to comfort me.
The moral boundaries, I became aware then,
With the innocent and vulnerable, often get broken.

Does this happen to all to whom we confess?
Are they eventually poisoned by the pain they ingest?
Do all those that we term societies' "people helpers"
Soon need to draw, around themselves, shelters.

Some turn away in disgust and terror when I tell them the truth
About the many ways my family has suffered authorities' abuse.
They say that I'm crazy; that I should get over my past.
But our pasts make us and stay with us until the last.

Just when I feel that I have begun a new chapter,
A loved family member's life turns to disaster.
For whatever reason, they come to me to explain
Why they continue to fall, again and again.

I am happy to share with them the lessons I've learned,
Hoping to keep them from continuing to be burned.
Is it hopeless to continue unlocking the memories?
Am I part of the solution or part of the disease?

Is this the reason I lose so many after they come to me?
Are they afraid of what I know about their histories?
I am not a priest; I didn't ask them to confess.
But as a friend, parent, and aunt I tried to do my best.

I listened with what I felt was compassion,
As has always been my sisterly fashion.
I have shared what I think, as my elders would,
Except for the parts that say people aren't good.

I have finally come to the end of my caring;
I've been scorned enough for continuing my sharing.
Let them go it alone; I'll no longer be a scapegoat,
While those that burden me continue to gloat.