Poets, Pagans and Women
Poets, pagans and women
obsess about the moon
(men want to stomp over it
but that’s a different phenomenon
I think).
I checked, the last
seven years of NaPowriMo,
each have seen me pen
poem after poem about
the sexy lunar rock.
They are not all
complimentary. I
recall
shaking my fist at her,
calling her stupid moon egg.
the poets, pagans and women agree.
Every full moon
we rage like lunatics,
charging water and terrestrial
rocks and ourselves, don’t let
your witch batteries run out.
Mama moon rules
our cycles, guides intentions,
witnesses our forgiveness,
applauds as we celebrate and
steals our sodding sleep.
Poets, pagans and women,
might protest too much.
We wouldn’t be without her
despite her larcenous leanings,
she gifts clarity with cosmic
insomnia.
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