Everyday Goddess

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This is a photo of the back cover art from a wonderful back issue of Sage Woman magazine. I love how the women in the painting are holding classic, ancient Goddess figures from ancient times 🙂

I’d marked these two poems in the 2011 We’Moon datebook:

What Does a Goddess Look Like?

She is tuberous terracotta, she is golden twins,

sacred violins, nappy triangles tucked

at meeting of thigh and belly

snakes swing in the air

arms raised in prayer

She is a silken hair-robed majesty standing on a sea shell

Our great mother deconstructed into male fantasies and re-gathered:

milk, water, mixed with blood in barreled belly folded flesh

round red vase

She is old and rests on rock, feet braced apart,

hunched in grief, arched in anger, hands smashing stones

against the iron feet of thunder gods

She is women laughing, spilling wine, chopping onions

licking licorice, looking backwards savoring salt, satisfied, she is

mother pulling patience from the air, bedraggled hair, she is

woman stacking shocks of corn, woman making love in dreadlocks

sweeping floors sweating summer heat.

What does a goddess look like?

She looks like you, She looks like me

She looks like us in sacred conversation.

–Yvonne Pearson

Uprising

They are coming to life,

They are coming!

They are singing back to us.

And they are dancing!

Mama mia!

The Venus of Willendorf has hip

rocked open the entrance doors

of Vienna’s Natural History Museum.

She’s waltzing down the Strasse,

pendulous breasts swinging.

Her hands which have rested on them

for millennia are arcing

through the air

like two ecstatic love birds.

Meanwhile in Malta’s Hypogeum, The Sleeping Lady is waking

from labyrinthine dreams, pregnant with power for healing.

She is opening her eyes, rolling her vast thighs over

the platform sides. Snakes are spiraling from her ankles to the ceiling.

In every corner of the planet, they are breaking out of their prisons–

archaeological sites where there are no sacred rites,

vaults and glass boxes in temperature controlled rooms

where they are seldom seen and there is no touching.

They are growing back their missing limbs,

repainting themselves in the colour of life.

And they are dancing.

It is harvest time. The moon is full and fat and buttery.

She is spreading her liminal light along the pathways

where hundreds of them are streaming—

cavorting, cackling and mischieving.

Every woman who has a besom has snatched it from the closet

And is flying out the back door to greet them.

And now the Venus of Laussel and Dolni Vestonice

have joined to make an archway.

With a shimmy and a shindig, Sheila-Na-Gig

(dauntless icon of fecundity and pleasure)

jostles through first, snapping her purse

revealing and concealing her treasure.

They are all here.

Grain goddesses, crowned snake goddesses,

uterine egg-shaped goddesses,

bird-faced goddesses, birth-giving goddesses.

Dancing for our lives. Dancing for our future.

Dancing for the Earth. Dancing for the Great Mother.

–Debra Hall (this poem is offered as a prayer of liberation and healing For Aung Sun Kyi and the women of Burma)

Categories: art, Goddess, poems, quotes, readings, theapoetics | Leave a comment

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