Friday, May 28, 2010

How a Woman Ages


35 years of bleeding,
a wonder; how much has been shed!
The cleansing, renewal and letting go,
Earth’s magic alive in me.

Some say it is my most powerful time,
some say it is deeply unclean…
For me it is the black velvet edge of sleep –
leaning into soulful darkness –
hugging my own body
with tender memories.

I know it is coming to an end,
soon the time will arrive when it will not
and there will be grief
and relief.

You see – this is how a woman ages;
our breasts – from which you fed
on which you lay your weary head
listened to the ‘thump thump’ of this strong heart -
begin to wilt
like the keening woman,
who falls yet is fierce in her sorrow;
passionate still, but tired.

Hair begins to grow in places unfamiliar –
it tickles and softens the lines in our skin,
makes fuzzy the places that once were clear.

The waters of our bodies sometimes trickle,
like a retiring mountain stream,
when we are full with joy or rage,
our lives rich with feeling;
this moistness evidence of our passion.

Silver shines in our hair,
curls up close to our skull.
I believe wise women who came before me
live in each one.
They whisper to me and we snort and giggle.
Sometimes we shriek.

This is how a woman ages
Our bodies returning to the earth,
plainly reaching down to Her.
Our blood tranquil – our sensuality nestled
deeply in wombs that no longer shed.

This is how women have always aged.
Without pills and surgeries and plastic baggies
hopelessly trying to mimic these soft swinging full breasts.

I will age as my mother, my grandmother, my foremothers,
as all women; with some sadness and with some relief,
carried in this magnificent body -
bent and stooped -
but real,
until it is time to turn my face
and make my journey home.

By Deborah May 2010
(image by Durga Bernhard)

Saturday, May 22, 2010

All of Her All of Me


I looked into the mirror one day
and saw the softness of my hair.
My breasts sat high, my eyes shone clear,
my skin was smooth and fair.

And somewhere in my memory
past time and spoken word
from a place of new beginning
a gentle voice was heard

Look and I will show you
the colour of your love
the orange hue of passion
and the green of perfect trust.


A maiden I may be
but secrets in my eyes I see
and I know that it is me
who is hope for humanity

I looked into the mirror one day
and noticed the widening of my hips.
My breasts were round, my hair was wild
there was a fullness to my lips.

And somewhere in my memory
past time and spoken word
from a place of fruitful healing
a loving voice was heard

Look and I will show you
the creations you can birth
from the pain and bliss of living
come your offerings to Earth


A mother I may be
and from my core I give to thee
the healing that is me
that my children may be free.

I looked into the mirror one day
and saw the dimness in my eyes
my breasts had sagged, my hair was gray
my face was etched with lines.

And somewhere in my memory
past time and spoken word
from a place of winters stillness
a wise old voice was heard

Look and I will show you
the bounty of your harvest;
the joys of mine bestowed to thee,
as you return to Goddess.


A crone I may be
and with my voice I do decree
come to know all three
the Maiden, Mother, Crone in thee.