Rogue Theology

What if the world isn’t fallen?

What if the world is both a gift and the giver?

What if imperfection is the price we pay

to live in this world, to dwell in its promise and pain?

What if the spirit is imminent and omnipresent?

What if our flesh isn’t a prison?

What if our bodies are precious creatures

that we’re meant to tend and nourish, love and cherish

All the days of our lives?

Dream Trees

There is a Place
where the Trees dream.
If you go there
with Your Secrets.

All will be Laid Bare
among the Branches
there Nothing can Hide
the Forest is Truth
do Not be Afraid!

The Trees are Life
The Trees are Gentle
They’ll take Your Heart
And Return it Whole.

You’ll wish to Die there
You Will Live there
Even when You leave
You’ll be There still.

ivan-torres-376149

Photo by ivan Torres on Unsplash

 

Body Positive

For decades she has been on a quest
to be all she can be by being less
The extra pounds that cling to her frame
diminish her sparkle, make her plain.

If only you’d lose twenty pounds more
says the clerk at the health food store
You’d be a stunner, one of the best
Have you tried our new whole juice fast?

Her kids should do it. They are fat too.
If only they’d try, she knows they could do
the thing she’s attempted for many years
She would spare them the angst and the fear

Of being too much to be worth anything
Of having a body to which pounds cling

I’d give her a gift if she’d let me
A day of rest, one day to be free
Some time to see the beauty she owns
To enjoy herself, for herself alone.

 

 

Dune Witch

The Shining Ones look not on me
a simple hedgewitch by the sea.
My companions are the crabs and gulls
and the pretty flotsam on the shoals.

No stern Neptune at this beach
nor Aphrodite’s playful tease.
Here the Little ones frolick and play
while in the Deep, their Elders stay.

And should Posiden roar ashore
We shall appease Him even more
This demesne, this lonely beach
has naught for Great Ones to seek.

There’s only a hedgewitch and her Friends,
playing in the moon and sand.

cove

Cole Park Cove, T.L. Ryder 2017

 

Finis with You

I don’t remember how you smelled,
nor the sound of your voice.
Your face is a distant memory,
your laugh– lost to time.

I only remember the terror, the hiding,
the always looking over my shoulder. . .

WAITINGmaid1

for the next phone call at midnight,
for the next foul thing to appear at my door.

Hurled words and objects were
your idea of “love”
Grab, break, hurt, mock. . .
pretend it’s passion, destroy it all.

Nothing left of “Us” but your malice
A stain of what I thought we were.

FINIS

There were, are,  never will be
memories of YOU.