Birds

 

O, Original Syllable, Most Venerable, Beloved Maat,

You Who Weighs my heart against Your Feather,

You Whose Tribe we humans most emulate,

Hear my prayers now in my time of soaring.

May we finally quit killing Yours for their beauty.

May those of Your Family who give their lives for our food

be treated with utmost kindness,

praised for their ultimate sacrifice,

and eaten with awareness and thanksgiving.

May Your Iridescent Ravens ever awaken me

when love shyly approaches my sheltered heart.

May Your Incredible and Ancient Winged Jewels

find safe haven amidst the trees and bushes I nurture,

ever delighting me with the creativity of this Blessed Earth.

May Your cascading, warbling, chirping, trilling,

limitless melodies pierce this grey fog of busyness

with which I daily shroud my hungering senses.

Allow me long moments of entranced movement,

arms lifting and swirling, body light, feet happy,

ever striving to mirror the remarkable grace of flight.

May the glorious, shimmering, vibrant hues of

Your Inspired Gifts flit often through my days,

invigorating my awareness of the precious reality

of being alive in this moment, in this marvelous place.

In the names of the incomparable Turquoise Macaw,

all brilliant hummingbirds, each avian magnificence,

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © 2006—Jeanne Treadway

 

 

Changeling

 

When I was a wee one,

a big person I loved hurt me.

Today, glory hallelujah,

I wearied of that damn

endless woundedness.

I gave myself one year to

machete thorny habits

retract clawing attitudes

whittle sharp pretenses and

stop mudging my spirit.

I want to trust again.

Out here in this new old house miles away from any human

alone with wind and foxes,

I release frenetic feelings,

upend stale reactions,

shoo word scorpions and

other subtle fierce ones,

forgive ridiculous choices

and rescue misplaced joy.

I’m too old for this to be easy.

Sometimes my sorrowful self

tempts me to fondle truly sore

sore-spots and I morosely chase

shadowy tear-drop footprints

hoping they’ll finally lead me

somewhere to someone.

One heart-achy afternoon,

stumbling after a particularly

treasured he-never-wanted-me,

I felt a click. Then I heard

an ancient lock, long riveted,

chocolate with rust,

clunk to the bottom of my heart.

An Edgar-Allan-Poe-door squealed

(not really), swung open, and there,

startling me so much I dropped

my huge sacks of grief and pain,

there in front of me,

clear as sunlight on Apache Mesa,

lolling around as if it’d

waited a few decades,

stood all the love I’d left behind,

patiently awaiting my return

like a sweet kitten

ready to be scooped up

snuggled, nuzzled, played with,

fed and loved up.

I couldn’t pick up those old sacks

or walk away pretending.

My whole being surged with

understanding: I have been loved

a long long time by many

beautiful people and

marvelous critters.

No misery, no sorrow,

nothing missed or withheld.

Sure does soften the shape

of my face and gentle my eyes.

 

© 2013, Jeanne Treadway

Chili Day

 

Sunrise glitter

outlines crystalline branches.

Midnight snow disappears.

 

Slippers swish softly.

Cats murmur, mew.

Disheveled ravens mutter oaths.

 

Yesterday’s gold lies softened,

brown with drizzle.

Itchy dreams smell of wool.

 

Colors dazzle then mute.

Low splashes crest, recede.

Cars rumble afar.

 

Flickers’ whistle sharp farewell.

Pigeons pin tattered grey

clouds to high wires.

 

Not yet Indian Summer.

Sips of White Peony tea.

Quiet poetry.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2011

Cold-Blooded

 

Infinite Womb of Magic and Wisdom,

Sinuous, Supple, Mysteriously Reincarnating Mother,

Inner Female Soul, Splendid Anata,

You Who Wend through each spine,

Hear my prayers now

in this time of looming annihilation.

My fury grows daily as I witness ever more destruction

dressed in oxymoronic nonsense and spin-babble.

My heart screams at individual acts of casual cruelty.

Help me cast off inane cultural niceness which quiets my tongue

and keeps me from voicing painful truths.

Distill this mounting rage into eloquent potency.

Inform my speech that I never describe mankind’s evil

by referencing You and Any of Your Tribe;

remind me that we are the cold-blooded and vicious killers.

Strengthen me that I may stop the mindless slaughter

of spiders, ants, snakes, every critter which startles.

Nurture conscious compassion within me so I remember

and acknowledge that all souls can feel pain and fear.

Fill my heart with joyful thanksgiving for the sacrifice

of every being which dies so that I may live.

Dazzle me with the miraculous art of webs,

the sensual nature of scales,

the wondrous creativity infusing

each creature on this stunningly beautiful planet.

May I spend long moments in Your Soothing Intricacy.

In the name of the Superb Snake Clan,

I beseech thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2007

Elaina

 

O Most Magnificent and Merciful Holy Mother,

You Who carefully cradles each living heart,

You Who blesses us with extravagant beauty,

You Who nourishes every being and all souls,

Hear our prayers now

in this time of our jubilation.

One thousand times one thousand thank yous

for Elaina, this wondrous and precious child.

Let her always feel our unwavering love.

May she comprehend the fullness of our joy

at this miracle of her joining us on this journey.

May she completely understand that she belongs here

on this stunningly glorious Earth, at this time,

with this family, and in this life.

Keep her from all hunger, for love, for food,

for friendship, for happiness, for tenderness.

Remind her often that it’s a very good thing

to be too pretty, too smart, too strong, too much.

May she be full of compassion, gentleness,

moral strength, warmth, and understanding.

May she abound in clear creative expression.

May she love her female body and always rejoice

in the delicious physical reality of

jumping, leaping, dancing, hugging, laughing.

May she ever recognize the fabulous gift

of being delightfully, marvelously, sweetly alive.

In the names of all of us who love her,

we beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2007

 

 

Faeries

 

O, Beloved Holy Mother Who inspires all Poetry,

Splendid Shimmering Satin White Wave of Hope,

Bejeweled, Generous, and Gentle Jennifer,

Hear my prayers now

in my time of renewed certainty.

Welcome! Welcome!

May You and all Faeries find sanctuary

within the gnarled arms of the glorious and ancient Maple

which majestically rules this lush landscape of our Earthly kingdom.

Your arrival swells my heart with wonder and happiness;

reawakens all fertile colors and each astonishing aroma;

soothes my worrying mind;

and brightens each day with delicious possibility.

May Your Presence ever evoke renewed belief,

extravagant dreaming, and clarifying intuition.

May I laugh fearlessly, always compassionately

acknowledging the tender soul trapped behind

the self-protective mask of unawareness.

May I overcome old patterns

which keep me from diving into the abundance

You strew before me.

May I ever seek that which is excellent,

that which is nourishing, and those who are true.

May Sacred Mother Loba and all her kin watch and protect

You and me as we dance through our cycle

in this precious and magnificent reality.

In the name of Alice, that Gentle and Noble Being Who

graces and blesses my soaring spirit,

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2006

Fragile Threads

 

Creating our relationship

this late in our lives

requires trust

which cannot

will not

should not be

easily given.

We probe each other

searching for

gossamer threads

with which to weave

a comforter of smoke.

Long distant whispers,

old wounds camouflaged

by independence

strength

bombast

laughter

silence.

Dashing through the fire

of past experience

wounded gentleness

strident posturing

we race past each other’s

protective barrier of self

carrying our silken truths

to lay at the other’s feet

in mute plea:

continue weaving?

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2011

Giles

 

Thirty-one years ago

a timeless blessing,

an unexpected quiet fell,

impeccably potent

just behind our chairs,

sheltering us from the common

cacophony of busy

machine-gun hammers,

screeching saws and laughing, lusty men.

While that gift of silence and

golden September sun merged,

Giles whispered words about

a sorrowing sense we shared

of precious little goodness.

He in his tender blonde Mormon beauty,

me in my summery pulsing brown heat,

we opened heart to soul,

murmuring together our wistfulness.

I heard a woman’s oboe voice.

I saw her arms splashed with cherries.

I witnessed his father’s enduring integrity.

Shielding three children, maybe four,

a singing and dancing wife,

that gentle poet lived precariously,

puzzled by human contradictions.

Later, three poems, folded and shy,

slipped into my Les Fleurs du Mal

waiting to soothe me again

on this sunny September afternoon.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2010

Greed

 

O, Aparecida, Most Holy Nurturer of the poor,

the wounded, the dark, the lost, the excluded,

Sacred Ebon Mother Who Blesses all peoples,

Hear my prayers now,

In my time of fevered and frustrated searching.

Please occasionally shout in my ear to reawaken me.

Grant me awareness that I may repeatedly revel

in the astonishing abundance of being deliciously alive,

fully present, gloriously sensual,

extravagantly nourished with beauty and delight.

Help me remember that my needs are truly simple.

Remind me that possessions neither soothe my

weary heart nor solace my grieving spirit.

Release me from the internal, twisted, and tortured slavery of

money inbred and glorified by my culture.

Change my gray tears of guilt and despair into

a dazzling, rainbow-jeweled veil of dancing happiness.

Teach me to transform endless worry into creativity.

Engender fortitude in me so that I do not turn away from

pain and suffering, mine or others.

Fill me with fierce compassion for all.

Pierce me with joy that I may zestfully pour out

this love which tumultuously swirls within me.

Call forth my strengths into useful service.

Allow me to recognize my own belonging so that I may rid

myself of this devastating loneliness.

May I have long moments of complete soothing silence each day so

my body attunes to Your subtle rhythms.

May rollicking laughter bubble from my belly and the

unmitigated pleasure of humor fill my days.

May the wondrous and brilliant nature of Your Creation

ever flow into me, nourishing my soul, invigorating my passion,

and enlivening my existence.

In the name of One World,

Within Our Blessed Mother, Indivisible,

With Mercy and Justice for all,

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2006

Heart

 

O, Extravagantly Bounteous Sacred Mother,

Jewel of Life, Creatrix of All Beauty,

Healing Salve for Broken Spirits,

Beloved Queen of Hearts,

Hear my supplications now

in this time of extended lamenting.

Please remind me often that these fair fragments of

my wistful dreams are not dreary and hurtful remnants of

my failures or what I have lost.

Let me see instead beautiful shards reflecting

whole images of perfect moments:

tea with treasured friends, dinners with lovers,

fabulous hawks, laughing children, exquisite sunsets,

magnificent music, shared happiness,

unguarded hearts, magical trees, and fragile flowers.

Help me remember that I am not

a solitary soul trapped in hell,

that the gift of living

on this stunningly beautiful planet is extraordinary, and

that I need simply to sit still for long moments

to witness the gentle unfolding of

life’s utterly enchanting and marvelously rich parade.

Synchronize my heart’s beating with

Your Holy Rhythm that I may dance

the pulsing, teeming swirl animating Your Blue World.

Let me be vivacious without becoming

star-spangled or nerve-jangled.

Occasionally, nudge me awake so

I remember to sing my hymns to You.

In the name of every person I have ever loved,

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2007

Her Stoatness

 

Her Most Tenacious Majesty,

Regal Summer-Coated Ermine,

She Who Ignites the Torch of

Creativity and Individuality,

Mistress Stoat,

this brain’s prestidigitator,

an effortlessly graceful Spark

sinuously sliding along silent passages

deftly darting through dim doorways,

seeking connections,

remembering hidden treasures,

incandescing brilliant insight,

She returned yesterday,

rested and cheeky,

from vacation.

 

Some noisy blundering minion,

assigned as care-taker

during Her six-month sabbatical,

wielded a blinding searchlight,

bounced glaring illumination on

that which requires dark quiet,

terrified subtlety, defied nuance, and

made gloaming impenetrable.

His clumsy heavy-footed stumblings

churned sorrowfully loathsome wet places,

previously denied landscapes,

frightened long-stagnant nightmares

scrambled beloved untidy order,

Self’s poetry.

 

Gloriously Grand Weasel Mistress

She Who Allows Me to interact,

dream, play, imagine, dance,

She is aggrieved.

What sort of dolt left Her

a mess the size of a brain?

Anesthesia! Morphine!

Forgetting to breathe!

Imagine

forgetting to breath?

With required oxygen

flooding Her Scarlet Blood,

She rewires the chaos

builds new bridges

soothes the weavers,

mulches the tenderlings.

She’s diligent, weary, determined

and yet projects Beltane as

She’s Back In Charge Day.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2013

Getting Close

 

Today, the sun massaged my shoulders

until my whole spine sank into my pelvis.

Then I understood.

 

My sister didn’t want to talk with me

about her continued choices for coping

with breast cancer or

about anything

heavy,

you know.

No thanks, I don’t need any help, she said.

Mom offered too.

I’ve got my family here.

Just keep it simple. Okay?

 

Mother’s claptrap about this

having nothing to do with me

is completely true

and utterly false.

It’s about more than health.

It’s about relationships and

naming those included or excluded and

being fearful, vulnerable and

getting close

too close.

 

You see, my sister and I share

an hereditary disease, a societal malaise,

a mean-weird upbringing and

other stuff beyond DNA.

But she had this malignant hideousness and

she pulled away because she

could not tolerate hearing one gasp,

one sharp silence, one more loving story,

dreading always a poignant moment

when mother stirred the emotional soup or

I made everyone cranky with logic.

 

I can’t fault her for understanding

who the hell I am

and conserving her energy to deal with

ninety-five commands and demands

endless suggestions and

gee whiz I saw on Oprah last week

yadda yadda and

fifteen articles in the mail and on the Internet

so many someones know would make her feel better

when a nap would do the trick and

all those looks of screwed-up compassion and

the pauses in conversation when

she rounded a corner in her office and

the weariness she felt

just living moment to moment

with a teenager learning about personal power and

two nearly-thirty kids a husband a job

a mother who’s going blind, is mentally ill and

can be vicious

a sister who is damn intense and

cannot does not will not work well with mother and

oh shit did she remember to take that new medicine and

why is her left armpit aching and

is that scar tissue from the surgery or a new lump and

is the kid’s toilet stopped up again and

doesn’t the dog have a vet appointment today.

 

I thought we had weathered the worst,

we who survived our rage-scarred childhood,

individually naïve sexual revolutions,

death, divorce, meaningless jobs, poverty,

loss of hope, endless lies, fearsome surgeries,

chronic illness, and damaged dreams.

Yesterday, she told me

she’d chosen to hide herself from me

for forty years or

was it fifty years?

This solidifies that which I’ve suspected:

we haven’t lived in overlapping realities

for a very long time.

We devolved into intimate strangers.

Well-scripted greeting-card moments,

instead of tender and real conversation,

shall serve as our communication.

She’s relieved and I grieve

knowing this is simply the way it is.

 

I never wanted to learn these vaunted truths:

great grief becomes tedious,

loss is all there is after a point,

we never really know another person, and

freedom comes with high costs.

 

Good for her. Ouch for me.

Good for me, I guess.

 

© Jeanne Treadway, 2015

Jewels

 

Living Brilliances, You of Transcending and Sublime Grace,

You Whose Freedom and Flight haunt our yearning dreams,

You Whose Ethereal Music and Lilting Lyrics buoy all hearts,

Incomparably Exquisite, Marvelously Jeweled Winged Ones,

Hear my songs now in this time of soaring happiness.

Astounding Creations, Your Heart-Filling Beauty, Entrancing Songs,

and Peerless Agility always uplift and thrill me.

Each day, Your Ornate and Extravagant Arias persuade me to dance

with You beneath the Delicious, Life-Giving Sun.

Each evening You soothe my spirit into the Dreaming World.

You warm me with Your Down; You feed me with Your Body.

I loft ten-thousand trilling thank-yous for all Your Gifts.

May my home be sanctuary and diner for all Your Relatives.

May Your Elegant Lightness ever serve as reminder to

live gently, eat heartily, sing rapturously, skip and hop often.

May loving kindness so fill me that when I die

my battered heart will at last balance with the Holy Feather of Ma'at.

In the names of every Magnificent, Anna, Calliope, Amazilia, Bee,

Rufous, Great Sapphirewing, Coppery-headed Emerald, Black-chinned,

Snowcap, Ruby-throated, Green Violet-Ear,

all amazingly incandescent hummingbirds, I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2007

Lush

 

 

My grief sobbing shall no longer drown one bird song

one child’s giggle

one exuberant hosanna

one scrubbing prairie wind howl

or one whistle of contentment.

I shall quiet myself and listen.

I shall allow my sense of entitlement to wither

starve my neediness and longing

divorce my despair

prise addictions from my body

and untangle myself from my eloquent dramas.

I shall stand in truth, protected by kindness.

I shall not drug myself stupid

comfort myself with protective fat

seek a thousand healing metaphors

stuff my shelves with poignant totems

cocoon my heart with ancient wounding.

I shall not flinch from today.

I shall peer into the future with expectation

affirm beauty’s continuing reign

acknowledge love’s reality

drink the abundant green nectar

and soak up autumn’s heart-quickening flash.

I shall continue planting and nourishing.

I shall delight in cheeky fur-covered demands

encourage uncontrollable nose-noise laughter

shiver with sudden shyness as love sparks

rhumba amidst rain-cleansed sage and chamisa

and taste the bounty, the endless bounty of this Earth.

I shall tango intoxicated with life.

I shall splash into this sensual and splendid world

swimming in the glory.

I shall become lush; I shall thrive.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2011

Maggie Mae

 

 

Here I am,

Proud, sexy, single

Strutting my lovely breasts,

Shaking my tasty booty,

Watching eyes turn,

Winking as I stretch my lithe neck.

My curves are soft, inviting caresses.

v My long hair teases nostrils with aromatic smoke.

My skin is so sweet, a day-past-ripe peach is envious.

My eyes flash and laugh easily these days.

My lips are wet and ruby, sweet cherry red.

 

But I am fifty,

Past my prime,

No longer the Sacred Whore,

I serve as Crone now.

My bones are weary.

My spirit is wearier, sometimes

Stronger, surer, other times.

I sleep more now and

Dream different dreams.

I know how to love now.

I know what I need now.

Thank the Goddess,

I am unloved and unneeded now.

 

No child of mine roams this world.

No husband warms my bed.

Hot glances come only from

Those who are troth-bound.

Remembering another time

Their lust flames high again.

My knowledge is of flesh, of loving,

Of living and of dying.

I know the seasons, and

I know all men.

Now I take only those I love

And only when I wish.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2002

One Moment

 

Nearly bursting, my heart leaps towards

holy union with the sun, closer,

ever closer to pure sensual freedom.

Dance of ecstasy; dance of grief.

Liquid arms, no bones, no angles, rather

a swan’s neck, a wave, the wind.

Your heart is cradled.

 

Bone-bruising, hell-hot repetition:

step, ball change, plié, relevé,

chassé 32 counts from the corner

collapse, run, contract, release —

piano scales played on the body

by a crazed lover — myself.

Straighten that back. Long neck!

Shoulders down. Arms in fifth!

Start again.

Chin down, head high. Center!

Do it again.

Focus! Again.

Light feet! Again. Four more counts.

Heart thunders; lungs bellow;

floor burns enlarge; blisters bleed,

exhausted muscles quiver uncontrollably.

Again.

 

Minutes accumulate into hours into days,

building my body’s strength and vocabulary.

All for one moment when there is no body,

one instant of perfect communication.

One soaring leap to convey all joy;

one contraction to contain all pain;

dervish spins to reveal all lovers’ ecstasy.

One exquisite crack of lightning

illuminating the darkness

of our separation.

Let my fragile, tender body mesmerize you into

an impeccable sense of being wholly alive.

 

Slithering, stomping, saltating,

willing the Sublime to blaze for one second in me.

Wailing arms plead for one expression of beauty.

Using bones, sinew, lungs, heart, skin

as offerings,

my burning body as the sacrifice,

dreams wisp into smoke on the altar.

Again.

And again.

 

Then, yesterday, my body imploded.

My heart plunged into the abyss.

Fearsome emotions consumed me.

The drama of flinging myself

ever against weak and closed hearts,

seared everyone.

My body charred, bones crumbled,

soul withered in the heat.

 

Don’t talk to me about dancing.

Don’t buy me tickets to performances.

I don’t dance.

I never was any good anyway.

I’m grown up now.

Alcohol is my muse.

 

It took years to remember I could still waltz.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2006

Personal Prayer

 

 

O, Sophia, You Who were born of Silence,

Most Holy and Blessed Black Mother of Wisdom,

First and Final Breast, Comfort of Souls,

Hear my prayers now in my visage of Earthly crone.

Ever may I sing hosannas for

the blessings You unceasingly bestow.

May the water of joy ever

bubble, whisper, and swirl in my world.

May grace carry me through the vicissitudes of this

cranky body, ever nourishing my questing soul.

May beauty surround me.

May Earth’s sensual and sacred rock me gently.

May butterflies, hummingbirds, frogs,

all flying, jumping, skittering critters

find haven within my thriving garden.

May my friendships continue to enrich us with

honeyed love, sweet pleasure, and salving laughter.

May felions ever enliven my home.

May splendid music ever thrill these amazing ears.

May the cool, calming breeze of forgiveness

waft through me, soothing the knowledge

of the heartbreak I’ve caused and endured.

May a generosity of spirit, a delight in humor,

expansive compassion, divine serenity,

and gentle patience guide my days.

May the pure crystal spring of Your Creativity

ever quench my fevered and driving thirst.

In the names of those who have loved me, in those soft, tough,

tender, generous, and hidden ways of being loved

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2004

Samhain

 

Blinding time, crisp, no breeze.

Sacred Snake vertebrae, pine-adorned, encircle.

Aromatic Sage, Flowerless Chamisa

Prepare for Holy Liminal Darkness.

 

Loud, measured breathing overhead;

All eyes enticed skyward.

Two full counts

Translucent, pulsing, striped,

Ponderously graceful baubles

Rise      Loom      Recede.

 

 

Rhythm slows to half-tranced meander,

Turning right of the Healing Heat Rising,

left of the Pregnant Water House.

Stumbling gait, stylized genuflection

Knee lands near peculiar sand drift.

 

Swooping leather scrape.

Tattered tree-bark, variegated,

Forlorn, shoulder-shaped feathers

Flinch from abrupt glare.

 

Faint gurgling swings side to side.

 

Posture changes, soft, gentle,

Tender dusting reveals delicately strong

Bones, white, tiny, vibrating histories:

Mesa, Mountain, Forest, Sea

Ritual, Prayer, Laughter, Song

Lagoon, Dune, Floe, Prairie

Boreal Gales, Mojave Witherings

Hummingbird, Puma, Frog, Red-Tail

Walking, digging, rolling People.

Gravelly murmurings intensify.

 

A box! Happy hurry. No need to.

 

Kneel to untangle Desiccated Carcass,

Emblematic and Precious,

From wind-tossed, twig-tangled shelter.

Care and speed: No one must see.

Weird man laws echo No.

Tattered linen pads litter-box reliquary.

Solemn procession strides

toward White Land of Wisdom.

 

Quizzical relatives shadow above.

 

Flesh-eating enzymes, cool water (static and wild),

Toothbrush, tweezers, fingernails, dental probes

Clean, slough, remove, sift, distinguish.

Drudgery generates uncommon delight.

 

Beautiful purposeful sculpture:

Sturdy leg support, claw,

Rings of thorax, suspensory cartilage,

Two wee necklaces transitory as stamens.

Pearls, once strung with nerves,

Loft stag-horn fern ribs.

Sharp curves, elegant, surge past

Sparse rictal setae,

Cup vision altars,

Encircle ruach.

 

An entire wing, fragile without ligaments,

Seven pinions, shimmering with night,

Down wisps froth,

flashy white near skin.

 

Acrobats clamor to witness ablutions spiral over lilacs.

 

Dervish floss binds unbound cocoon

Triangles daubed with dragonfly hues,

Joined to shelter ebon feathers.

 

Steel guides three miles of nine greens through napery,

Evoking She Who Changes Hearts,

Holy FLower of the Initiatory Shaman,

Nestled in coral sands

Sweetened with nectar from

Languid, flickering kisses.

 

Emotionally precious copper swirls

Beneath benevolent Sulis

Encloses enameled turquoise,

Basin for all weeper’s salt,

Balanced atop aromatic hinged carvings

Cradling exquisite House of Memory

Secure within

Contrasting skin and tatting

Safe beneath velvet night.

 

Raucous Raconteurs’ racket reverberates.

 

Potter’s hero sharply rat-ta-taps cadence.

Cheerful parades, round and round,

Celebrate magnificence sheltered

on blue cushion:

Strutting bones, ancient songs,

Limitless flying, Eternal Witness.

 

Chisel longhouse smoothed to woody softness

adornments indistinct,

draped with shimmering purity,

caresses the sky-dreaming pivots.

 

Obsidian familiar balances between

Lecherously winking Gemini sisters,

Joining ribald shaming

Of cancerous notions and

Worldly fears.

 

Young Lenore shyly awaits caresses,

First Mother and First Cat,

Nudge her fledging debut.

Arthritic, hobbled, cranky alarms

Fiercely eyeball every nuance.

 

Tree crone, sagging for generations,

Protected by lovers’ eggs,

Healing black glass and white quartz,

Scowls and natters, fussy.

 

Tiny sky-mimicking and

enormous moon trumpets

Release beauty into Blessed Water

Anointing all with a Kiss of the Beloved.

 

Black Sisters announce approval atop aeries.

 

Blinding time, crisp, no breeze.

Sacred Snake vertebrae, pine-adorned, encircle.

Aromatic Sage, tangled Chamisa

Prepare for Holy Liminal Darkness.

 

Measured breathing overhead;

All eyes enticed skyward.

Two full counts

Translucent, pulsing, striped,

Ponderously graceful baubles

Rise      Loom      Recede.

 

Rhythm slows to half-tranced meander,

Turning right of the Healing Heat Rising,

left of the Pregnant Water House.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2011

Te Amo

 

Frigid wind slithered

around my window

this morning

reminding me

that last year’s cold

  froze gas pipes and you.

As I dashed to tend fires

you somberly called me

but I could not find

nor coax you from

your arctic nest.

Early the next morning,

protected by

mittens, hat, scarf,

down vest, wool coat,

thick socks, warm boots

I forged into the icy blasts

to seek your agreement:

Please come live with me,

  at least until spring.

 

I carried bribes as well,

  smelly and greasy,

fit for your Small Highness.

Where had you sheltered,

bravely shivered and called?

Checking the wood pile,

under the car, inside the horno,

between the lilacs, near the well,

echo-locating meow for meow,

my feet grew stiff, my neck hot

before I lifted the hood

and felt you uncurl

sinuosly into my heart.

Ah, little one, little yellow boy,

please come live with me,

at least until spring.

 

When I was in the hospital

Carmen cared for you.

When I returned,

you cared for me.

Fierce little male child

sleeping round my neck

under my arm,

whenever I whimpered

your silky musical

loving soothed me.

When I slept you

tormented Molly,

pounced on Lince,

bossy and passionate,

stealing food and

favorite nap boxes.

When I cried

you sang me lullabies,

sun myths and dreams,

your faraway home tales.

Gigantic heart and ego

most assured of glory

and first caresses,

my golden boy,

my little solar love,

Te Amo,

please come live with me,

at least until spring.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2013

That Child

 

Edgy and uncomfortable,

long bones throbbing

in syncopation with

late afternoon monsoons,

I stutter-step toward

compassion

recognition

understanding.

 

Longed-for solitude loops

half-glimpsed memories,

curious journeys,

dreams shadowing clarity.

 

Sinking into my self,

I chase emotions through

convoluted crannies

finding images of a tiny being

I don’t recognize.

 

Who was that quizzical child?

Wild hair whirling above

sun-squinted eyes and fat cheeks,

hesitantly peering

from the beginning of her time

into her future.

 

Do photographs—old, grainy—

whisper clues of

dreams and hopes,

who she started out to be?

 

Reading words corraled

onto paper years ago,

skittering passions and

untamed sorrows

reawaken until I recall

they’re all long since soothed,

and now add nothing

except clutter and noise.

 

Does that new face recognize

this old puzzled

still becoming face?

 

I study the maze of moods etched

in my face and body

and cannot quite trace

the meanderings

which molded this shy, lined,

private person.

 

Was there some original determination,

some faith-choosing baptism

requiring I swim

through this particular red river

on this turbulent and dusty portion

of our blessed Earth?

 

Is there some softly rustling thing

hovering over me

guiding, luring, pushing me forward

to become this me in this time?

 

Was it necessary to wait

this long to develop into

this recognizable soul

inhabiting this fragile body?

 

Not knowing if it is a flaw or

a brilliant design

that keeps my dreams

ever before me,

I look to that child

for answers.

 

Neither of us recognizes the other,

Yet it seems that most of this lifetime has been

remembering what she came here knowing.

 

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2011

Trees

 

Lady of the Precious Turquoise Sycamores,

Refuge for Fairies, Birds, and Children,

Mother of Infinite Sustenance and Shelter,

Intricately Green, Glorious, Splendid Hathor

Hear my hymn in this restful solitude.

I scratch my back and shoulders against

Your rough, convoluted skin,

then nestle among Your gnarled roots.

Your murmuring leaves dapple my face and

lull my mind into daydreaming.

My whole being exalts with sweet contentment.

I breathe deeply, safe in my Secret Garden

watching Ten Rowdy Ravens chase

Curious George on his Way To Rainy Mountain.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi zips and plays

Where The Wild Things Are

and the Very Hungry Caterpillar

inches slowly away from Charlotte’s Web.

Puss In Boots and Fox In Socks brool nearby,

reminiscing and laughing about their escapades

with Winnie The Pooh and Tigger, too.

Olivia sings Good Night Moon;

Alice laughs in Wonderland;

and, I laze in this Earthly paradise.

A brimful heart of thanks to You

for every wondrous book and

each extraordinary gift You give.

In the names of all Piñon, Red Cedar, and Cottonwood

I beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2007

We Reclaim Her

 

Umbilicated as I am, with the soft salt-water haven tucked between my thighs,

She Who Delightfully Transmogrifies, Endlessly Becoming That Which Is Visible,

Ever Remaining That Which Is Unseen marked me as belonging and intact.

I proclaim my sovereignty and freedom. I speak steadfastly against the mad din, unbowed by

wicked cacophonous tyranny. I rebuke the irrational rationalism and scorn those invoking

horror and hatred. I fall open again into Her Lusciousness, into Her Green Blue Aliveness, gasping

awestruck as I gambol in the utter Splendiferous Creativity cradled in a single drop of water,

the cascade trilling of the tiny canyon wren, or the marvelous meanderings in cottonwood bark.

Get out of our way you who grovel in wealth and fear contamination from all real love.

Unhand Her Beauty; undo your bindings; release us from your diabolical wickedness.

Give me back my Goddesses, Whole and Free.

 

Let me rollick with our Lascivious Baubo Who Laughs so hard Her Red and Black Underpants wave

hellos to the neighbors, mightily shaming Her Kids because they know She never wears such things.

Let me harmonize with Trickstress Coyote, She Who Salaciously Slobbers, Dips-Skips-Rolls in Shit,

Yodeling shamefully embarrassing, ecstatic exaggerations of frequent lewd escapades.

Allow my tears to cascade with She Who Wept Seven Oceans and Still Shields us all.

May I live to share raunchy jokes with She Whose Squishy Belly and Pendulous Nipples now

carry and nourish only Herself. May the fierceness within the gentleness of Erzulie Dantor,

She Who Devours all Blood-Curses mothers spew on daughters, Fiercely Protects single mothers,

and Engenders wholeness, healing, succor for all females, surge into me whenever I bear witness

to the evil devouring Earth and her Beauty. I repudiate your right to rule me; know I will never

adhere to your fallacious decisions regarding any part of my perfect, unglamorous body.

Give me back my Prepotent Goddesses.

 

Take my Goddesses off your wristwatch. Remove Her Astonishing Loveliness from animated, trite,

sexually deviant cartoons. Stop your repugnant practice of naming mutilating cleaning products

after Her. Quit bull-dozing and paving each pristine square inch so you can live with Nature,

amidst Her Quiet, Her Animals, Her Trees and, for basic justice, quit naming your monstrous

mansions after the very Marvels you just ripped out. Remove Her Magnificent Mammaries from

your mouth and your hideous, devastating, puerile advertising. Teach all children to so cherish

being alive their love of self compels them to replenish this Earth, to once again hold Her Sanctity

as priority, to rebuild the vast communities in which they live, to eagerly join with each other to

stop the abuse of every living being. And, finally, may laughter and love, poetry and music,

dance and singing fill the lives of all creatures on this, our Unique Home.

Bring back the Holy Female.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2013

Zapata

 

O, courageous and brilliant Emiliano Zapata,

beloved man of the people; unparalleled charro;

righteous, humane, and true warrior,

Hear our prayers now in our time of desperation.

Leap upon your fearless, dazzling alabaster stallion.

Ride a swift and mighty wind to these states in the North.

Time races ahead of you as our peril renders us senseless.

Unite us against the usurpers of our rights and freedom.

With your eloquent voice shatter our complacency.

Anoint our hearts with valor, bravery, and integrity.

Crystallize our resolve to cast off these

shackles of smug egotism, fierce greed,

and the unrelenting tyranny of lies.

Lead us towards justice and honor, mercy and truth.

Inspire us to join mankind in protecting all beings

residing with us on this blessed Earth.

In the names of everything sacred, fragile, and beautiful,

we beseech Thee.

 

¡Cajitas Piadosas! © Jeanne Treadway, 2006