THE LACKADAISICAL POET: March 2004

Follow Me

Follow me
out of your steel caves
and past your concrete earth

Follow me
into the telling moonlight
under a thousand suns
and through the forest of ancients

Follow me

bring your quickening intuition

your creative hunger
the fire that burns you on
and your eternal howl

Follow me
into your life

March 17, 2004

Tressa Lee Breen

Hekate

Hekate

Wrinkled petals hang toward the earth,
fleshy leaves are speckled with the color of ground,

a scrawny stem stands bent and tall,
the bloom is left only in Her eyes,
but what power the memory of budding carries.

The ignorant see withering,

dried up, used up,
an empty gourd with no meat.
Those with eyes open see stories,
storms and sunshine,
seedling and flower,
a garden waiting to be read at the crossroads.

So listen for the dogs of winter
when each of us will walk with three legs
and reap the wisdom planted in Her faces
of past, present and future.

March 16, 2004

Tressa Lee Breen

Hecate

Hecate

Into the shadows of what was,
at that which is now but fleeting,
and through the mists of the ever changing
She gazes.

That which falls away and becomes dulled
She sees slip through our fingers,
She watches as we catch up to and move through eternity in a moment
while forever rolls in before us.

Her hand is holding ours in the canal when we enter,
She is beside us at every crossroad

and Her hand is there when the contractions of the earth's womb begin again.

As old as when the world was young

She is the passion of youth scripted in an ancient parchment.
Teacher and Mother,
Maiden and Crone,
Her wisdom is change,
Her power is times three,
and Her fullness is dark moon and peace.

March 16, 2004

Tressa Lee Breen

Novel Snowflake

Novel Snowflake

Sometimes they fall...

too fast to be counted
leaving me jotting down hidden notes
in the middle of a work meeting

clumped together
they splatter on my paper
mangled and senseless

too sparse and too slow
never completing their beautiful form
dissipating as they land on my lines

But sometimes they fall

crisp and clear
I can catch a crystal on my penpoint
and write a diamond full of words

March 16, 2004

Tressa Lee Breen

Drawing On Empty

Sketches covering my canvas
dark there
light here
smears and tears blending it
barely there brushstrokes of tenderness

claw marks raging through paint
I step too close
hollow stick figures preside
I step back
life is all there is
in its patterned senselessness

March 16, 2004

Tressa Lee Breen