Poetry

A birthday poem…

Today I am fifty years old, and the first thing I did when I rolled out of bed this morning was write. So instead of a daily draw, today I’m giving you this: my mission statement for what has been, what is, and what will be for the next fifty years (if I’m lucky).

To all the teachers I’ve had, men and women, warriors, priests, madwomen and con men, gentle geniuses of a new age, fiery avatars of the old, you’ve all had a hand in this. For good or ill, you’ve shaped me. Thank you.


I am magic and beauty.

I am starlight made manifest.

I am blood and power, tree people, I am witch and faery, gnome and leprechaun. My wings are brown as the ancient earth.

I am wind and fire, howling, raging, whispering, creeping.

I am lightning and hurricane.

I am inspiration, catalyst, change-maker, blood-soaked warrior.

I am snake mother, charm-caster, reader of sky and sea and earth and fire.

I am wisdom-holder, magic-bringer, and I am alive.

I am eternal. I am iron.

I am patience and compassion.

I am the alpine river flowing and warm, quiet breezes. 

I am the grave and the earth, the hollow bone and the world tree. 

I am woman and child and ageless angel, harbinger of hope and civilization, destroyer of form.

I am alive in the world and alive to the world, many pieces, many voices, many gods, one spirit. One blood. One word. I.