Palettal Prose: Seeds for a New World

Let the glimmering star of imagination,

openly radiant in the sky of our night,

rain down silvery, reconciling flowers,

infinite fall of mercies

illuminating our bodies,

dissolving our boundaries,

seeding our hearts;

rooting, branching, twining,

weaving a canopy of forgiving leaves

breathing over all the earth:

one great glowing tree of being.

~Sherri Rose Walker, We’Moon

Star Seed

Moon Day Musings: Monday August 16 2015

I have but one passion: to enlighten those who have been kept in the dark, in the name of humanity which has suffered so much and is entitled to happiness. My fiery protest is simply the cry of my very soul. If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: I am here to live out loud!

~ Emile Zola

Palettal Prose: Scribe of Sands

Sand, stones, salt, shells.                   What we each do,

Where I belong, in the dunes           according to call,

rearranging the world,                       husked of ambition,

carrying the elements                        to bring life

here and there,                                    back into balance.

listening for the music                       How we each pull

of relationship.                                    on the sheet of horizon,

Where else should I be,                     to remake the bed-rock,

but asking questions with fingers   to right the rock bed,

thrust into diatoms of silica?            that it may offer carbon

An infinity                                             to the trees,

of pulverized bodies                            that they may offer oxygen

speaks to my nerves                            to the birds. Tonight,

glistening millenial light.                   with paw-prints

I am a scribe of sands                         in these same

these hands                                           deep hills of sand,

related by tribe, by species                in the deepest spaces

to those that painted a pride            of night,

of lions on cave walls                          stalking these same dreams.

at Chauvet, 35,000 years past.

~Bonnie Morrissey, We’Moon


Palettal Prose: Wild Woman Stalks

Wild Woman stalks the corners

of my heart

her keen eye discerning,

nose ever sniffing

her fangs patient and poised

knowing what in the name of Life

must be consumed

She lives deeply in the pulse

of Life/Death/Life

She plants seeds, offers nurturance,

but does not spare the blade

in the Season of Reaping.

She knows the Grand Cycle

knows Her place as it shifts along the hoop

She dances The Wheel, returning Her bones to the earth below

to feed all those from whom She has nursed her own existence

the Dance of the Wild–She lives inside me

so as i wander in wonder amidst the cycle

i offer songful prayer to the bodies of the healers

i pull for my plate of harvest into tinctures

the blood that i spill to create is always my own,

from this body or that,

always mine

and forever Sacred.

Wild Woman Stalks