Warrior boys
I have always sought them
or them me.
They are not for everyone to see
they hide, in men.
Warrior for some, evokes thoughts
of violence, action, cruelty, and hate
but warriors are nothing of that
it’s balance and peace
they wish to create
in their wake.

They are the quiet ones
they listen, more than talk
They are strong, in body
They are strong, in mind
They are strong, in spirit
And like wolves
they move amoung men
rarely seen
misunderstood
the thought of them feared
but when faced with one
they bring instead calm
though rarely recognition
usually one makes the mistake
of thinking of the domesticity
of the pets that surround us
not realizing that what they have before them
is an entirely different kind of animal

They always know who they are
but few know them for that.
Few but some like I
or other warrior boys.

I know them
for a mother always knows her children
They are little pieces of the gods in men
The goddesses in me are awoken by them

Kali, the old one, the young one.
The mother, and the destroyer,
the goddess who knows both birth and death
creation and chaos
love and violence
She is one of those ancient mothers
of warrior men.

Awakening the mother and lover in me
warriors

They also know themselves
the warrior boys, and when they
see another of their kind
it is often with respect
and usually with admiration
the same respect and admiration
they hold of them selves
because they are solid in their spirits
like stones.
Also like wolves they usually know
the order in which they relate
which one is the more dominant.
They are all alpha males
warrior men
They all seek the alpha bitch
in heat
but they usually know
at a glance at a word
which of the two of them
is the stronger
and if they do not
they do not bother
to fight for the top
unless the need for one leader
truly arises.
They are content
to share the world.

I’m an old mother
in a new world.
A spiritual crone
encased in the flesh of a now
that has lost many
many of it’s connections
with the ways of gods and men
the ways not passed down in rituals
but born from spirit.

In the night
For I am the night
I hold the moon
for which wolves bay
Nu, Nyx, and was aptly named
‘as dark as the night’
in ancient tounge – Leila
In the night
I tried to call down the goddess
rise her up within me
envoke my needful wishes
wake the old gods
in the sleeping warrior
next to me
warrior boys
filling my mind

Looking upon the face of Castor
and seeking also Pollux
looking upon the face of Romulus
and seeking also Remus
loving both warrior boys
twins, in my heart
but laying, only with one.
Playing the swan to his god
Leda to Zeus
trying to duplicate himself
in me, and hopefully
his brother too
me weaving, like a spider
the threads that flow
through time
through reality
through all places
shining in the moonlight.

Sending out the call
sharp and keen
in the quiet of the night.

Child, come home to your mother

I awoke like this full still
of constellations
and so I place them here
for people to make of them
what they will

But I know nothing
for certain
just the madness
and might
that moves through
my morning mind

emptying itself of cobwebs
somehow busy spiders
have been spining
and this
these simple words
are the only evidence
the only part of it
I have to show.

The rest cannot be seen
cannot be spoken
cannot be held
in hand
or mind
only heart and spirit
you either already know
and have found yourself
in the reading of it.
Or you know not.
Were lost long ago
and still waiting to be found.

Go home to your mothers
all of you
not just the warrior boys
go home to your mothers
and find yourself

go home to your mothers
and be lost no more.

I’ve said it thrice
and another time, will do no
more good, and so we reach
the end.