Rock River

 

 

 

Once again, my pilgrimage
North to my ancient Grandmother,
that jagged mountain so old
Her power infuses everything.
But this is October, and the people are here,
everywhere, joyously gobbling up
the brilliant Autumn colors with their eyes.
I cannot even get near!
And then the thought, to a way much lower,
closer to Her deep roots,
closer to She who leads us so deep into the Earth.
As I venture around, unknowing,
She reveals this much to me:
for Her, the giant boulders
are Her toys, Her playthings.
Monumental stones are here,
which She has tossed gaily in a fit of joy.
My son once said, "Mom, a Rock River."
Here She has floated the giant stones
all in a tumble down Her beautiful sides.
Streams run with music as they splash among the rocks.
All of this Her terrain, Her birthplace, Her legacy!
Here at the very lowest, She has left us a trace,
a history of Her energy and might,
many-ton boulders strewn across the mountain
where She tossed them for us to see.

Annelinde Metzner

October 19, 2022

 

 

A Rock River

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Fullness

 

 

 

 

The abundance of Autumn.
Apples ripening, apples of Avalon,
every grain at its fullest,
amaranth, oats and wheat.
Milkweed pods, ready for Monarchs,
about to burst open and float away.
Goldenrod flowers bend on their stalks.
Blackberries, raspberries for the bear’s delight.
There is no coolness yet, no frost,
but still, we are storing away,
all living beings, storing away,
aware at some level of the icy cold to come.
Autumn! Why have I not seen your fullness,
your round abundance, your gifts?
Seed after seed on the underside of ferns.
Burrs clinging to our clothes.
Dragonflies dip and soar across the field,
bees and hummingbirds gorging.
Oh, round fullness of Autumn!
My mouth opens:  feed me. 

Annelinde Metzner, 9/1/2015

The Long Haul

 

Butter-and-eggs

“I think of the long haul”
says the sparkling jewelweed outside my window,
curling her brilliant orange flowers
into tension-sprung seeds, so sensitive to passing touch.
“Do you feel it on the breeze?”
I feel it on the breeze, a quiet zephyr,
luxuriating across the wide meadow,
heralding icy months not far away.
“We’re in this for the long haul,’
say the hummingbirds, quite relaxed,
zipping from blossom to blossom,
storing up energy to fly,
to fly! across the Gulf to Mexico.
“Think of the long haul,
the wide expanse of time,”
says the barn owl, spotting a wee mouse.
“It’s our time, and guess what?
It’s your time too.”
Late at night, heat lightning explodes,
incandescent over the horizon, without a sound,
reminding us to paint our lives long and wide.
It’s time, it’s our time,
the long haul, long and wide,
you and I.



Annelinde Metzner
Catskill Farm
September 4, 2015

Milkweed for the monarch butterflies

Yarrow and strawberry

The Procession of the Geese

Once again I'm at my parents' grave,
    a joyous journey, not too far-
    to bring bright Autumn flowers.
I settle in on my camp chair,
    relishing the quiet,
    that timelessness we receive so hungrily
    when our ancestors are near.
Maple leaves rustle in the wind.
And then-
Gazing across the mowed grass,
    they come into my awareness.
Almost silent,
    all in a row, eyes on the ground,
    pecking here and there for a worm-
The Procession of the Geese!
Oblivious to me, oblivious to the graves,
    uncaring of the names or the dates,
    in a long parade they step,
    with the occasional honk,
    intent on finding food.
"Here is some life for you!" they call,
    webbed feet stepping purposefully
    through the grass.
"Regenerate, and keep going!"
All sixty of them call to me,
    in the voice of Life itself.

Annelinde Metzner

September 28, 2022

In September

 

In September the forest, green as ever,
is like a lover crooking her finger one last time.
She sways, she is still soft and green,
her Earth is still warm...
And somewhere unseen, on the other side,      
is the gray gargoyle Winter, 

the stone gollum with a funny grin,
skipping rocks on the water, biding her time.
She comes up to me in the morning and
brushes a bony finger against my chin,
saying “feel this- remember me?”
The hairs stand up on my chin, and
I gasp at her unstoppable impertinence.
I shake her off and turn away, pretending she’s not there.
Up on the hillside, the maples and birch
sway, supple, green as ever,
singing their sweet seductive siren song of Summer.
Behind a slab of granite, Winter
points her bony stone finger
and laughs.


Annelinde Metzner
September 6, 2009

 

 

The Earthen Cloak

 

 

 

 

Each afternoon, the storms come in,
    first the mysterious rumble from far away,
    then the closer crash,
    until each day ends in a swirl of thunder, mist and rain.
The Appalachian forest, the rain forest,
    loves this daily soaking, Her element.
Mushrooms are abundant,
    spiderwebs glisten with raindrop jewels.
I am blessed with a Quaker friend,
    guardian of the forest,
    who patiently and delightedly walks me
    uphill in the wet leaf mulch,
    among the trees,
    from grave to grave.
These are the burial sites of the self-determined few,
    the ones who find the right bush, the right tree,
    taking time to warm to the chosen spot
    years before they go.
How life continues here,
    how it goes on!
A potter's grave, trimmed with pot-lids of all colors.
A painter's grave, happy to rest in beauty for all time.
A writer's grave, poems etched in the marker stone.
I sit at the stone fire circle
    as the sunbeams shine through the leaves.
A sacred ground, a blessed place,
    made of you and me,
    made of all of us. 

 

Annelinde Metzner

August 12, 2022

 

 

 

Community Garden

 

 

Community garden in Black Mountain NC

Community garden      

Do you love your little patch of Earth?
Does She feel you kiss her warm brown skin as you step?
Every day, do you thank Her for how she feeds you?
Go to the garden, and sink your fingers into Her living soil,
her rich humus full of life, and giver of life.
Plant some plants, plant some seeds!
What is a seed, what is it for your life?
Are there seeds, small sprinkles and dark, firm pods
planted in you, in your mind, in your heart?
Go to the garden, plant and share!
Watch each day for the new surprises She has in store.
Greens and all colors, and all for you to eat!
Grow just enough for yourself, your family,
and give some away.
Give some away until the joy of Her, of our Mother Earth
drips from your fingers like the juice of new grapes,
‘til the joy of Her sparkles in your eyes.
Give this away too, so whomever you meet
feels that energy, the energy of Her,
of Life, of resurgence and rebirth,
of all that returns when we bend just a little,
and plant.

Annelinde Metzner
Community Garden
May 23, 2013

Broccoli

Hoop garden

Herbs at the community garden

Gardeners hard at work

Kale in July of 2022

Gift to the Sea

 

 

I walk along the pier, over the marsh grass,
until watery Yemaya, the Sea, is beneath me.
I have brought gifts!
This cowrie shell necklace, bought when I was fourteen,
from a wandering African merchant at the music fair.
"These are sacred cowrie shells!"
she informed me with a smile and a knowing look.
Every beach I've visited since then,
I have soaked the necklace and all the shells
in the waters of the sea,
bringing the necklace home more sacred than before.
Each year some cowrie shells fell away into the sea.
And on this day I returned them all to Her.
With a song and a blessing, I toss the necklace
into Her arms, the calm and silvery waters.
"For You!" I cry to Yemaya.
I pour Her some blackstrap molasses, Her favorite,
sweet as the Mother of All Life.
The black cloud swirls and vanishes into the waves.
As I gaze entranced over the rail,
a grey fin appears,
rising and falling right under my gaze,
the love of a dolphin infusing my presence.
A blessing and a thank you from Our Sister in the sea. 

Annelinde Metzner

May 6, 2022

Hunting Island, SC

Greening

 

 

Suddenly I awaken, early April,
and a diaphanous green veil
has draped over the weeping cherries,
the first to bloom with delicate, drooping grace.
Like a green bride, like Salome dancing,
the tiny new leaflets shyly appear.
Soon the new greening will climb stately
up the sides of Lakey Mountain.
On the dogwood trees, creamy flowers,
not yet full grown,
but already gracefully held by each small stem.
With joy, the catbird
repeats, repeats her thoughts,
new, always fresh and new.
The slightest breeze sets the leaves dancing.
The bumblebee awakens, floats into my vision.
O Goddess of regeneration,
Rebirth is Your watchword!
Welcome, welcome!
I breathe deeply of Your fresh greenness. 

 

Annelinde Metzner

April 6, 2022 

 

 

 

Fiddlehead Ferns

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wake Robin

 

Red Trillium

Blood-red trillium,
      with your sumptuous variegated leaf patterns,
      arising in big colonies early, so early in spring
      amid dry leaves and old twigs,
Triple Goddess, you sprout from the dry earth
      innocently, as if it were every day
      ancient knowledge comes forth into our sight.
You lie barely visible at our feet,
      one of the old ones, short and well-adapted
      to the forest floor, a gnome
      with a new red cap.
But no pretty pink here, nor lacy white.
      You are of the blood of the Earth Mother herself,
      and even Her rich warm blood has beauty,
      and she will not hide this, our Mother.
      She bleeds, and Her blood is beautiful.
Wake Robin, wake us to know
      where e’er we walk, She feels and knows.
      We kiss the Earth, but She bruises, too,
      in bloodroot, in trillium, in fracking, in clearcut, in war.
Wake, Robin, don’t be a fool!
      Here is Life’s own rich display, ineffable,
      the upward thrust, the very orgasm of Spring.
She is here today, for you, for us,
      crowding upward for us here,
      but once only.

Annelinde Metzner
Flat Creek North Carolina
March 23, 2012





 

Yellow trillium

  

Botanical Gardens in Asheville, NC

  

Red Oleander

 

 

Red Oleander

A salamander pale green as the new leaves of May

opens its orange lung-sac, brilliant, to the sun.

Three times at every pause!

In the breeze, red Oleander bends on her long stem, celebrating.

I am drawn down a quiet lane by the scent of jasmine

beguiling my heart, a path toward joy.

The dear Earth wafts up into me,

warm as fresh-baked bread,

filling my womb with Her love.

With my feet in the sand,

I pull Her love up into me,  to power my days.

Mother holds me tenderly, the mourning dove

in her palmetto-basket nest, giving, giving,

we Her babies, Her vast dream,

we Her future and Her now.

The black fin of a dolphin arises from the sea, ancient as days,

loving Her into the fathomless tomorrow.

Annelinde Metzner

Folly Beach

May 2010

Spring in Appalachia

She Heard Me

 

 

 

          
I sang all my songs to Mama Yemaya,
     our Mother the Sea,
     on that bracing and welcoming day at the beach.
How the great water glistened,
     each droplet responding, reflecting,
     rejoicing under our Father the Sun.
Pelicans dove straight down from on high.
Wee children hopped and squealed in the tide pools.
I sang and sang.
I think She heard me!
Our vast and unknowable Mother,
     Womb of All Life.
I think She heard me.

 

Annelinde Metzner

February 13, 2022